3 More Days, And It’s Back to Life without Baguette and Nems

How could 4 months have already gone by? There are so many things I’m going to miss:
Hearing Akon and Youssou N’Dour at least 5 times a day
Drinking pineapple soda with Issa on Sundays
The 5 A.M call to prayer every morning
My whole family
Sandwhiche omellette
Lauren’s noppalus
“Lekkal, Lekkal- Pourquoi tu manges pas?”
Never knowing how to go about getting my feet clean
Le Phareau
Dancing in front of mirrors
Trying not to fall off the car rapides
Watching Indian soap operas with Mimi and CSI with Habib– all in French
Wolof
Tuna sandwhiches in the morning
Waxaling (bargaining) for 10 minutes to lower the cab fare/ price of item in question by all of 30 cents
Fabric shopping
Hassling tailors to finish my clothes
Ataaya dates
Crazy cab drivers
Waiting an hour every day for my professors to show up to class
Tombuktu
Power cuts and eating by candlelight
…

Claire

In case you were wondering what I’ve been doing these days… I Sacrificed a Sheep 2 Weekends Ago (que les âmes sensibles s’abstiennent)

Actually, it was more like 3. 2 Saturdays ago was Tabaski, my family’s favorite holiday, and one in which the Muslim Senegalese commemorate Abraham’s sacrifice by killing a sheep. My family killed three, which I think may have been to show their wealth, but my brother swears that’s not the case.
The first thing I have to say about this holiday is that I have never seen the Senegalese mobilize their resources for anything like they did to make sure there were enough sheep in the country for every family to have one. As far as 2 weeks before Tabaski, I was running into more sheep on my way to school than I was people.
The sacrifice took place early in the morning, around 9—my brothers and my host dad held down the animals while some guy they hired slit their throats. Other families kill the sheep themselves, but my dad told me: “it’s a tough job, that’s why we don’t do it.” I forced myself to watch the whole thing, which took about 20 minutes, and was incredibly gory, but I’ll spare you the details. Once the sheep were dead, we dragged their bodies out to the terrace in the back, and for the next four hours our home was converted into a slaughterhouse. Everyone in my family, with the exception of my host dad who went back to the third floor, helped skin the sheep, cut it up, and then grill the meat. And I’m not sure why, but my host-mom hung some of their organs on the laundry line… And I will never eat meat again.

Love,
Claire

St. Louis and Other Happenings

This past weekend, I went to St. Louis with 50 of my favorite toubabs. St. Louis is the former capital of French West Africa, and it’s a beautiful French colonial town that supposedly looks the same now as it did a century ago. The streets are full of colorful old buildings with balconies and large windows looking out from every floor- a lot of people on the trip were saying it looks a lot like New Orleans, not that I know what New Orleans is like. Anyway, it’s actually a lot prettier and calmer than Dakar, but I’ve grown to love the madness of Dakar so much that that’s not something that bothers me.

We went to a national bird park in St. Louis, which was lots of fun. A flock of pelicans followed us on our pirogue tour which was very cool. We then had a picnic in a park, and some free time to visit the city. We went out dancing in a St. Louis club that my siblings told me beforehand is “much better than Dakar clubs”—it was actually pretty great. We didn’t get back to the hotel until morning, as per habit, but there wasn’t much of a difference with Dakar clubs except that maybe there were more white people in St. Louis. Still, we didn’t have to pay the entrance fee because we were foreigners. As most of us were functioning on about 3 hours of sleep, Sunday was kind of brutal. Of all the things we could have done in St. Louis, our professors made us go visit museums and historical sites, but we survived and got back to Dakar that evening completely exhausted and in time for lox (sp?), the milk and millet meal that most Senegalese families, including my own, eat every Sunday night without fail. Considering that I can’t remember a time when I actually liked milk, this one’s a real treat for me.

Also, I haven’t really been paying for fruit for the past month- my friend Mohammed who works at the fruit stand has just been giving my friend and I a couple of pieces of fruit on our way to school every morning. He’d been really nice to us since we got here in August, and hadn’t even asked us to marry him or to give him a present of anything. We thought he was one of the few genuinely nice Senegalese men we’d met here, but once he started giving us free fruit, I suspected that he might want something from us. And indeed, last week he asked my friend to write a letter to the American embassy to get him a visa (there’s a lot of myths floating around here about how one immigrates to the U.S). She told him she couldn’t do that, and he’s still giving us free fruit, but it’s kind of awkward now and I’m disappointed but also feel really sad for him. Three months into this trip, I’m still amazed at how everyone here wants to leave Senegal to go to the U.S; I don’t think the idea is thought through at all, I think the general assumption is just that things are a lot better in America, that everyone there is ridiculously wealthy, and that American life is one big long rap music video… On the other hand, knowing all of this really makes me admire the fact that all my Senegalese siblings have a lot of Senegalese pride and want to stay in Senegal if they can find jobs here.

Everything is sill going well at home. I haven’t seen my host dad in about a month, but I assume that he’s still just chilling on the third floor, since my mom brings a tray of food up there during meal times. My maid left to go back to her village, which was very sad, and the house is kind of falling apart—we actually have to cook and clean for ourselves now, which would explain why we’ve had pasta with ketchup for dinner for 2 nights in a row.

That’s all that’s new with my life- I’m just trying to make the most of the short time I have left here. We kind of live for the weekends here and there’s only 3 of those left, which is very strange to think about… I guess I will be seeing you all soon though!

To catch you up…

Last week I lived in a remote Senegalese village with no running water and electricity. I lived with a host family that spoke neithe french nor wolof, only serer, another Senegalese dialect. I tried to communicate by speaking wolof, I’m not sure if I succeeded, but they seemed to think everything I said was exceedingly funny. Then I got a fever that lasted over 3 days, and they thought that was even funnier. They force fed me dried fish. It was miserable, and just thinking about it makes me want to cry.
Now I am back in Dakar, and happy again. I’ve been going out a lot and not sleeping much. I’ve been getting new fabric almost every week at the market. I think I have a fabric problem. Actually, Senegal has brought out several of mly old bad habits. For instance, we get a stipend here to buy fresh fruit and yogurt but I keep spending all of it on the french bakery that’s next to the market. I’ve also been watching way too much gad elmaleh with my brothers. Sunday night, I made chocolate chip cookies with my 9 year old sister. In typical Senegalese fashion, my 18 year old sister Mimi decided that since I was in the kitchen and cooking, she should teach me how to make bissap juice, Then my brother Issa showed me how to make bissap and baobab juice, which is supposed to be some herbal remedy against fatigue. Then my mom insisted I help her cook dinner. My baking adventure, which was only supposed to last an hour, turned into a 4 hour cooking marathon. I’m being kicked out of the computer lab, so that’s all the updating I have for now.

Love,
Claire

Oh heres another : Halloween in Australia

To confirm all of your Australian stereotypes

YES Australians drink heavily
YES they are very friendly and easy going
YES they are very athletic
YES the men love to wear short-shorts, sleeveless shirts and all year round tans
but

NO Australians don’t love Halloween

It’s tragic really. Seems like the perfect holiday for the youth of Australia. Dress up, eat candy, drink heavily. Emphasis on the drink heavily under the guise of purpose. Most of our Australian comrades had forgotten the holiday altogether! Halloween? What’s that? When’s that? they asked! Silly Australians.

I had grand designs for Halloween, grand indeed. I wanted to have a party, and scary stories and Man Hunt in costume on the South Lawn of uni at 1am. These grand designs were reduced to Trick or Drink thought up a couple days before to compensate for my not having planned a goddamn thing. However ! it all worked out. A couple people were unable to make it, namely Spewy, Pechy and Weely, the majority of our second year boys crew but we filled in the gaps with lovely lovely fresher girls, francois and a few second year girls. The Australians came to our rooms ready for a surprised. At each door they were treated with a drink (mine and isa’s room was Bat’s Blood/Rat’s Blood/ Vampire Blood-Cordial and Boxed Wine) and a treat (bat droppings-Boost Bars and Honeycomb candies). we stayed in each room for about 45 minutes and chatted and explained the joys of halloween and U.C gossip. It was actually the first party of the year with more people than our usual crowd that I felt totally 100% comfortable at. It was really nice. Next room was was Jodi and Lar, after an obnoxiously loud Trick or Treat! we were given gummy worms and creepy crawlers and Red jello shots which was probably meant to be called something else but I don’t remember now. Last room was chocolate pieces, halloween oreos with orange cream and “Slime” (also known as wine and green cordial aha)
After that all of the exchange students (americans, vanessa our brit, and kirsten someone’s irish friend) left for a Halloween party at another college which we were promptly rejected from, ah well. IH sucks anyway! Then we went to Queens college and hung out there for a little while. Then back to U.C where we collapsed and talked about our good feelings about the night. It was a lovely lovely evening and while it was no Pumpkin suit (i was a pirate this year) PBR and Girltalk, it was definitely a worthy way to spend the holiday.

Mandy

I blocked all of my favorite websites so

I’m left with cecil abroad to fill the gaping hole where my procrastinating should be.

I’ll be home in less than a month (!!!) and I am very excited. I miss it a lot. Australia has been incredibly fun these last couple weeks, dare i say, last couple months and I must admit I am in a strong like with it. If only I’d felt this way the whole time!

Friends making became significantly easier after Spring break and I stop caring about the ones who didn’t want to be my friend. I just basically ignore anyone I don’t already know at college.

Uni has been really great. We had the opening for my class at the gallery on wednesday and it was really really lovely. Tons of people showed up including my american friends at UC and one australian friend (which was so awesome I will forever love him for that). I was really thrilled with the way my piece came out and I think people liked it although it’s really hard to gauge with things like this, particularly at a gallery opening with 5 million people milling around trying to find the work of their friend, boyfriend, girlfriend, son or daughter.

I’m been positively useless these last couple days in terms of getting work done. Mostly lounging around reading Savage Grace and wasting my internet, and it’s been so hot I can barely stand it. But finals will be over soon and then it’s party time from now until the end of november. EVERY NIGHT. also in the daytime I’ll go buy souvenirs and see all of the bits of Melbourne I never got around to seeing like high St. and south of the Yarra. It should be a thrilling time. But in order to get there I have to finish two 2500 word essays and a 1500 word take home exam so I reckon I better get started on those!

night and love always,

Mandy

Rabid skunks!

Yesterday a rabid skunk chased me (and the dog, and the cats, and 25 of the chickens) around the courtyard for half an hour. Tina, one of my hosts, shot at it with a pistol and chased it into a hole. Then she handed me a rifle and told me to keep watch while she went back to bed (she is deathly ill). Until yesterday I had never held a gun before. Luckily the skunk didn’t come out.

PS I am not at Pomona this semester and am working on a ranch in southern AZ for a while. I have to go through a border patrol checkpoint every time I drive into town. Little known fact: the border patrol is incompetent. I could smuggle sooooo many drugs / undocumented immigrants/ cows / little chickens and they would NEVER find out.

<3 Natty

Portes et Passages du Retour

I haven’t written about this yet, but since my 3rd week here, I’ve been working with an organization of radical artist/ activists called les Portes et Passages du Retour (Passage and Gates of Return). It was founded by Senegalese artist and poet Kan-Si and his wife (who’s American) Mushana; I met them really by chance, and as it turns out, one of their studios is about 10 minutes from schools, which means I can stop by there several times a week. They’re both really cool, and very intelligent, and, in a place where, politically, there’s an overwhelming sense of resignation and idealization of the “West, ” it’s very refreshing to talk to them and see how emancipated and hopeful they are. I won’t bore you all by writing extensively about all their projects, but they just do really cool stuff.
I’m writing about them now because I just spent the past 3 days in their studio/ warehouse/ land in Joal, a fishing village south of Dakar. They usually have 2 to 3 West Africans residing in the warehouse, and it’s also where they hold workshops for women potters. But, on top of that, they have a bit of land in Joal, and this week-end a few of my friends and I went to plant medicinal trees with Kan-Si on his land. (Actually, fun fact: the Wolof word for tree, nara, also means medicine). This week-end, we planted moringa trees – in Wolof they call these “neeba daay,” which literally comes from the English phrase “never die,” as in those who eat the fruit of this tree will never die… We also worked with clay, drank lots of attaya, went to the beach, ate really good grilled fish that they’d just caught, and talked for many hours with the artists in Joal. One of Kan-Si’s big things is to change the way the West views (read: condescends towards) Africa and the way Africa views (read: romanticizes) the West. We’re going to work on several video projects together, one in which he’s going to interview my sister and I as we talk about why she listens to Beyonce and Rihanna, but thinks I’m lame for listening to Senegalese music, why she thinks western clothes are more beautiful than traditional Senegalese outfits, etc… We’re also going to try to make a short film at Marché Sendaga (the biggest market in Dakar) where Toubabs would take the place of the street vendors and they would sell things to/ hassle the locals in the same aggressive way we get hassled when we we go to the market. I think anyone who’s ever studied abroad in Africa would get a kick out of that role reversal. Anyway, as you can probably tell, I’m very excited about all of this.
In the way of other news, one of my brothers started college last week and thus moved out of the house and into a dorm. He’s actually going to school in Dakar though, so I went to visit him earlier this week- as it turns out, his first week if school is something of an initiation for all first years. They were forced to clean all the older students’ rooms, woken up in the middle of night and asked to sing and dance and rap in front of every one, and put through other humiliating tests. I miss him a lot, but did find this all to be very amusing. I guess some things are universal…

Some Other Highlights From the Past 2 Weeks, In No Particular Order

Helped teach elementary school girls karate on a rooftop at sunset.

Fought extensively with Canadian embassy so that my brother could get a visa to go to university in Quebec. Failed.

Was told by my very surprised family that my Wolof had gotten “bu baax” (= very good).

Was called a Sarkoziste by a street vendor, after he asked me to give him my purse and I refused.

Got into shouting match with aforementioned street vendor. Embarrassed some of my friends. Did not appreciate being called Sarkoziste.

. Helped both of my sisters with their math homework. Realized I still remember how to do the math I learned for the bac, and yet cannot do division by hand anymore.

Was also taught to dance mbalaax by my 5 year old cousin.

Got caught in a herd of goats crossing a bridge in St. Louis. Was butted several times as I unsuccessfully tried to escape.

Toubab Diallow

This past weekend started early for me, on Thursday night, to be precise. It started when I went with a group of friends to the Baaba Maal concert downtown. Traditional Senegalese music and dance is called “mbalaax”—you’ve probably heard it before; I’ve seen it described as something of a cross between blues and reggae, but I find it much more upbeat than either of those two. Anyway, the point is, Baaba Maal is the 2nd biggest mbalaax star in Senegal today. He performed in a large theater, but no one sat down even for second. The Senegalese, dressed in beautiful traditional outfits for the occasion (us Americans, of course, were embarrassingly dressed down in comparison), flooded the space between the aisles and in front of the stage. Once the music started, we understood why everyone had chosen to stand: there was to be none of this standing still at concerts thing—everyone was dancing, even the numerous government officials who attended danced with the crowd. None of us Americans knew the mbalaax dance steps, but the Senegalese around us were happy to teach us during the show. Baaba Maal’s singing was good, but it’s really his drummers and dancers who made the show- they were incredible and spent less time on stage than performing amongst the crowd. Mbalaax singers are also important social critics; what they have to say carries a lot of weight- some people will tell you that they are very much like “griots,” the guardians of the people’s history and story tellers. The tradition is to give griots money as they tell stories of the past, which apparently explains why many people where throwing bills on stage at Baaba Maal, as he sang. The concert ended in the middle of the night, at which point everyone, including us, rushed the various boulangeries in the neighborhood to get a “breakfast” of hot chocolate and croissants. I was exhausted the next day but it was totally worth it.

My Friday night was more relaxed: I went to a slam poetry night in a café. It was really fun, but nothing in comparison to the rest of our weekend, which was spent at Toubab Diallow.

Toubab Diallow is a small fishing village south of Dakar. We stayed at an artists’ colony by what is probably the most beautiful beach I’ve ever been to (white sand, sparkling water, etc, etc, you get the picture). The water wasn’t cold at all, so you could actually just swim in it for hours, which we did. Oh, and Amal, I got d’jembe lessons from the Bay Faals (Senegalese rastas, sort of)! The thunderstorm Saturday night made for an amazing sunset. I wish I were still there right now. But I’ll admit, we were really spoiled that weekend, spoiled in a way that made me feel very guilty- they even served us ridiculous three course meals for lunch and dinner…

I didn’t really feel like doing much work after that weekend getaway, so I went to the movies on both Monday and Tuesday night. I went to see the Jacques Tati film series at the Centre Culturel Français downtown. The films were great, but the cultural center was like anything else in Senegal that’s made mainly for French expats (“development” agencies, for instance): insanely luxurious.

Anyway, that’s all the updates I have for now- hope to talk to you all soon!

Claire

p.s this post is a few weeks late, I’ve had trouble getting the internet to work lately.

Korité/ Eid/ Ramadan is Over, Alxamdoulilaay

I know it’s wrong to begin this post by stating how relieved I am that Ramadan is over, considering that I’m not the one who has been fasting for a month. But I’m going to do it anyway: Ramadan ended on Sunday, finally!
The Senegalese celebrate the end of Ramadan with a holiday called “Korité,” which happened this past Sunday. For the occasion, everyone gets new traditional outfits (boubous) made and spends the day eating and celebrating with family and friends. A large part of the holiday involves asking those who surround you for forgiveness, but at night, at least in the popular neighborhoods, everyone goes out to dance in the streets. My sister woke me up at 8 A.M that morning to do my hair, make-up and outfit (she’s kind of a fashionista) and I helped her get ready as well. We had a breakfast of peanut juice and couscous (frankly, not that appetizing) with the 11 other people in my house. Lunch, however, we had with a smaller part of the family and was really good- we had SALAD and good fish that I couldn’t identify and fruit salad for dessert. My 2 brothers and sister and I went out to visit some of their friends around the neighborhood, and everywhere we went people kept offering us more food, and attaya, the traditional Senegalese tea. That night, my sister and I went out to dinner with her friends and then went back to dance in our neighborhood. The best part of the day though, other than seeing all the beautiful outfits people had on, was when we got home. My brothers and sister and I decided we where still hungry, so we went out and bought a tub of ice cream, and stayed up all night eating it and talking, sprawled out on the living room floor, where we eventually fell asleep. It kind of felt like middle school, but it was a lot of fun, I still can’t believe how much I lucked out with my family.

Dakar is so different now that Ramadan has ended. I kept being told that everything basically comes to a halt during the holiday, but nothing could have prepared me for how drastic the change was going to be. New fruit and coffee stands have sprouted up on the street where there were none before. The streets are now completely packed, especially with joggers. (By the way, the Senegalese are very fit. Not only do they seem to run twice a day, I frequently see them at the beach doing push-ups in the sand, and, of course, it’s rare to find an empty soccer field). People in my house seem much happier, everyone is laughing a lot more, and generally there’s just more energy going around, which makes sense. And there are now women on the beach again who aren’t foreigners (did I mention the beach is 5 minutes away from my school, and that we can see the ocean out of our classroom windows?). Dakar’s nightlife has also picked up again, and is now in full force- all the bars and clubs are open again, and all the Senegalese friends I made during Ramadan seem very eager to take me out.

And, as it turns out, my family doesn’t eat rice and fish every day. Ooops. Sorry for complaining. They just ate a lot of rice during Ramadan because they needed to make up for the calories they weren’t getting during the day. Our food has been more varied lately, and really good. Though sadly, the mango season is coming to a close, and it’s getting harder and harder to find fruit stands that sell them.

Generally, I’m very contented with life right now. I’m starting once again to develop a bit of a French accent when I speak English, but that’s OK. Some of my classes have gotten more interesting, others still suck. On the other hand, I have actually had time to read, and have been getting through lots of books since I’ve been here. It’s probably the first time since my senior year of high school I’ve been able to read for myself during the school year, and it’s really nice. I hope every one is doing well, wherever you may be!

Claire

Retroactive Blog Post – MOROCCO

So yeah, even though I’ve been back in the UK for over a month now, I feel like I should write to you all about my Morocco adventures!!!! So here goes:
Stephanie Roman arrived in London on a Friday and we left for Casablanca on the Sunday at like 4 am. Most of all, we were incredibly relieved to see that the airline I had booked our tickets on actually existed. So just fyi, Air Arabia Maroc DOES exist!!! We get to Casablanca where my family friend Emily picks us up from the airport and takes us to her apartment. Steph and I were both all “Is it safe to walk around after dark?” and Emily is all, “Duh! Unless you want to lead an incredibly boring existence…” So we went out and ate delish shwarma!!!!
Then, in the train station waiting to get to Fes the next day, I was chatting with a woman who proceeded to give me her sister’s phone number in the US. Then she insisted that I give her mine… and I gave her a fake number, but felt REALLY guilty about it. Then on the train, Steph and I lost about 30 pounds of water weight as we sweated our entire water content out. Also, my French has become incredibly useful!! YAY!
FES – we stay at an AWESOME riad (traditional house) and have the whole place to ourselves!! The Fes medina is so cool and very good for shopping. We also go shopping for veggies and cook dinner for ourselves our second night. the best thing we saw was the Medersa of Bou Inania which is supposedly the most beautiful building in all of Morocco.
Chefchaoun (aka Chaouen) – BEST TOWN EVERRRRR! everything is beautifully whitewashed and has blue doors. People are really chill and the mountains are just gorgeous. I get depressed thinking about the fact that I’m not there right now, so I’ll keep this short. Except I also ate the best couscous ever and we also met this very touchy-feely shopkeeper called “Rashid Couscous”. Not even kidding. He insisted we take pictures with him and he kept kissing our cheeks. Oh, also, he had not teeth. It was ridiculous. But I did end up buying a little camel-hair rug from him!

Marrakesh – kind of a cray-cray city. The first thing that happened to us was the 48 deg heat (118 F)… it was miserable. Then as we walked into the Djemma El Fna square, some idiot started shouting F**** You!!! to us repeatedly. This made me feel sad. The square and the city in general was much too touristy for our liking, but the Jardins de Majorelle was very beautiful!

Desert trip – went to Kasbahs, deserty parts, gorges and finally into the Erg Chabbi dunes where we rode camels and slept in the desert. Sweet!

Essaouira – amazing beach town with seafood and a great laidback feel. awesome shopping and nice way to wrap up our trip!!!

A Quick List

Since I’ve been in Senegal for exactly a month now, I thought this might be a good time to write a post just generally reflecting on the different things that have surprised me here, as well the things that have surprised me about myself and my ability to fare in such a different world.

- Having a maid: It’s not as horrifying as I thought it would be to live in a house with two maids. Sometimes it is frustrating to see my host mother call one of the maids over to do things she could do herself, like pour tea into a cup, for instance. It still makes me uncomfortable when my maid comes in my room every morning to sweep the floor while I sit on my bed and do nothing, but the maids in my house are definitely part of the family. They eat with us, break fast with us, go out with us (sometimes), and sit and watch TV with us at night. And the way my siblings and cousins interact with the maids and joke around with them makes it clear that they are part of the family. Which is a relief.
- The blatant and constant sexism: This has probably been the hardest part of Senegalese culture to adjust to. First of all, almost all Senegalese houses, whether rich or poor, have maids. Of course, all maids are women, usually women who are around my age. In my house, everything that the maids don’t do, my sisters are expected to take care of. Usually, it’s just small chores like setting the table or bringing out tea, but it really upsets me that my brothers and male cousins never have to lift a finger. I actually get the feeling that my household is a lot more egalitarian than those of my friends, namely because my sisters and girl cousins are all still in school, and plan on going to college. Still, my father lives on the third floor, never comes down to interact with his children, and gets food brought up to him on a tray by my host mother every night. When I asked my brother and cousin if it bothered them that the women do all the work, my cousin admitted that it did bother him. My brother, however, answered that, not only did it not bother him, he would hate to loose his privilege and have to start helping out… Family structures are rarely as democratic as they should be, but this is definitely a new extreme for me. I don’t think my feelings about the way in which women are treated in my house will improve over the course of this trip, but I recognize that it is interesting, and try to remember that for everything that troubles me about the way my family lives, there’s something else that I really admire.
- Bargaining: Things here just don’t have set prices, and you always have to bargain. I thought I would hate that, but it’s actually been really fun. It took me a while to realize that, even when the merchants first offer you whatever it is they’re selling at 5 times its actually price, they still want to be friends with you and laugh with you. You can’t be cold or resentful when you’re bargaining, or they won’t sell you anything, period. It’s a whole art of being firm without being unfriendly. I really have a good time at the various markets around here, and it’s a good feeling to know that you can lower the prices of things, as opposed to in the States where things are sold in stores at outrageous prices all the time, and you have no opportunity to contest at all.
- Rice and fish for dinner every night, and no fruit or vegetables: Not good. Save me from this. Please. I am probably deficient in every vitamin at this point, but fresh produce is expensive and a big family like mine, they probably just can’t afford much of it. I’m hoping that I can survive three more months of slight variations of the same meal every night, but, when I get home, I don’t want to see any rice for at least two months.

So that’s just a quick list- I’ll update more later this week!

Love,
Claire

Heaps of updatingness

I’m pretty sure that after seven weeks (!!!) of classes I’m obligated to update the blog again. So, life in Australia. Studying abroad is oddly reminiscent of freshman year: fun, exciting, and full of new and novel experiences, but also relentlessly awkward. Even though we’ve made friends and I’ve more or less fallen into a routine, there are constantly those moments of remembering that hey, I’m in a foreign country. With the benefit of several non-blogging weeks’ worth of hindsight, I’m going to attempt to sum up Australia so far (please bear with me).

School: all of us arrogant Americans have been complaining all semester about how much easier Australian higher education is. Now that I have a beastly amount of pre-spring break paper-writing to do, I’m mildly regretting my words, but it’s certainly true that everything is less formal here. Professors are always called by their first names, and not only does nobody ever do the reading, but it’s completely acceptable to admit to the professor that you didn’t do the reading. Frankly, both of these little idiosyncrasies horrify me.

College (which is, yes, a separate category): Mandy and I live in what’s called a residential college. Basically, imagine a combination of Harry Potter and an American frat house. It’s much fancier than a regular dorm (there are about a dozen residential colleges, and some of them actually resemble castles), and there are lots of weird traditions. For example, twice a week we have high table, where everyone dresses up in special gowns and we get served dinner on platters (and if you’re invited to eat at the “high table” itself, you get to drink wine and make small talk with the dean, which is a bizarre experience indeed). On the other hand, on Friday everyone celebrated the college by drinking heavily before breakfast and then jumping around in a bouncy house (this was a college-sponsored event, just to clarify), so Australians clearly prefer their snooty British conventions served with a hearty side helping of debauchery.

People: Before I came here, I was excited about meeting Australians, but what I didn’t realize was that I would also meet people from Britain, Germany, the Netherlands, Finland, and quite a few other countries (mostly Europeans, though). There are an incredible number of international students in Melbourne, and it’s fascinating to spend time with people from different cultural backgrounds with whom I nonetheless share the experience of being an outsider in Australia – although it was surprisingly difficult to get to know genuine Australians, especially at first. It actually took some doing to not exclusively hang out with Americans (because, unfortunately, there are a gazillion of us here), but it’s definitely been worthwhile.

Australian culture: What I didn’t realize initially is the extent to which Australia is defined by its relationship with Britain and, increasingly, the United States. Coming from America, with its obnoxious patriotism, it’s very strange to be in a country that doesn’t have a particularly strong sense of national identity (except in sports. Oh man, do Australians love their sports). Most disconcerting, though, is the enthusiasm with which the Australians have imported American culture: American movies, music, and TV are huge here. Things that are distinctly Australian are often mixed with imported customs – for example, in typical Aussie fashion, they celebrate the queen’s birthday by taking a day off of work, which even the actual British don’t do.

Food: Vegemite is terrible, crumpets are delicious, meat pies are okay. Australians have an inexplicable fascination with pumpkin, which seems to show up in every single meal.

Spring break: That’s right, one more week of classes and then we get a two-week break. I’ll be spending it traveling: first to Sydney and then to Townsville and Cairns, where the Great Barrier reef is. I promise to update the blog or at least post some pictures.

Okay, that’s enough of a novel for one night. Time to get a teensy bit of sleep before continuing to procrastinate.

-Isa

My Senegalese Sister Tried to Sell Me to the Guy Who Sits Outside our Door for a Bottle of Pineapple Juice

I know you’re probably all intrigued by the title of this post (or at least I like to think that you are). But before I describe that particular incident, I want to tell you a bit about my Senegalese family. Senegal is known as “the country of teranga.” Translated literally, “teranga” means “to bring ashore.” In other words, Senegal is the land of hospitality, the land where people are brought to shore and given a home. But I didn’t truly realize the extent to which “teranga,” or hospitality, was important here until I moved in with my host family.

It’s a big family- 13 people in one house, so constant chaos, noise, and a lot of Lil’ Wayne blasting from every room. I have 2 sisters, one is 8, the other is 18. I also have two brothers: a 19 year old and a 23 year old. The five of us live on the second floor of the house together. But I also have an aunt, two cousins, a grandma and two maids who live downstairs. My host mother and father live on the top floor.

Both my sisters are really cool. The 8 year old likes to follow me around and take pictures with me on photobooth. My 18 year old sister, Mimi, has become one of my best friends here; she’s been showing me around ever since I set foot in the house, even though it’s about 100 degrees, humid, and she’s fasting for Ramadan. We joke a lot about all the marriage proposals I’m going to get while I’m in Senegal, and how she’s going to find me a Senegalese husband. Apparently the other night, after I went upstairs, the guy who sits outside our door (I’m not sure who he is or why he’s there, we just call him “le fou” or “the crazy man,” and act like it’s perfectly normal for him to be hanging out there) asked Mimi how much it would be to go out with me. She told him he would have to consult with her first, and since she was tired and hungry, he should first buy her some pineapple juice. Then they could discuss how much I cost. He got her the pineapple juice, at which point she promptly told him that I already had a husband and to leave me alone. This girl is awesome.

My brothers are also really great- the 19 year old is just kind of a clown, but the 23 year old is more serious and thoughtful. I interact less with the rest of my family, though we break fast every night together at 7.30. My aunt is very sweet and calls me her angel or her queen. I’m not sure if my Mom’s a second wife (polygamy is doing just fine in these parts) or not, but my Dad rarely sticks around to talk to us for more than 5 minutes. He definitely eats separately from the rest of the fam- I don’t exactly understand why, but, then again, there’s a lot going on in this house that I just don’t get. Anyway, the point is that they’ve all given me the warmest welcome, and I love living in their home.

This is already a long-ish post, so I won’t add anything else, except that today, in the cab I was taking to the market, as the driver was rolled down his window, the handle fell off right in his hand. About 20 seconds later, a street vendor was at his window, offering him door handles and various other car parts. So the driver took the occasion to buy himself new handle and some windshield wipers. Pretty convenient.

Love,
Claire

p.s I give up on the French blog. I can only spend so much time dealing with computers. Sorry.

Confrontation, Aestheticism and Found Footage

My time here, since my last post anyway, has been varied, intellectually and emotionally.

Right now i’m writing a paper about Sexuality, nationalism and the female form in the art of Norman Lindsay and Aubrey Beardsley. It’s meant to be 2500 words and it’s due Thursday. We’ll see how that goes. most likely it will go poorly but I will report back next week or within the next two weeks. So that’s for Art History.It’s an interesting topic but I haven’t written an art history paper since high school so I’m a little clueless on the format and on the historical context (outside of my piss-poor research thus far). I am starting to write the essay at exactly 10:30 and I will write until 2 a.m when this building closes. Wish me luck!

confrontation. oh what can I say? On sunday University College, (the college I live at) won a double premiership for boys and girls footy (Australian rules football-like a combination of rugby and soccer? very strange). Anyway it was very exciting. They won a $750 bar tab as well so there was an INCREDIBLE amount of alcohol, everywhere. After dinner we all headed to Puggs Mahones, the shit irish pub closest to the college. Confrontation 1: headed down there with two americans, we were being stupid and drank wine across the street from the bar. The bouncer saw us and basically told us to fuck off for being rude in front of his bar/breaking the law. we played every card (including:stupid american, bathroom, never again, AND the big finale: crying.) When that didn’t work we sucked it up and had some chips outside the bar. After speaking with the bouncer about arctic fishing (wtf? he was so boring) he let me in. One american had snuck in and the other followed me in.
Confrontation 2: so that kid who has been making stupid/awkward jokes around me every time i’m near him and he’s been drinking finally got on my last nerve. history of his jokes: kept yelling at my south african friend that he was racist and hated black people and wanted apartheid back, this happened twice. Told me I shouldn’t laugh at the Australian mafia because they want to kill anyone not white. Told me that my friend Alex didn’t want to sit next to me because I was black. Now I don’t think he’s racist, I just think he’s a moron, and I told him so. He said “where i’m from, we make jokes about people we know, I don’t give a shit” and I said “you don’t know me and the reason you feel so comfortable making jokes is because look around, you are one of the million white people here, i am the only black person here, why should i feel comfortable with your jokes when you’re singling me out?” he responded with an apology of some kind and an awkward laugh and we left it at that. Haven’t talked to him since but I’m sure the conversation will continue when he’s drunk again.

Found Footage! Okay so for my experimental projects class, the class where i create a work/short series of works that will go in a gallery (!!!) I’m doing direct filmmaking on super 8. which is the tiny itty bitty 8mm film that old hand-held film cameras used to use. what your home videos from the 70s are filmed on. Anyway through a rather long and arduous process I acquired a Super8 camera, a reel of film and a processor. processing costs me a hefty 45 dollars to process a TEST REEL so I decided to explore found footage a little more to examine the issue of our loss of our visual media through changing media/medium extinction. So I get to use these ancient ancient machines to view and edit 16mm and 8mm film. they are ANCIENT, massive things that sound like they’re dying whenever you get one going.

I have an “portable” 8mm viewer sitting on my desk in my room:

http://retrothing.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/elmo912.jpg

heres the camera:

http://home.pacbell.net/mnyberg/super8mm/8mm/elmo82_4.jpg

and heres the thing I test view 16mm on:

http://www.abctvgorehill.com.au/assets/photos/text_photos/editing-bench-w.jpg

it’s SO fascinating. total relics. I don’t know how great my final will look but i’m having tons of fun going through the footage I found in the store room from the 70s. bunch of 70s experimental stuff and documentary stuff with really punchy highlights and fantastic texture. I will post the final when I’m alllll done.

Now it’s 10:32 and i’m meant to be two minutes into this paper so I’ll wrap it up!

hugs,

Mandy