"good luck exploring the infinite abyss"

This morning I woke up and munched on one last pack of Biskremes, the heavenly cookies I love (for now). I headed over to Brighid's and hung out on the beach and heard the waves roll on the shore for the last time (for now). I went back to the apartment and changed into my running clothes and took one final jog along the Corniche (for now). I returned and took my final COLD shower (for now). I grabbed my bag and started my long walk to Point E for the last time (for now). I said hello to Bouna and Souleye and Amadou, the wonderful men of SIT, and said one last good bye (for now). I'm now seated here, anxiously awaiting and avoiding heading over to the Samb household to say a final farewell to my family (for now).

For now...it's true, yes, I must leave tonight. Everything that has happened in the past four months, all the adventures, the struggles, the jokes, the surprises... all of it is in the past. I now face the challenge of bathing in the present time and having to accept that yes, I will be going back to the United States. Yes, I will miss Senegal. I cannot say what exactly it will be like when I get back. I cannot say how I will react or how I have changed. I only know that, for now, I need to go home...but I most certainly will be back.

**

I am not going to try and describe this experience in one word, because it is impossible to sum up every moment, every smile, every tear, every spark of anger that I've had here...all in one. I have learned many things. About another culture. About myself. About other Americans. About Senegal. I have laughed and cried. I have explored and held back and climbed mountains (literally). If this entry appears to be a "conclusion", it is not. By any means. It is merely an opportunity that I am taking to say many of the things I did not between February 2nd and the present moment. I will continue to learn and cry and laugh and all that jazz even after I leave here. I will be forever grateful for this little cultural capsule, that has been something so completely new and different from anything I've ever done, that yes, it will always be unique to me.

Tonight... well, technically tomorrow...at 3 AM, I'll be boarding a plane and flying back over the pond. I'll get to New York and say "Sweet Alabama" because I told myself that's the first thing I'd say when I got back in honor of Ms. Suzanne Coleman, and then I'll buy a Cosmo and some Orbit chewing gum because I've missed them both...and then I'll fly to Milwaukee, then Appleton, where I will get to hug my mom and dad again. Yes, I'm excited. And yes, I am sad. I have a right to feel both. In my opinion.

I've done many things here that I didn't think I'd be able to. I've said "no!", firmly. I've yelled back. I've bargained at the market. I've learned Wolof. I've walked around by myself. I've jumped through the 2 to 3 foot waves at the beach. Oh, and I haven't shaved my legs. That's right, since February 2nd folks. The next time I write any words in this, it will be from American soil, society, and culture.

Senegal naaxna.

On Wednesday, I was still fuming. Absolutely furious. He did not have the right; he never did, he never will, but I need to get past it. I told Momo the story last night, and he responded "Il faut oublier, c'est pas grave". I pointed it out that he was partly right. Maybe I won't forget it, but I do need to get rid of this anger towards him. I cannot change the fact that it happened, I can't go back and punch him right in the groin like a should have, but I can put the pieces of my own self confidence back together and move on. I told Momo to stop saying "c'est pas grave", which could loosely translate into "it's no big deal". Except it is. Because what he did was wrong. I need to forgive. If I stay angry at that man, I will just lower myself to his standards. If I put his horrible qualities in every other man I meet here, I will be judging, assuming, and making a grave mistake. I will forgive, but probably not forget. That is my goal.

There have been a few events, actually people, who have helped give me a little more hope.

I met Xena by chance. I was sitting on the steps of the Sorano National Theatre downtown, waiting for Zach and Blaine to show up. My legs were pretty sore from the hour long walk into the city. Nearby, a rambunctious little girl, probably about 6 years old, was hopping along the steps, in her own little play world, full of high spirits and happiness. Her mother and another lady were talking in the distance. This little girl, with big brown eyes, smooth peach skin, and soft brown hair that fell down over the outside corners of her eyes approached me and handed me a bag of gummy worms. "Il faut m'ouvrir" she said (please open this for me). I did, and handed them back to her. She kindly offered me one, but I refused. My appetite had dwindled since the day before. She had the cutest little-kid-accent I've ever heard. Just as she plopped herself down next to me, shoving gummy worms in her mouth, the boys arrived. She seemed a bit frightened, but I told her they were my friends. There we were, all four of us, just sitting on the steps as the sky became dark and the artificial lights of the street became more noticeable. I asked her what her name was. "Je m'appelle Xena" she replied (pronounced Zena, like the tv character). I asked her where she lived. She pointed across the street to a nice apartment building. She invited me over. She told me I could even share the bed with her. I asked her if she liked Senegal. She said no. The babies are too small. She said her teachers are absolutely crazy at school. Then it was time for Xena to leave. Her mother approached us and said hello. Xena gave me a chocolate gold coin. She told me to come back soon, so that she could invite me to her birthday party. She slipped her hand in her mothers and they started off, but after only two steps, she whispered something her her mom's ear. Then, she scrambled back up to me, put her arms around my neck, and gave me a quick little kiss on the cheek. It was absolutely beautiful. Thank you Xena.

Yesterday, as I was waiting outside the telecentre booth to make a call, I started chatting with some gentlemen. They had asked me if I had a husband, like almost every other man in Senegal has done. I said yes, I have one in America. They wondered why I didn't want a Senegalese one and I explained how I am a woman who wants independence, how I don't want to simply cook and clean and watch the kids. Of course, there were a few guys who shook their heads in disappointment, but that's their opinion. And mine is mine. And there will just be a difference between us I guess. I continued to speak though, telling them my story with the man downtown and what he did. After I was done, Pape explained a few things to me. He told me that not all men were like the one I had met. In fact, "il n'est pas un homme; il est un lache" he said. "He's not a man, he's a coward". It was actually comforting, and I don't quite know why. He also reminded me "il faut jamais coire dans une seule verite"..."never believe in only one truth". There are lots of truths out there, and it's okay to believe in more than just one. Sometimes, the truth can change, according to our perspective on things, or our culture, or just our own opinions. Pape gave me wise words, just when I needed them.


I am currently living in apartment 82, on the 8th floor of a building located right in the hustle and bustle of down town. Kate and Rachel have been nice roomates, very helpful, very hard working, and I am grateful to spend more time with them before I leave. This morning, as I hopped out of bed and stared out the window into Dakar, I took in a deep breath and enjoyed the wonderful scent of the burning coil of insence that repels the mosquitos. I took in the honks of the taxis below. I realized that all these sense just won't be able to be relieved, or even revealed when I go back. Yes, I can describe what things looked like, or how I felt when I was in the middle of it...but I am completely confused as to how I will describe the wonderful smell of that insence. On my walk to school this morning though, I realized that no one will probably care about how the mosquito coil smelled. Yes my family and friends have expressed a very excited interest in hearing about my time here, but not many of them actually plan on coming here to experience it for themselves. And that's okay. I guess it's alright that they won't know how to bargain for fruit with the vendor on the corner. Because that's not a part of their plan. This was my dream. For four years.

And I'm doing it.

Yesterday. Seemed a lot longer than most days. Stuff happened. The main events were separated. Not equal. Filled with all sorts of emotion.

---------------

I was happy to see they had all the colors and sizes of the Senegal soccer jerseys I wanted to buy. Four total. I know, for a fact, that these jerseys cost 2000 CFA. The man told me I was his friend. That he would give me a "deal". Then he laid down his "bargain price": 60,000 CFA. That's over a hundred dollars. I laughed, right in his face. Yeah dumbass, I know I'm supposed to bargain, but I'm tired of being seen as a vulnerable tourist who knows nothing about this country. That is not true. I worked it down to 9000 for the 4, but it just seemed to be a hassle. An unnecessary waste of time and energy. But I did it.

---------------

All Hannah wanted to do on our walk back was buy a hat. For her dad. We were just about out of the downtown area, when she saw a little stand. So we stopped. (Wish we hadn't). This man wanted 6000 for the hat. I said no. So did Hannah. We discussed in English how she shouldn't pay more than 2000. We spoke and I guess you could say argued with the guy and were ready to walk away. (Wish we would have). But he told us to stay. By this time we had attracted of audience. Of men. Of assholes. He agreed to 2000, but then did not give her the correct change. No, we said. We demanded an extra 500 that he owed her. He turned to me, and puckered his lips, and leaned in. NO, I said, in total disgust. He told me to calm down. I took a deep breath. And tried to forget it. And then. He actually did it. He came at me. He kissed me. Right on the mouth. He fucking did it, damn him. And all I could do was give him the worst, weakest slap of my life, right on his cheek. And all I could think to say was "tu es un mal homme". And all the other men just laughed. And I was helpless. I wanted to punch him. To kick him as hard as I could, everywhere, to bruise his bones. But if I did, I would just be mocked, and laughed it. But if I didn't, I would just be mocked, and laughed it. I lost. No matter what. And I felt worthless. Helpless. And so much hatred for that man. I fucking hate him.

Why, who, what gives them the right to do that? To even THINK they can do that? God damn him. The worst is that they think it's okay. They don't see wrong in making a joke of my sexuality, of my independence. He made me ashamed of something I have no control of, but something that I am: a woman. If I were a black man, a white man, any man, or even a Senegalese woman, I don't think he would have done it. But he took advantage of my vulnerability, of his home turf, of his fucking masculinity that makes him think he's better than me, that I, as a female, am only in this world to be a sexual temptation and to serve only his needs. Well bull fucking shit. WRONG. I wish he just didn't exist. I fucking hate him and what he's done to my perception of Senegalese men. As a representative on behalf of the male population, he has failed me, and I fucking hate him and all his comrades with junk between their legs and nothing in their heads. Unexpected and unwanted affection are two COMPLETELY different circumstances. There is a difference. I experienced the horror of it yesterday. It was awful. I fucking hate that man.

Hannah, being the kind and wonderful girl that she is, walked with me as I tried to fight the tears. She apologized, but she did not need to. It was in no way her fault. And she got the hat. But not the change. She lost her 500 CFA, and I lost some of my faith in humanity.

------------------

Last night in the hotel there was a fierce, anxious, melancholy, bittersweet excitement among everyone. Eight of the kids were packed. Ready to go. We had a wonderful dinner, danced a bit, reminisced, and tried to avoid the invisible and inevitable thoughts in our minds that knew what was about to come. At 11:30, Bouna told us to get everything ready. We helped bring down the luggage, and everyloaded the bus. Eight of us were going home. Not me, no. But some of the great friends I've made here. We all came here, with our differences, doing our own thing, but we shared a common bond of experiencing this culture together. And yes we have had our own adventures, but we have done parts of it together, and we've held this insanity in the palm of our hands and helped each other out and it's been a real pleasure to be in the presence of some outstanding people. Yeah we've had our fights and each person is closer to a few special others, but we are still part of a whole of something that I don't even know how to describe. The bus drove to the airport and they headed in to check their bags and scurried back out to bid farewell. We said our good byes and gave hugs, some of us tearing up (and yes of course I did because I'm a cry baby and I know it). And then they left. To return across the pond. To do what we all will be doing eventually, they are just the first ones to take the next step. They are back there. I am still here.

------------------

And so today has been hazy. Full of these fuzzy emotions that I don't know if I can describe or define or really recognize quite actually. Yesterday was intense. And today I'm just floating through life, numb. I have only a week left. I don't want to want to leave.

Right now I'm failing.

Today, I left more than a house on Rue 39 in Zone B. I left a home, and all those wonderful things that go with it. I left the smiling faces of children, the hard work of mothers, the funny jokes of fathers, and a lot of love. I would like to tell you about some wonderful people that have opened up their lives and let me fall in to a strange but fun adventure.

I arrived back in the beginning of February at a three story apartment complex. As soon as I walked in, little Bebefa, the four year old, ran up and gave me a huge hug. Right away, I had a twinge of belonging, just when that little girl wrapped her arms around my legs. Over the next four months, I got to know a lot of great people, and I'd like to share a little piece of them with you.

Khady...was extremely intimidating the first time I met her. In fact, she still is. She has two sons, and she spends her days in the house, doing the wash (by hand) for the four members of her immediate family, watching after her two boys, playing with the kids, cleaning, and probably more. She is almost always around when I get home, and she always greets me with a sassy little smile and tilt of her head. She often says things in Wolof to me, and at this point, when I should probably know what she's saying but I sometimes don't, she gives me an innocent little shrug and looks downward. In this way, she's giving me a tough little challenge, a playful way to motivate me to continue my Wolof. She is a mother. A great mother.

Mame... is my other aunt and the other woman whom I have interacted with the most. She usually leaves fairly early in the morning to go to her office job. She usually arrives back home in the evening, but doesn't stop by any means. She'll be looking afte her son, chatting with the other women in the house, preparing the meal, cleaning, and much more as well. I've only seen her be "tired" once or twice. Besides those rare occasions, she always has a smile on her face and is never too exhausted to laugh about something. She always greets me as well, and was the one to make conversation with me at meals. She is a strong woman, and very hard working.

Lamine...is my uncle who seems pretty laid back. He was always giving me hugs and joking around. He's loud and fun and smokes like a chimney.

Talla...was not too present, but whenever he saw me, he had a way of cheerfully moaning "Salli!" and then "comment vas-tu?". It was this glorious musical greeting that always hinted that he was happy to see me. He was interested in learning, about the U.S., about where I was from, and always invited me to join the guys for tea.

Momo...is my brother. My age. My friend. A great sense of humor. Caring. Kind. Great with kids. I know I'll never forget him.

Bachir...is such a rambunctious little six year old. Always wanting to play, but already showing signs of maturity and nobility, even as a child. He is a wonderful leader to the other kids and just a handsome little charmer!

Bebefa...what a sassy little thing. Always talking in either French or Wolof, wanting to put on my lip gloss or try on my shoes. Playing. Screaming "SALIIII". She's a head strong and fun and energetic little girl.

Ahmed and Bebecheikh...are the brothers who I am absolutely in love with. These boys still spend their days at home, just walking around, hanging on their mother (Khady). Ahmed never fails to shout my name when I walk the door, and although Bebecheikh can't talk, he knows me well enough to gurgle a few syllables when I appear. I love these boys and I will miss hugging and holding them in my arms every day.

Khady...yes, another one. This young lady, though, is the maid, but just as much a part of the family. She is only a few years older than me, but works probably 10 times as hard. She makes all the meals, usually two rounds each for the other family members and then those mentioned above. She cleans. She takes the kids to school. She watches after the babies. She does the wash. EVERYONE'S laundry. She runs errands. She makes the best omelettes in the world. I think what makes them so good is she really adds a little love to each and every one.

There are more people in this house, and I could go on, but those mentioned above have been the key figures in my life here in Senegal. I can't even begin to show my gratitude to them for accepting me into their family. They have laughed and joked and yelled and hugged and loved with, at, to me. I will miss them. I will miss their smiles. Their voices, always in the hazy background of silence outside my bedroom door. Yet when I say good bye to them for the final time, it is just a brief finality...because you'd better believe I'll go back and visit, I'll never forget, I'll keep them and their lessons with me always.

My birthday was great. Just great. Special, and a little extraordinary, and that's just how I had hoped it would be.

After leaving the internet cafe on May 9th at five to midnight, I headed back home. I got back and walked up to my room and still had a little work to do. But it was officially May 10th in Senegal, so before I sat down, I put on my headphones, put on some Footloose, and threw myself a little dance party. Because it was my birthday. Officially. A couple minutes later Momo came in with my birthday treat. He handed me a HUGE bowl of vanilla and cherry swirl ice cream. It was wonderful. And a wonderful start to the day! I packed up a little, finished my project, and went to sleep.

After waking up next morning, I headed to school with my luggage. We all gathered there, and every gave me a nice little hug and such and then we started our final presentations. I had decided to go yesterday, and I did, and it went great. Once I finished, it was officially my summer vacation. All done and 21 bitches. How to celebrate? Well, for the remainder of the presentations, we headed to a resort on the petite cote, right on the beach, ahhhh bliss.

That afternoon, on our way to our destination, we stopped for a casual lunch...and SAFARI. Crazy animals: giraffes, antelopes, birds, monkeys, and it was fun! I definitely felt the need to hum something from the Lion King.

We got to the hotel and got to see our gorgeous huts, and walked to the beach, just in time to enjoy a little swim as the sun was setting. I got my own complimentary drink, made by Blaine himself, which was tasty for being Baobab juice with an extra punch.

Then it was dinner time. Afterwards, and honestly to my complete surprise, A CAKE! WITH MY NAME ON IT! And those candles that won't blow out! All the other students signed a beautiful card too, and the cake was delicious, and I couldn't stop grinning. It is wonderful to feel a sense of belonging here, to know I've made some great friends.

After the meal and desert, I treated myself to a birthday gift and called home to mom and dad. They were pretty surprised and they busted out the b-day song, with Morgan barking in the background.

It was a happy day. Yay birthdays.

----------

Yesterday we continued with presentations in the morning, and had the afternoon off. I walked around a bit, checked the e mail, then headed to the beach. Lounged around. Went for a jog. More lounging. Dinner. And lounging. Can you sense a theme here?

Today we finished up presentations and this afternoon we have a "re-entry session" in which we'll talk about going back. To the place that we saw as so familiar a few months ago, but now seems to be foreign because it's what is here that I know to be true and comforting...for the most part.

Last night a few of us went for a swim right at sunset. I was literally floating in the water and gazed off at the horizon to see that pink, jiggly blob, or as Edward Abbey calls it, "God's celestial pizza pie" sink into the haze of water and mist and unknown. It was incredible. I can't even explain it to the extent it deserves. That will have to do for now.

I'm going to go enjoy my newly inherited freedom...my summer vacay...woohoo!

It is 10 minutes away from midnight here in Senegal. And I am so freaking excited. I think you know why.

He came in the room with a grim look on his face; no doubt that he only came out of obligation.

"What" he said in a dull tone.
"All I want to know is...why haven't you been speaking to me?"

She could feel the tears creeping into the corners of her eyes, but she pushed them away. Crying would show weakness; a sign of inferiority that she refused to accept.

"I don't know" he said carelessly.
"I don't believe you. This entire week, you haven't spoken to me. You haven't looked at me. You don't even recognize me. It's like I'm a complete stranger---"
"No!" he interrupted
"Yes it's true."
"Well, I've been angry with you."
"Why?"
"You didn't even take the time to say hi to me; it's like I'm always bothering you. So I just thought I wouldn't talk to you, since you always have so much work to do."
"It's true though, I DO have work."
"I know, I know. I understand that. But you won't even let me wish you good night. As soon as I appeared, you just dismissed me."

There was a pause. Then she realized. The slight imperfection. The truth slapping her in the face. But she still had something(s) to say.

"Okay. I understand. I get it, why you're mad, and I think you have a right to be. But it was even harder to work, when someone I care about won't no longer knows I exist. I was sad."
"I was sad too."
"So how did that help? If not talking to me made you sad, and it mad me sad? Next time, please tell me if you're mad at me."
"Okay. And I am sorry if I made you stressed this week."
"Okay."
"Just remember..." and he paused to deliver the words that seemed to fit the moment just right "...life goes on."

A jumble of words. English. French. Wolof. Did it all just get lost in translation? Things are better. Much better. Because I had the balls of a Senegalese goat, and I took charge.

-------------------------------------------------------------
I received the most delightful e mail from my daddy yesterday. I would like to include a little exerpt.
" Hi Megan,
Things are good here and nice weather today so I am going to get the MOO-ped (Wisconsin version) out today.

I had a medical test done last week for the Colon. Things were fine,
however the sedative really put you out of it. You are not allowed to drive for 12 hours after and I can see why. Right after I don't remember getting dressed eating a muffin there and drinking juice. Mom said I also went used the restroom there and had trouble unlocking the door it had a special unlocking button that I couldn't get opened. Because you are not allowed to eat 24 hours before, when we got home I ate a piece of cake that Laurie made and I didn't remember any of that either. I then slept for 3 1/2 hours.
well got to go,

Love, Dad"

Many of you may be thinking "why do I care about Mr. Hartman's cheesy jokes or doctor's appointment or his failure to remember anything for a few hours? I can't answer that question, but I myself didn't even really care. I guess this just shows how laid back my Dad is. He just kinda says stuff. If you're there, next to him, he'll talk your ear off, about nothing of the slightest interest, but just for sake of talking. Needless to say, I love my dad and he already is planning to have his chocolate chip cookies ready for me when I get home!

I also love my mom because she organized my money troubles and helped me discover the beauty of Western Union.

My plan for tomorrow is to wake up, eat a wonderful omelette made by the one and only Khady, print out my ISP and copy and bind it. No worries though, because I'M DONE WRITING IT!

That calls for a YESSSSSSSSSSSSSS and a fist pump!

I feel like such a tool, using such a cliché to title this entry. Yet it's what was in my head, at the time, the time of my fingers typing.

Babysitting last night was a simple joy, a fun little treat. I met up with Sarah (my professor) and hopped in the car with Elijah, 8, and Simon, 5, in the back seat. We drove to their house where Sarah and Peter left to go down town for a movie. While Elijah practiced his soccer skills out in the courtyard (yes, it really is a courtyard, not a yard, because there is no grass here, in Senegal that is), Simon shyly asked me if I'd like to play memory. "Of course!" I replied. "I've been hoping you'd ask me for so long!" I continued. He returned my energetic response with a simple, condescending look that says "wow you're wierd, but I'll let you play anyway". It's a feat that only a child can get away with, because of his innocence, his lack of a need to "know any better". We set up the memory cards, and our playing board took up the entire coffee room table. This Memory thing is tougher than I remembered it to be. It's a great mind stimulator though! Maybe it was just the plethora of cards we were using, but it was hard to remember which card had the Poohbear in a ship, and which one had Poohbear in the garden; which card had Piglet eating a watermelon and which card had Piglet wearing a sailor cap. I tried my best.

Once Elijah came back in, full of energy and out of breath, he popped in a DVD. To my enjoyment, the familiar tunes and commercials of NBC appeared on the screen. The Olympic Games!!! Simon and I soon lost interest in our simple card game and all three of us had our eyes focused on the TV. I was able to watch the pairs skating short program, which for a girl who used to figure skate and be obsessed with competitive skating, it was a dream! I also watched some snow boarding and mogul skiing. It was full of excitement, suspense, energy! It was only when the commercials for Valentine's Day came on that I remembered... wow... all this happened back in February. I really did not watch, hear, or read a word about the Olympics while I was in Dakar during those first few weeks of February. My mind had been elsewhere. On fitting in. On figuring out this whole new culture thing. Now, though, that things seemed to have "normalized" here, I focus back to the "elsewhere". To places I once was, or I will go, instead of keeping my focus on the present, on my amazing life in Dakar. We watched the Games for the rest of the evening, even during dinner, and then I put the boys to sleep.

I went back home last night and continued outlining. For two hours or so. To bed at 3 and up at 9 to head to the cyber to continue this damned ISP. Once again, there was a man sitting next to me, looking at dirty X-rated websites. This man was nice though. He turned his screen away as I sat down next to him. He was secretive about it. I think I liked that a little better. Now I've been writing and writing and making progress. I had every intention of going to Goree today, to see some of my new friends who do theatre at their high school. Yet I am telling myself now that I should stay here instead. Finish up my work. Then I think about selling myself short. Of the limited time I have left here. In Senegal. But I can go to Goree later, only there won't be a theatre festival there. But I don't NEED to go to this Festival. And I think I'd be worrying about my project the whole time anyway. So, after a failure to restrain any of my inner thoughts, my inner monologue has completely evaporated and those of you who are still reading this have just witnessed the rambled, buzzing ideas that are continually running around in chaos in my mind.

Let's get back to work. Back to jazz music. To a screen. To quick fingers. To theatre. To passion. And avoid thinking about a little problem at home (home here in Dakar that is). All I will say at the moment is, if you care about someone, or if you ever have at one point in time or another, please acknowledge their existence. They may not be a part of your life any more, but they are still living and breathing and deserve the be recognized as a living human being on this earth. Because, in my opinion, we all have a purpose here.

I'm not necessarily sad. Just discouraged. I sit here, in the internet cafe, trying to focus and write my paper. But it is hard when the two older gentlemen seated at the computer next to me are watching their screen attentively, pointing, laughing, smiling, making comments, all concerning the Senegalese porn that they are watching. The sign says it right in front of me: "L'acces au sites ADULTES est strictement interdit..." (oh but before you go thinking these guys are breaking any rules, let me finish) "...aux moins de 18 ans". The rough translation, for those of you non-French-speaking people, is as follows: you can't watch porn, unless your over 18. These men are well above the age limit. Unfortunately.

Just as I was writing the above paragraph, concerning my dilemma, another one appeared. One of the men, sitting there, turned to me, saying hello, making nice conversation. I told him my name, what I'm studying, etc., but then he asked me "does this bother you?". I paused. "These websites, that my buddy and I are looking at... do you mind?". I still paused. The only thing I could think of to say was "It's your choice. I'm just here to write my paper." Once again, the fear of cultural insensitivity rears one of it's many heads. To be perfectly honest, yes I am bothered. The screens are quite large, and it is quite difficult for me to completely block out the close up on genetalia from my peripheral vision. Yet, these men aren't breaking the rules. They are not being overly perverted. I am, once again, confused as to what my place is here. In this cafe. In this city. This country. And I've only got three weeks left to figure it out.

On the ISP front...I had it yesterday. "Un petit catharsis", I guess you could say, where I was organizing my notes and flipping through all the pages, and suddenly, it hit me. The arrangement of it all. What I want to say. What I've learned. It all made sense, and for a small sliver of eternity that we call a moment, I was relieved and content and without worries. Of course after that I went back to the stress of outlining and typing and translating, but I am not fearful. I wonder if I should be more worried, but I try not to let that cloud over my free floating mind. It's a challenge.

Now this man is telling me how beautiful I am. Damn him. I want to know where it starts. Why does he feel the need to tell me I'm pretty. To ask how much time I have left here. He (okay by this time I'm just talking about most of the men here in general) may not try to be condescending, but that's the tone, the "vibe" I receive. Even when I run, I hear the comments, the "ah bon courage madame, vous voulez que je t'accompagner? oui? ah belle fille". Yet when I snap back at them, or when I say nothing at all, they have the nerve to act surprised and hurt. The difference may be that I am well aware that I am being impolite and disrespectful, whereas he may be totally ignorant of the fact, but I can't decide which is worse. Fuck. Needed to get a profanity in there.

But I've got things to look forward to. Baby sitting tonight. L'Isle de Goree tomorrow (hopefully!). Progress on the ISP. Trying on my tailored clothes soon. Going home to children's laughter. Ari Hest. Oh, and *five days*

"I'm happy now and I can't wait till then...As Maddie said, believing that being happy about something before it's absolutely real will jinx the thing is a recipe for a lot of unhappiness, because something could always go wrong. And you miss out on enjoying the good thing you actually do have."
- The True and Outstanding Adventures of the Hunt Sisters

Please read that book. I started it last night around 10ish pm. I finished it this morning around 11ish am. Maybe it was just because I was avoiding my project, because my mind felt so, clouded, with stuff. Needless to say, it was a really good book. Maybe not an incredibly cathartic and life changing piece of literature... but it was just damn good.

I chose the above excerpt to help segway into what I want to say. I'm going to say it, because I want to. I'm going to try very hard not to think about how people will react before I write it, because then I'll just be holding back.

Holding back. That's what I'm scared of. There's not a solid way of knowing. Last November, after a month of fighting, a month of appeal letters, talking with my advisors, phone calls sobbing to my mother who fought right along with me, screaming to friends, silent tears to myself before I went to bed, after all that...I had given up. I went home for Thanksgiving, and I knew I wouldn't be studying abroad. It was one of the biggest failures of my life, and while I know things could be so much worse in the big picture and context of everyone else in this world, it was no consolation. I had torn myself up over it.

Then suddenly, out of nowhere, President Rosenberg, one of my new best friends, informs me that I will, in fact, be allowed to study in Senegal during the Spring of 2006. I could not believe it. Even that evening, when I called my mom and told her, and she was screaming, literally shrieking, for joy, I still felt numb... emotionless. I still felt like a part of me had failed, and I still held on to a part of that shame, because I was now being given an "exception to the rule".

So when I got on that plane at the New York JFK airport, I still don't think I could believe it. When I stepped off onto solid land again, and I was in Dakar, Senegal, it seemed so surreal. It was 6 AM and I was pretty out of it, but I was terrified and disillusioned and in disbelief.

It has gotten better, but a part of me is still trying to grasp the fact that this is happening, that it has almost all happened, and it's about to end. I think I might be afraid of being too happy. If I express the different ways I have enjoyed myself, to the extreme, and then share my small exploration of this big world, I will look selfish, arrogant, pretentious.

Here's the facts. The Data, without the Analysis. Senegal has treated me wonderfully. Although I've gotten really pissed off sometimes, enough to go into fits of feminist rage against the men... although I've gotten sad enough that, after reading a simply girly novel that I mentioned above, I burst into a huge fit of tears for no valid reason... although I've reached the point of insanity that has caused me to wear an adult diaper for the evening, just for fun... this whole big adventure has, indeed, been a life-changing experience.

Sarah Cotton has, for the third time in two weeks, sent me an absolutely and wonderfully hilarious Hallmark card. In it, she of course gives me such wonderful words of sincerity and wisdom. In today's letter, she wrote "continue to open your heart and your mind to the people and culture... it will change you Megs". I believe it has. Though I may not be able to pinpoint why. Yet when I go back home, I am scared. That things will simply return to "how they were", if you will. I don't want that. Yes I'll enjoy the familiar comfort of strolling down the aisle at the grocery store and having my choice of cheap cereal, or calling up a friend late at night on my cell phone, or taking a boat ride around Berry Lake. I'll love to do that again... but the person doing them... she will be, hopefully, a better person. More aware. Of what's out there.

I have absolutely no idea of this makes sense, or is of any interest to anyone else. But it is to me. I think everyone deserves to be selfish in this world. I think it's an inevitable fact of life. People who deny it, well they just haven't faced the cold hard facts. Only with all the sunshine here, maybe it's the hot, sweaty facts.

*one week!*