So a quick thought on Dakar. We’re here, we’re fine, and all is well.
People are sweet. Adults generally ignore us. We exchange “Bonjour!” or “Ca va?” with the obligatory reply, ”Ca va bien.” I get attention a lot from kids, who all yell out “toubab, toubab” everytime Megan and/or I pass by.
I learned soon enough this means “white person.” Sweet.
I’m now imagining how that would play out if an African showed up in Ireland and they had a phrase for “black person…” Imagine little red-haired irish lads yelling, “irish-equivalent of toubab” on the streets of Dublin.
ADDENDUM 3/13/08: The above was my only post for about 3 weeks, so the general impression would be I’m being hassled by kids every other minute, which is hardly the case.
I could go on at length about how healthy it is to be an outsider, to be “different,” and find humor in having that pointed out by children of all people. It’s fun.
The youngin’s are generally cheery (the oldin’s, too) and in our adjunct neighborhood of Dakar, called Camberene, they were almost docile. i.e. very little begging or requests for “cadeaux” (French: gifts), which is more of a tradition in some high-traffic or tourist areas where children are filling up coffee cans with rice, money or bread for themselves and their families. It’s a reality of life out here that children as young as 6 are earning their keep — many are selling bracelets, food or bags of water.
My opinion isn’t quite made up on this. Blame capitalism, parents, poverty itself, or (the flip-side) maybe I shouldn’t blame anything or worry at all.
Every land has it’s quirks and problems. It’s not quite the proper place for an “outsider” to point that out, and insist there’s some categorical right/wrong in every interaction — thus, the blood never boils at shout-outs of ”toubab” in Senegal. I just laugh, wave back (or ignore ‘em) and move on. Only later do I wonder about how different things are in … Ireland.
