The sun sets at exactly 6:30 every night, but the sky starts shifting colors around 6. Every night, I walk over the mosque perched right on the ocean, sit on my favorite stone wall over the crashing waves, and watch the sun drop past the hazy Dakar skyline.
It’s a rough life here on Goree Island. I wake up at about 7, walk five minutes to buy my breakfast, usually someone buys me café touba, and then I make the 30 second commute from my house to La Maison D’Education Mariama Ba.
I spend all morning in the company of the brightest middle school and high school girls in the country. I sit in on their classes, talk to their professors, hang out in the teachers room, listen to the ocean outside the classroom windows. Birds fly in and out of English class, there are no windows or doors. I have a two hour lunch break, I walk all the way home to make myself pasta in the beautiful open courtyard at my house. There’s a giant palm tree, a host of tropical birds and a pet turtle to keep me company. Since I usually have some time to kill, I walk up to the top of the mountain past all of the rasta artists to my favorite spot over looking the village. I can sit on top of the rooftops and watch all the tourists wander around the cobblestoned streets without being seen, and read my book.
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| hazy city skyline in the distance |
Back to school, if I go back to early all of the teachers force me to eat a second lunch with them around the bowl. I go to class, or I interview students, or talk to my wonderfully sweet advisor who is the guidance counselor. Some days I stay all day, until 7pm. Usually not. Usually around 4 or 5 I tell one of my new friends I’m going to the beach and I head over with my journal and somebody meets me. A jump in the ocean to cool off, then I spend awhile hanging in the sand. Maybe somebody makes ataaya. Go home and go for a run, up and down the mountain, around the island a couple times. Bucket shower, go watch the sunset. Drink ataaya with artist friend on the way home. I type up my notes from the day, sit with my family, we eat whatever amazing thing my host mom Astou has cooked that day. After dinner, it’s maybe ten pm. I wander back outside, either up the mountain or to the beach. Either way there’s tea or beer and friends to sit and chat with. Someone is usually playing a guitar. Some nights it’s me. Every night I discover new people and new hidden caves, houses, ledges carved into the backside of the mountain. There are always more secret beaches or rooftops. One night I wandered around the roof of the history museum/old French fort looking at stars. Another night when my American friends were here we had a spontaneous dance party in the back alley with distant djembes as our background music. One time night swimming. Another sitting on top of a lighthouse.
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| my house |
In the morning I go back to school and continue to be overwhelmed by incredible information for my research project. I have been invited to three different professor’s homes for the grand holiday next week.
Life is hard, but I’m making it.
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