Out to do some shopping this morning. Dreamt last night I was in a huge car accident that lasted for what seemed like 10 minutes---no gore or tragedy, just an assortment of vehicles involved that seemed to be floating around like bumper cars. Previously I was in a hotel where some sort of teacher convention was going on and got pranked by mistake---fellow that didn't know me knocked on my door, blocked it shut and ran. After chasing him to a casino table and castigating, I observed the beginning of the debacle---a station wagon parking break failure precipitates the whole thing. Woke up no worse for wear. Just a dream. Now the real nightmare begins. Shopping.
We leave the Hotel Al Afifa, now a familiar old haunt---our faces are familiar to the staff---and take a right at the bank machine. There is a 24 hour security guard at this one---he knows me now as well. We meander down the one way street headed toward the ocean and a sprawling urban market with infinite stalls and storefronts selling virtually everything. Used shoes. Used soccer uniforms. Bangles. Electronics. A whole booth full of cassettes(cassettes!!) Fabrics of every possible design---most of these are now made in China. The entire in country fabric/clothing market is in a state of disruption and decline due to Chinese imports and used American donated and now baled-sold-in-bulk clothing. if you think your donations stay in the US, think again. There appears to be an entire warehouse somewhere with Emirates Airlines soccer jerseys. Fake watches. Sunglasses. Bracelets. Hats. T-shirts that say Senegal. Flags. Leather goods. Not much arty stuff but we find a little shop with real authentic handmade/woven Malian, Guinea Bissau, and Seereer Senegalese cloth. Got some good stuff. My tactic is to ask for their price. Give my absolute price--they say no---I then walk. Usually works and I don't try to flay them with a ridiculous offer. The biggest hassle is the wandering touts. They really won't let you go and follow you for blocks trying to get you in a a specific shop or two. I am usually very good natured until someone gets too loud/cramps my space and then I do a good imitation of a mad Irishman. Around 10am it gets hot. Brandon does some shopping for his family. We get a little lost which in Dakar can be a bit terrifying, but going by the principle that we should be headed back uphill from the ocean, we are soon seeing familiar landmarks and get back to the hotel.
Did I mention that this is the first day we have had completely to ourselves since May 23? I am at the pool finally acting like I am on vacation. Beer at 11. Peanuts. Olives. Then this somewhat trifling blog. Hello to my Mom, my sisters, my colleagues, my students, my Russians, my wife, my friends. Now I shall add Senegal to this mélange of those who influence my existence.
Today I am also thinking about my dear father, Bernard Corrigan, and how he would have enjoyed the Senegal story.
We leave the Hotel Al Afifa, now a familiar old haunt---our faces are familiar to the staff---and take a right at the bank machine. There is a 24 hour security guard at this one---he knows me now as well. We meander down the one way street headed toward the ocean and a sprawling urban market with infinite stalls and storefronts selling virtually everything. Used shoes. Used soccer uniforms. Bangles. Electronics. A whole booth full of cassettes(cassettes!!) Fabrics of every possible design---most of these are now made in China. The entire in country fabric/clothing market is in a state of disruption and decline due to Chinese imports and used American donated and now baled-sold-in-bulk clothing. if you think your donations stay in the US, think again. There appears to be an entire warehouse somewhere with Emirates Airlines soccer jerseys. Fake watches. Sunglasses. Bracelets. Hats. T-shirts that say Senegal. Flags. Leather goods. Not much arty stuff but we find a little shop with real authentic handmade/woven Malian, Guinea Bissau, and Seereer Senegalese cloth. Got some good stuff. My tactic is to ask for their price. Give my absolute price--they say no---I then walk. Usually works and I don't try to flay them with a ridiculous offer. The biggest hassle is the wandering touts. They really won't let you go and follow you for blocks trying to get you in a a specific shop or two. I am usually very good natured until someone gets too loud/cramps my space and then I do a good imitation of a mad Irishman. Around 10am it gets hot. Brandon does some shopping for his family. We get a little lost which in Dakar can be a bit terrifying, but going by the principle that we should be headed back uphill from the ocean, we are soon seeing familiar landmarks and get back to the hotel.
Did I mention that this is the first day we have had completely to ourselves since May 23? I am at the pool finally acting like I am on vacation. Beer at 11. Peanuts. Olives. Then this somewhat trifling blog. Hello to my Mom, my sisters, my colleagues, my students, my Russians, my wife, my friends. Now I shall add Senegal to this mélange of those who influence my existence.
Today I am also thinking about my dear father, Bernard Corrigan, and how he would have enjoyed the Senegal story.
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