"If I ever get real rich, I hope I'm not real mean to poor people, like I am now."

I had to open with this little Jack Handey jem because it's the truest sentiment I have ever felt. I heard this a million times during my training here in Senegal: "this experience will make you very angry" but I didn't fully comprehend it. Now I do. I have become an angry individual. You've seen me batter a child in the street, you've heard me tell grown men that they are ugly. what could happen next? don't worry, I'll tell you all about it-I particularly resemble the Incredible Hulk on an angry day.

So nevermind getting "toubab-ed" by kids in the street. Nevermind being asked for money, marriage or a trip to the US. All of these things are understandable, and honestly at the bottom of things they are not done maliciously. Usually it is just joking in a culture whose humor has almost no comparison to our own. However, there is one last bridge that I have not yet been able to cross. On rare occasions I am absolutely accosted by Senegalese men. They are so aggressive and egotistical that you would laugh if you saw it.

Last night I had to come into Dakar. It's a long story, but I was offered a ride to the transportation post by an assistant to the mayor. Suddenly I discovered that we were not at all going to the "garage" but instead going to his home. Weird and inappropriate #1. It started off well, discussing work projects and integration, etc. He told me we were just stopping to have lunch and so that he could get his bag and then we would leave. Throughout the following 7 hours I was doomed to be in his presence. While in his home, with his wife constantly calling to check on him to make sure that he didn't forget anything, etc I had to deal with the classic Senegalese machismo. Within moments of our work conversation being finished I was reduced to the most helpless and inept creature he had ever encountered. Not only did he continually propose that I would soon see-- I would become his mistress and carry many of his children, but he also insisted on translating everything into French and even into maybe the worst English I have ever heard. He called cabs for me, bought water for me, everything that I do on my own every single day. In short he had to insure that I knew he was the most important guy around. We call this being the "patron" Anyway, there's the frustration of the day. I refuse to get into details on it, but it sure as hell makes you want to work for women's advancement in Senegal.

On a better note, I am having the most therapeutic day here in Dakar. Our excellent medical team checked me out (and I'm sure they will diagnose my hypochondria shortly). I had a long discussion with our peerless and fearless Technical Trainer the marabout Bamba Fall and I even got some sweet thorn-resistant tubes for my bike.

One thing that really depresses me is that my last post on my dear friend Pape Samb was lost, but I'll re-write it for you soon.

thanks to you all, missing you!
love,
Meryl