my black cat

I have to make some comments on my recent return to Louga after a two-week vacation with my wonderful friends, Bridget and Leah.

Coming home is almost a game now, where I get to guess what kind of a state my room, my fridge and now even my cat might be in, This one was particularly entertaining. The room was great, no problems there… the fridge… well minus the infant suppositories and a freezer packed full of candy my family hopes to sell we are still doing great. Now my cat. The Senegalese really don’t like cats, and for good reason. Cats here are outdoor animals, scavengers and mongrels—interestingly enough this is how I saw cats in America (no offense to cat owners, I just never thought I would be in the position to have one of my very own). But my family here in Louga has slowly warmed to my cat. The girls still scream and jump and run away when he gets out, but they also regularly feed him and shoo him lovingly from their bedrooms when he surprises them.

That being said I was surprised when I came home and heard that my family was trying to wash my cat-- this seemed to me to be a complete oxymoronic Amelia Badelia kind of thing to do, like ironing a bathing suit (which believe me has happened here), especially strange because to this day no one likes to actually touch the cat, they can only observe him. But then I saw him I understood; my once white cat had turned a stingy gray. I examined his fur and decided, no he isn’t dirty, he’s just getting older and at a small seven months the gray hair is finally starting to come out. So I assured my family in broken Wolof that nothing was wrong. How silly for them to think that his fur was dirty and not just changing color!

Then I started to pet him and slowly my hand started turning gray, and then black. Here I am again, the crazy tubab who doesn’t even know how to take care of her own tubab cat and not even another tubab in town to call and ask (everyone seems to be on vacation these days). So I finally decided I would just have to dunk my cat and get this stuff off of it. He really started getting feisty after I dipped him by the tail a few times but finally got most of the dirt off of him. I later sheepishly admitted to my family that they were right—then I got the real story. Apparently he got out of my room a few days ago when they went to feed him and decided to go rolling in the charcoal. Ha!

The other funny part of this is the “seriche.” It is a Senegalese custom to bring a gift when you come home after a trip or some time away from your family. I stopped doing it for a while for myriad reasons, first and foremost that a gift from a tubab carries too much tension with it. But this time I really was gone for a long time and I had some bubble gun I had been meaning to give them. So I gave my host mom a pack of 8 smaller packs of gum, each containing 5 pieces. I promptly disappeared in order to avoid the chaos that would ensue. Thirty minutes later I had ten kids tapping at my door saying they didn’t get any seriche. How is this possible? My mom didn’t realize she needed to open each pack to get at the actual gum and instead 8 kids were wandering around with a whole pack of gum in their mouths rather than each person getting one piece. Perfect. Those 8 kids were damn proud though, which I guess brings a smile to my face.

So in other news the girls visited, yay! And made it safely home without a hitch. I really want to start by thanking them. As soon as I got back to louga I realized how impressed everyone was with them here. And of course here is where it matters most to me. It isn’t easy for a visitor to come and spend time sitting and talking with people-- dealing with all the specificities of a culture that they don’t know. I am also appreciative of the fact that they really shared in the way I live here with my family and my friends. They even shared in some of the stresses that I deal with, and I again, grateful. Here is how some of these encounters went.

Random Senegalese dude: hello, are you fine?
Leah: yes I am fine
(intermittent awkwardness, language issues, leah clearly wanting to read her book on the beach, RSD clearly wanting a tubab girlfriend and thinking Leah is a good candidate, RSD striking a magazine centerfold pose on the beach)
RSD: will you teach me to swim?
Leah: My friends speak French, they are in the water, go ask them.
Me and Bridge in the water: Looks like you’re doing just fine Leah!
RSD: Okay, I go.
(Bridget and I promptly start swimming to shore as he starts swimming out toward us)
On arrival to shore we strategize about how best to be left in peace while I listen to RSD’s friend calls out to him in Wolof “hey, where did you get that tubab?”
Not more than 5 minutes pass before RSD and his buddy decide again to grace us with their presence.

RSD: why do you not teach me to swim?
Meryl: Oh, you wanted us to teach you to swim? We didn’t know.
(all three of us are buried in our books, dying to be left alone, but this guy lounging and flexing his muscles at us just does not get body language)
RSD: (still talking at us, I tuned him out long ago)
Meryl: I’m sorry but we really just want to relax right now
RSD: Oh am I bothering you?
Meryl: No comment
RSD: Okay then (to Leah) I will leave you my address
Leah; No thanks, that’s okay
RSD: (still kneeling to give leah his address) what is that?
Leah: Meryl, tell him
Meryl: (cracking up) (in Wolof) she said, no thanks
RSD: she no want it?
Leah: no

It was a beautiful thing, and after only one hour we had peace again.