My first week in Dakar was spent accompanying the previous PiAf fellow and Disney Princess Callie around the office and around town. Not only am I taking over Callie's apartment, job, and phone, but, according to my boss, Malek, our names rhyme, and we're both from the same state, Philadelphia. The Commonwealth of Brotherly Love. Does that mean that Will Smith is actually from Pittsburgh?
Highlights of the week included a trip to the European supermarket Casino (chips on red if you think the power will stay on; ah, too bad, red!); yoga in a beautiful Canadian embassy apartment that overlooks the city, accompanied by Angel and Grace cards for daily motivation; 30 minutes of Malek giving his amateur analysis of the 1982 World Cup; several compliments on my French, generally in the context of someone trying to sell me something; my first date with Pepto Bismol, with whom I envision a long and happy life; a successful bartering for some shoes that I'm not sure I even really like; 5:30 am calls to prayers from the mosque across the street; and several meals at the French Cultural Center, an oasis of greenery and The West in the middle of the city that induces the sensation of a Banana Republic-esque escape from The Other, and by The Other I mean last season's front-pleat chinos. One more post that references fashion, and I'll be able to write for ELLE.
Oh, and sweat. Tons o' sweat. Don't complain to me, East Coasters; in two months you'll be feeling the autumn air, and I'll still be struggling to keep cool in a Muslim country where I can't wear shorts. My life is super hard.
To end, a picture of an ambiguous sheep/goat that did not appreciate that Callie and I had taken a wrong turn into his 'hood.
hah hah hah
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