Feeling Like a Rockstar

Beyond the obvious reasons I feel like a rockstar on a daily basis (I mean, come on…) my first week in village has allowed me to experience some serious Keith Richards-esq moments. Here are a few:

Groupies: One morning, while walking down the road to get my daily bean sandwich and instant coffee, I decided to pop in at the local Pulaar/nursery school. The school is a very attractive, single room building in the traditional round wall and straw roof style - I believe it was built rather recently by a Spanish NGO that works in the area. As far as I can tell some 30-40 little kids go there every morning and learn the basics of numbers, letters and causing mayhem. When I visited I was quickly swarmed by a mass of little bodies shouting my name and wanting to shake hands. Since they only come up to about my waist, I got the distinct feeling of being on stage at a rock concert while screaming fans reached up at me. I briefly spoke with the teacher and got the ok to come back one day, hang with the kids and guest teach – I plan to bring French bingo and see if I can adapt it into Pulaar. When I left the school, all of the children ran up to the fence and screamed my name as I walked down the road. There is nothing like 40 (little) people screaming your name to make you feel popular.

On a side note: I think my visit to the school helped break the ice between Toolaye – the terrified 3 year old – and me. I think it was a little like “Show and Tell” for her - “that’s my weird white person!” - and seeing the other kids excited to see me made her excited too. I have to say, she is potentially the cutest child I’ve ever seen . I hope she doesn’t get annoying.

Drugs: This comparison might be a little of a stretch, but I now know how it feels to have addictive white powder forced upon you at all times of day. No, Senegal isn’t the new Colombia. I’m talking about sugar. Pure, white, highly processed, diabetes-inducing sugar. My household here can easily go through half a kilo of sugar a day. I think my American parents have had the same 2-pound bag of sugar in our cabinet since I graduated high school. Beyond the heaping spoonfuls of sugar that go into coffee and are used to sweeten porridges, the real culprit is “attaya.” Attaya is traditional Senegalese tea that involves a whole boiling, pouring, foam-making and slurping ritual. For a small pot of attaya, one will easily use a half kilo of sugar (about a cup, for those unfamiliar with metric baking). I can feel my cavities developing.

Swag: While I haven’t gotten a free Porsche or personalized Rolex, I do get a fair amount of free stuff on a daily basis. This perk is almost exclusively limited to food, but has included a lifetime supply of mangos, fried dough, a fruit that tastes just like sour patch kids, my daily beans and coffee, mints and a necklace. In addition to the free stuff, I get the first choice of just about everything else – chairs, fruit, meals. I’m not sure I deserve any of this or if this pattern will last, but for now it’s a nice contrast to feeling like an idiot all the time (I wonder if that’s how Brittany Spears feels too).

Constant Attention: There are no tabloid reporters or paparazzi in Sare Sara, but that doesn’t stop people from wanting to know everything about you at every moment of the day. One of the harder parts of this first week has been the need to socialize 24/7. While I don’t consider myself a recluse, I certainly enjoy a certain amount of “me” time. This concept is wholly foreign in Senegal. Before installing, older volunteers advised us to spend as little time alone in our rooms as possible, even if that means napping outside on a mat instead of inside in bed – as long as you can be seen, it counts as being social. This is fine until that moment when you really just want to be alone or don’t want to repeat the same Pulaar greating for the 600^th time. Yes, I did wake up this morning. No, I did not wake up with evil. I now understand the dark side of fame.