Wheres Waldo

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

I’ve come to the conclusion that if my life here in Dakar were a book, it would be Where’s Waldo (Difficulty: VERY EASY). As everyday passes, it seems I stand out more and more. Currently, there are three major visual factors that make me stand out. First, I am a tall, lanky, white guy. From a visual standpoint, this is the most obvious difference. It is a really weird sensation when I walk to jump on a bus in the morning and see nearly 1,000 people from close and afar during my walk, and I’m the only white person. Once in the city, seeing other toubabs isn’t out of the ordinary.

Being a toubab, you are in a sense, a target, and a times, it gets old. Not only do you have to fight for prices when haggling but you get pestered frequently. For example, this morning, as I was walking to the bus, a guy started talking to me…not a big deal. We were having a good conversation until he started talking about all his problems, lack of money, need for a passport, and etc. As I got to my bus, he wanted my phone number so he could have an American contact. I said I didn’t have a phone, so I couldn’t help him there. I think the next time that happens, I’m just gonna give them one of my State side friend’s numbers. You might say that getting asked this isn’t that bad, and in a sense it isn’t, but it definitely is an annoyance. It makes it difficult in determining people’s intentions. On a positive note, I was at the gas station today (most American places in Dakar) getting pizza for lunch, and the cashier was surprised I was speaking Wolof, and so we had a little conversation, which was cool. Its neat too when people have heard of Corps de la Paix

The second factor that is affecting my integration is the cast on my hand. I haven’t seen anybody else in Senegal with a cast. I don’t know if that makes them tough or me a trendsetter. It doesn’t matter where I go or who I am talking to, but I always get asked about my hand. I need to start making up good stories because saying I broke it during a game of basketball is more embarrassing than anything. If you have any good ideas, let me know. Every time I tell them they are amazed that I am still working. My dad (Senegelese) even asked if I was on vacation now. It would be nice to stroll over to Club Med for a few days, but I think that’ll have to wait for another injury.

The third and final factor is a new one. I finally got my haircut. I was invited to attend the Peace Corps Directors’ Reception at the Ambassadors House tomorrow night and felt that I needed to clean myself up. I was recommended to go to the barber just down the street.

With my brother and our baby nephew, we walked around the corner to the barber (The nice thing about Senegal is that you can pretty much walk to get things you may typically need). I sat down in the chair and tried to explain what I wanted done. My brother was there to back me up. Well, apparently neither one of us did a very good job.

With each clip of the scissors and motion of the electric razor, I was amazed at the barber’s technique. It was really the exact opposite of what I had experienced before. Instead of going forward and back with the clippers, he only went forward. The area around the sideburns, ear, neck, and bangs/forehead are another story. But, he was the barber, so I sat there very uncomfortably (a tear possibly rolled down my cheek). I think the only other time I’ve come close to being frightened getting my haircut was my first and last Wal-mart haircut experience in Scranton, PA one summer, but fortunately, the end result wasn’t bad.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t so lucky this time around. As soon as he was close to being done and before he could find the razor and try to give me a shave, I was fumbling through my pocket for my money, so I could be out the door and quickly put my hat on. It turned out to be the cheapest haircut I’ve ever had, but then again, anyone could tell just by looking. Because things typically don’t have a set price here, it is good to know the range for things. I ended up paying the guy 700 CFA, which according to his facial expression was a little high, but in the States, that equates to $1.40. I probably should have paid him less, but I felt bad because I doubt he was used to cutting hair like mine. I left and quickly put the hat on.

The minute I got home, the laughter started. I took a close look in the mirror and it looked horrendous…no sideburns, slightly crooked neckline, hair at various lengths, and the list could go on. I was gonna take a picture, but I smartened up.

Over the course of dinner and in between writing this post, I discovered my brother had a pair of electric clippers…problem solved. While I’m not the biggest fan of buzzing my hair, unless I am bored in the mountains by myself, I felt that I had to go ahead and save alittle dignity, and buzz it aliitle.

So, I guess the moral of this story is that it is not easy for me to play hide n seek in Dakar.