Growing up in Dakar Part II

These are just a few pics of my childhood.

Budding Little Thing

The woman in red is my mum. The little girl running on the beach is my older sister. And the beachbabe in the woman's tummy, well, that's me. I must be about 5 months.



Some early morning in the 70s. Just popped out. This is the clinic room and the woman in yellow is my mum. She's got her Ugly Betty frames on, as you can see. I dig the color yellow already! The box on the side table was probably a gift from visitors. I know what it is just by looking at it. It's filled with petits-fours from the Marquise cake shop, my favourite French patisserie in Dakar. My mum had a mammary infection when I was born and when she tried to breast feed me I could only draw blood (already the little vampire!) I guess that's why I'm crying. I want cake.

Early Childhood

This shot was probably taken at Tahiti beach. The topless little girl on the far right is me, probably eating a frozen yogurt. I know I'm 4 in this picture because my baby brother has now taken my place in the woman in red's tummy. The toubab on the far left is my uncle.



Here's me getting my hair in rastas by the maid Marie-Helene. She's lovely and smells like the oil she uses to moisturise her hair. I'm actually in France here. As a toddler, I was sent to France to live with my grandma for 2 years. Something about my health not being very good. I had colics and wanted to play during the night (you little vampire you!) When I was in France the only black person I knew was my beloved Marie-Helene. My grandma said that when we returned to Senegal, I called every stranger Marie-Helene. Funny me. When I finally saw my mum at 3, I didn't know who the hell she was. Apparently that was stressful for her.

Pre-school

Dakar. Kindy visit. My dad orchestrated this shot so he could send it to my grandmother. I asked him to take a shot of me with my friends. All the guys in the photos were my buddies so I'm beaming (far right). The teacher was nice: she didn't hit. No one forced me to use my right hand. It was all good.



I remember this. My dad insisted on taking a shot of the other kids. The two toubab girls sitting on my left were very catty towards me and they never played with me because I looked Asian. The girl with the strapless dress is espcially catty. Anyway, I didn't want them in the photo. To punish them. But my dad didn't listen and insisted on this photo with me in the center. It's obvious from the murderous gaze that I'm sending in his direction that I'm not impressed. I'm clutching at my shirt from sheer frustration while the two evil princesses are lapping it up.

School in Dakar

Grade One, Institution Notre Dame. This is my school in Dakar. It spans grade 1 to 12. My class, as you can see from this school photo is huge. There are actually in the vicinity of 50 students. The smart kids get to sit in the front and the trouble makers are relegated to the back seats. This system privileges wealthy families because some kids who come from nearby villages don't have sufficient breakfast nor enough sleep to be able to concentrate and the more they are sent to the back, the more their confidence dwindles while they don't get enough support and attention from the teacher to improve. This ingenious school is run by nuns. But the nuns are kinder. Lay teachers hit and humiliate students so that their self-esteem gets a 'big boost' from a very young age. Once, a girl wet herself and was publically mocked in the class. We were strictly asked to laugh at her while she was made to stand in her wet clothes in a bucket. It was weird.
I'm one of the few (and only asian) in the class. I'm in the front row wearing a white cardigan and sporting ugly mocassins. Contrary to the other years where the fear of punishment and humiliation motivate me to excel, I'm not top of my class during grade one, because I can't see the blackboard (this was remedied in the next year when I began wearing glasses). In the end of year rewards ceremony, I receive a "Little Miss something" book as a prize for coming fifth in my class. My mum is not happy and tells me that I should have come first. I remember looking down at my ugly mocassins and feeling that I don't deserve the "Little Miss something" book. Reading the book at home only depresses me.


Also See:
Growing Up in Dakar Part III
Growing Up in Dakar

Growing up in Dakar

Yesterday I came across an amazing travel blog where the author worked with handicapped children in Senegal. She detailed her cultural experiences so well that I was happily transported to my childhood in Dakar. I was grateful that Karen would take the time to share her wonderful cultural experiences in Senegal and I welcomed this third party introspection into my childhood.

Karen's Travel Blog

For most people the thought of electricity cuts, water rationing, bug bites, food poisoning, rampant poverty, dusty unkept roads, overflowing sewers/garbage does not spell a happy childhood but for me, these things are inseperable from the magic of my early years. The person I once was, who took nothing for granted, is the person I admire today. After many years in Australia, with so much wealth surrounding me, I have grown to be very different from the frugal, empathic little girl that I once was. The wisdom of my youth has left me somewhat so that I have sadly grown to expect a certain level of comfort and to expect certain standards from my environment. Isn't that the way of the developed world? Still, though I know that this child still exists somewhere. I am reminded of my past frequently. I laugh everytime I see a water restriction ad in Brisbane. One of them advises: "Turn off the tap to save water while your brush your teeth." Well it's rather obvious, I think...

Here are some of my recollections from growing up in Dakar until the age of 9:


-the dirt and garbage littered streets - I thought Australia was amazingly clean when I first arrived here
-the never ending noisy constructions along our busy street
-daily walks to school past the unfortunate lepers
-maimed children wheeling themselves in tin carts
-children polishing shoes for a living
-the amount of people living on cardboards near the markets
-the stinky but exciting Marche Sandaga
-being spoken to in French, Wolof, Lebanese or basic English
-the mosquito bites that would leave me with no respite
-not showering for days due to water shortages
-watching the maids handwash our clothes and hearing that squishy soapy noise that as much as I tried I could not replicate, much to their amusement
-helping the maids sweep the floors with the reed broom
-getting whacked with the reed broom by a furious maid
-being frightened whenever the maid 'prepared' a live chicken for dinner
-learning traditional dance moves from Casamance with the locals
-playing awesome traditional games at school
-the friendly villagers outside my school gate who used to sell strange fruits that our parents forbade us to buy (for health/safety reasons) but which we ate all the same, like green mango with salt and chilli, the orange, pulpy 'mad' which is delicious and tangy especially with a little sugar and chilli, or the 'pain de singe' (monkey bread) powdered and served into a paper cone...
-the delicious Senegalese dishes: Domoda, Maffe (chicken/vegetables in peanut sauce served with rice), Yassa (fish or chicken in lemon sauce), fish pastels (fish filled pastries served with tomato paste and onion),Thiep Bou Dien (Senegal's national dish, tasty fried fish and rice served with a large array of vegetables including manioc and gombo, my favourites), couscous...
-Shelling and eating boiled peanuts
-Growing peanuts for fun
-Trying to wash my teeth with a plant called a soutiou (spelling?)
-Wearing a boubou and tying my brother to my back using a pagne.
-Singing the Senegalese lullaby, "Ayo Nene Touti" to my little brother.
-Listening to the maids recount legends and myths from their village.
-The resounding call to prayer and the "Allah w akbar" belting out of public speakers from the mosque minarets
-the elegant Senegalese men in their long white robes and fez
-the coquettish Senegalese women in their multicolored textiles and ample gold jewellery
-getting my hair done in rastas, as a toddler
-coconut vendors by the road on the way to the beach, buying coconuts and breaking a hole in the husk to drink the juice, then eating the tender pulp afterwards
-climbing rocks by the Atlantic sea
-climbing poles in the schoolyard
-climbing anything really....
-the array of pirogues lined up along the beaches
-swimming in the Atlantic ocean, among abundant seaweeds and pungent fish smells
-Losing consciousness and almost drowning in the Atlantic ocean and coming to after being rescued by Italian teenagers, only to watch my mum running frantically towards the beach. (scary memory that one)

How wonderful. I feel that I must write more on this subject very soon.

Courting the Holidays

Just on a short break from uni. I haven't ceased contemplating and dabbling about aimlessly. To begin, I vaguely (but only vaguely) considered a trip to Queenstown, just like that, only to remind myself how snow looks like. But without warning, the icy, dry winds picked up in Brisbane and I realised then, much to my surprise, how bony and fat-less I am and how much that trip to Queenstown may eventually cost me from a chill factor. Severely discouraged from ever becoming a snowboarding champion, I decided to stay put and to continue what I've since been doing in Brisbane, covering myself like a ridiculous snow bunny all the while making Nivea and Garnier very rich.

It's a pity really because at least 3 of my friends (and that includes the Twisted One) have snowboarded and I've always wanted to try it out.

Oh, well. Poor me.

To cheer myself up, I decided to indulge in "Les Laisons Dangereuses". By Jove it's working. I'm having a marvellous time as I read each of the scandalous letters that constitute this 18th century novel. At last, a means of indirectly giving way to my frivolous libertinage!! I feel just as I did when I first discovered my mother's saucy vampire comic books as a child. (Well not quite, but it's close, very close.) What delicious pleasures this correspondence affords me. Ok, I'm only exaggerating, there's nothing really osé about the novel (so far, anyway). In fact it's simply hilarious. I'm laughing all the way. To be honest it's the most witty thing I've ever read primarily because it's so damn well written. In short, I feel jealous of Laclos. And whatsmore I find it so amusing that nothing really has changed these days in matters of courting and amorous liaisons. How advanced is this Laclos? I mean, to have expounded in such a shameless manner all the human motivations and machinations of courting, rejection, seduction etc...etc...No wonder this novel was banned in France at the time! I even read that Marie Antoinette had hidden a copy of the book before she was emprisonned. I guess no woman could resist the appeal of forbidden fruit.

To further entertain my sordid imagination, I've begun to speculate on what character I could possibly embody from the Liaisons Dangereuses. While the Marquise de Merteuil would no doubt possess a splendid wardrobe, and this in itself would appeal to my excessive vanity, I'm nevertheless convinced that I'd do much better as a man of disrepute. I think the ridiculous Vicomte de Valmont would suit me to a t.

So there you have it, Les Liaisons Dangereuses.
Worth a peak.

I can only wonder why it was never recommended to me in my teenage years. I'm sure that I would have appreciated it, if only as a self-help book. I do think no serious curriculum should be without it. If not, how would one ever learn to recognise a Valmont? Or a Merteuil, for that matter?

Belated Postcards - Great Wall of China

In October last year I did what every self-respecting Chinese must do: I climbed the great wall of China!!! It so happens that the Chinese part of me ( 1/16th or thereabouts) was simply thrilled to make this hyper-elating journey. Yes, my ancestors, I have not failed you!




So how did the day go again?
Ah, yes.

Oct 2006. After stuffing ourselves with pastries from the Novotel's breakfast buffet, we cought a taxi to Tiannamen Square. Across from Tiannamen Square, just beside the Qianmen metro stop, is the Qianmen Tour Bus station. We didn't want to do the Ming tombs, so we bought a tour ticket to Badaling only. Then we sat in a waiting room for an available bus. It was amusing seeing the mounting confusion in that room. We sat there among other clueless domestic tourists until the number corresponding to our tour number was called. (Hint: sign the number with your fingers for confirmation if you prefer...just don't get on the wrong bus!)

Now listen carefully: Do WHATEVER you can to get on that bus. Before the 11th of the month, that is, 'voluntarily wait in line' day was inaugurated in Beijing, there was a lack of a queue etiquette. Things should be much improved by 2008. LOL. If not, don't be intimidated and don't take things personally. You simply have to push in...gently. Just be assertive. Hopefully, if you mind your manners and stick to your spot you'll get on that bus without having to wait for another one to arrive. But they are scheduled frequently anyway so it wouldn't be the end of the world.




After about 1.5 hours drive in a comfy air-con bus, we stopped at the scenic spot of Badaling where visitors have two choices for climbing the wall:
1. They can walk up past each tower to a remarkable scenic spot, the eighth tower I think, to admire sweeping views of the restored wall snaking across beautiful ondulating hills OR
2. They can choose to catch the cable car directly up to the eighth tower.

The second option is highly recommended if you have opted to do the sensible thing and are wearing high heels on your visit to the Great Wall. WHAT THE?? Although, come to think of it, I did spot a couple of tourists braving the steps in their killer heels. I admired their composure. It was all done very stylishly.



Beware, it is a physically exhausting climb, bring water! However, if you are fit, you shouldn't listen to those clever tour operators who assure you that you MUST take the cable car. We were almost conned into it. We bought the tickets thinking we had no choice and found that we could simply walk from the bottom up. Later, we went to the ticket office to get a refund for the unused cable car tickets. All in sign language, since I don't know enough Mandarin (yet) but we managed to be understood and it was all in good spirit. The tour operator didn't make a deal of it but I think she was a little sheepish afterwards. Overall though, skip the cable car, make sure you have plenty of Getorade or salty chips or whatever, to keep your legs from cramping due to the non-stop stepping, and off you go!!!! You little trooper!

Jason the little trooper.

Badaling is really an easy climb compared to some more 'authentic' parts of the Great Wall. You know, those other 'real' parts of the Great Wall, that I have not experienced since I'm just a loser compared to all those intrepid and experienced travellers out there. LOL! :)
Here's a thought in case you are considering a visit. In 221 BC, Qin dynasty, there existed only a little part of the great wall. I guess it is the Qin wall that could be called the 'authentic' bit. Following that, during the Han, Jin and Ming dynasties, further sections of the wall were built and/or renovated. Following that, some sections of the wall continue to be maintained and restored...right up till now. Kind of makes authenticity very relative. Can you imagine someone telling emperor Zhu Di, back in the Ming dynasty, that his wall is not the 'real' wall???? That it's not authentic??? Whatever. They'd be automatically emprisoned by the embroidered uniform guards. Or worse. So get over it, it's the real thing!!!!

Here it is then, for your enjoyment. It's the Great Wall of China and it spans kilometers and centuries:

Hot Women

Ok, just so you know, I'm one of the biggest perverts on the planet. Nothing wrong with that, right? Problem is, I only perve at women. There are so many gorgeous creatures on earth it would be such a waste to refrain myself from admiring them. Nothing like an honest, appreciative glance in the direction of living art.

And you know, it's a common trait in many women. You have probably noticed the way some women explicitly check each other out and the way female strangers often glance across the room or street at each other, zooming in on the fine details of each other's outfits or hairstyle. Whenever this happens, men like to imagine that it is because we envy and/or are jealous of each other. That's a possibility. But I reckon it's wishful thinking from some men who like to entertain the idea of alpha-female competition. I reckon they imagine all that nasty stuff in order to reassure themselves of their worth. Because I assure you, if jealousy were the only reason for the amount of female perving that goes on out there, then women must derive a hell of a lot of pleasure from feeding their jealousies.

Now I'm getting to the point. One of the funniest things about girls is watching them ooh and aah to one another when they first meet up for a night out. High pitched voices fizzing all over the place:

- You look hot!
- No, you look hot!!
- Honey, I love your skirt!
- Oh, wow! Your hair looks so good like that.
- Where did you get your bag?
etc... etc...

To a lot of people, especially those who are unappreciative of aesthetics, this sounds just like a drawn out compliment seeking ritual and it's severely frowned upon as superficial babbling. But if you listen closely, it's all too evident!! To hear these gals speak you'd think they wanted to tear each others' clothes off and get it on. Well yes, some would now, wouldn't they?
The only problem is that many females refuse to do that. (You know, get it on.) In the dark recesses of their minds, they'd like to pash their hot best friend, well, perhaps, but for some reason, they can't seem to make any moves?? And so it goes.
Ever heard of the male gaze? It's a cinematic term for the way the camera simulates the gaze of men over particular objects (usually naked women) during filming. The 'gaze' evokes male desire. No, not female desire. Just male desire. That's just how it is in film. Anyway, forget it. My theory, is that in real life, women become uncomfortable whenever they exercise a 'male gaze' over other women. They end up sublimating their feelings through an overly explicit display of appreciation for other women's superficial attributes (clothes,hair etc...) That way, they can keep perving but for legitimate reasons.
It's only a theory, get over it. No one else thinks like me.
So who cares right?

Anyway since we're on the subject, I'm going to list my Tops (not in any order).

Women I find HOT:
1. Scarlett Johanssen - especially in Match Point, wow! The best.
2. Eva Green - my favourite Bond girl. Acid on ice.
3. Asia Argento - sigh
4. Salma Hayek - an ingenious, talented person. A true inspiration.


Women who I find absolutely perfect and whom I elevate to muse status. (i.e. You can look but you can't touch.)

1. Rosamond Pike
2. Charlize Theron
3. Sophie Marceau (10 years ago)
4. Monica Belluci (5 years ago)
5. Aishwarya Rai (5 years ago)
Isabelle Adjani would be somewhere in there too...does that woman ever age?

AND
last but not least,
Women that fascinate me, but not necessarily for their physique:

1. Kirsten Dunst - I can't figure her out. Intense. Especially in Mona Lisa Smile.
2. Oksana Akinshina (from Lilja forever)
3. Julia Stiles
4. Kylie Travis - my favourite 'bitch' from Models Inc. Oh, that voice!
5. Asia Argento (especially in XxX)
6. Queen Latifah - I really don't know why. Her smile brightens me up anyday. I get all tingly and stuff...very soulful.
7. Ashley Judd - After careful consideration, I think she was my mum in a previous life.
8. And many strangers...

Bang On

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