Where's the Beef?
Louga is kind of like Fort Worth, Texas, but without the
charm. (Being facetious here.) Louga is a cattle town. It northern Senegal's main transfer
station for beef on the hoof. I often see herds of longhorns being driven down
the road. (Not driven in a bus or truck, but driven as in a cowboy cow drive.) I'm not
sure where they are going, but man, there sure are a lot of open-air beef
butchers in the market.
So I have been here one month and I have apparently seen the
“cool season" come and go. It was really quite comfortable here for a few
weeks, but now, even though the early mornings are cool, the afternoons are
heating up into the high 90s again. When I go out it feels like the sun is a few
million miles closer than it is in New England. Maybe it actually is. I don’t
know.
Louga is all about the markets. There are several of them.
Three of them intermingle in the middle of town and snake out through sandy
side streets. Most of of the markets are out in the open air, but there are
some claustrophobic covered areas with narrow dark passageways. There’s a lot
of stuff in these markets, but, truth be told, it’s pretty much the same stuff
over and over again. There are the standard vegetables: carrots, lettuce,
eggplant, bitter tomatoes. For the life of me I can’t understand why people grow,
and how people sell, the latter. It tastes terrible and I don’t think anybody
really likes it. But check your ceebujen bowl at lunchtime and odds are it will
be in there.
Then there’s the used clothing, piled in heaps on the ground
with American company logos or insignias from U.S. parks or towns. I
imagine this stuff comes straight from those clothing collection boxes you find
at Wal-Mart or behind the gas station.
There is new clothing too, like outfits representing all the
Premier League football clubs. All of it made in China, I’m sure. If you want
cool clothing here, you have to go to a tailor and get it made.
What do I do for fun here? Well, I bought a basketball.
(And I am proud that I bargained the price down from 11 mille to 7.) I take it to the old
stadium down my street, where I shoot hoops with random kids who happen to be
around.
When I told the girls in my family that I had bought a
basketball, they got all excited, so I made a date to play ball with them on
Sunday. I brought the ball over to the compound at lunchtime and they tossed it
around and dribbled between their legs and had a blast.
By the end of our three hour lunch, I was feeling beat and
all of the kids had disappeared, so I took my ball and left for home. Ten
minutes later I heard pounding on my front door and little voices calling
“Cheikh! Cheikh!” It was the girls of course. (And one boy, Papi) The were all
dressed in their clean basketball shorts and jerseys and ready to rock the
court.
So we walked down the sandy road to the court with Coumba
and Papi spontaneously taking me by the hand along the way. Once there we were
engulfed in dribbling, passing, shooting, running chaos, with a couple of the
girls showing real skills. Then, suddenly with no warning, they were done and
we went back to my apartment where I gave them a pack of crackers and sent them
on their way.
They were all gone for awhile, presumably for the Gamou, and I missed them. But with most of my family gone I found myself spending less time at the
compound, and more at home or around town. I rode my bike out to the post office
today to see if, by chance, there were any Christmas presents waiting for me
there. But it was closed! Why? The day after Gamou and the day before
Christmas? No idea. On the way back I stopped at the bus station to get an idea
of how much it would cost to take my bike with me on a sept-place to Saint-Louis. Five mille, the guy said. I laughed and
offered him two. He came back at three. If I can get him to two next time I go
to Saint-Louis I will be happy.
Then I went the market where I tried to get some plastic lawn
chairs for less that four mille each without success. But while wandering
around I spontaneously decided to take a chance on some beef at one of the
fresh-air butchers. I got a nice hunk of good looking meat for a few bucks and
took it home for chili.
Eight hours later, I am still alive. The chili was good, but
the beef was tough.
Then it was Christmas Day. Christmas in Senegal doesn’t feel
like Christmas at all so I decided to not try to make it feel like Christmas.
Just another day off. I had my usual breakfast of hard boiled eggs on a baguette
from the sandwich lady on the corner. Then I went off to the Catholic church. It was a long service, but man the choir was great! Then I was off to lunch with my family. When I
told my Dad that I was going home to call my family in the states, he sweetly
asked me to wish them joyeux noel.
Nice.
It’s an odd day here. There’s been a thick cloud cover all
day and it feels unusually humid. Usually it’s sunny and dry.
The content of this blog do not reflect the thoughts, philosophy or beliefs of the U.S. Peace Corps. The opinions are those of the author alone.
