Within the last few days, I was chatting with Logan and he asked me, “Have you updated your blog yet?” I told him that I hadn’t, explaining that I had writers block. Well, to more exact, I didn’t have the inspiration to write, although I had a couple of ideas. One of which was an outrageously ridiculous open-love-letter to [drum roll] fruit! Another was talking about the screaming girls that pierce my ears when I haven’t had any delicious instant coffee (Sam knows I’m not kidding, after the term in the middle east, I appreciate instant coffee). There’s also a narrative similar to the taxi one about cross the Pont Faidherbe, the large bridge between the sor and l’ile (mainland and island).
I told Logan that I wasn’t really feeling motivated. However, if I tried to write, I would quickly distract my self with 3D Sudoku (which is sweet) or something else of equal interest. (Side note, Logan and I have been together for a year now. Yay! We celebrated last Friday with a phone call. There’s not much you can do while this far away.)
This morning, I was eating breakfast – I had time to enjoy two cups of delicious Nescafe, and I started thinking. I started thinking about the summer of 2007 when I worked for the newspaper full time. While I was getting paid 40 hrs a week, I don’t think that is what my time sheet looked like, if I had kept closer track. But the thing is that I loved writing for the newspaper, and it was a lot of fun for me every week to do that job. But the same thing happened while I was working for the paper that I described to Logan. Sometimes, I just couldn’t write. Whenever that happened, I always ended up going into town to go to PCR or Eagle to grab flyers and work on the community calendar. Thinking about that gave me the motivation to write.
So here I am…
Yasmine – Yasmine is the woman who comes and cleans the house everyday. I don’t think she speaks much French. I’m assuming mostly Wolof. Because when she speaks in French and I don’t hear her, I ask her to say it again (the way my introductory level French teacher taught me) and then she gets confused. For example, this morning, I bought some toilet paper at the little shop literally 15 ft away from the house. She noticed that I bought it, so she asked me what it was, but when she asked me, I think she asked me “What you bought, what is it in England?” Which explains my confusion. In reality, I only heard the word “acheter” or “to buy” and “Angleterre” or “England.” And then when she went to the bathroom and pointed at it, I figured it out. And I told her that it was the same in French and English – tissue.
I think Yasmine is really pretty. One time she asked me how old I was, and I told her, and then tried to ask her how old she was, but she either didn’t understand or didn’t want to answer. Not sure. I’m guessing somewhere between 18 and 25. She has a really young face which makes me think that she might be 19 or 20, but at the same time, she has a regular job. I’m not sure what the age of getting a job in Senegal is – especially as a daily house cleaner – which I’m assuming requires more maturity, perhaps? I’m going to assume that she is done with school, and has possibly been doing this for a while, so that’s what I think she might between 20 and 25. That’s my logic. She also has really nice boubous (the traditional dress) when she comes, before changing into her cleaning clothes. Which makes me assume that she has had time to save money over a period of time to buy nice clothes.
Anyway, there’s my fit of inspiration/motivation for today. Tomorrow, I promise to write about the bridge, with pictures of the treacherous gaps that try to gobble up your leg when too busy looking at the surroundings. (This is also a tease to come back tomorrow and read!)