Center-ville

by Eva Peskin | 2009

I am walking down the street and everyone is looking at me. I am sure. I am sure of it. Or is that hugely narcissistic? Why would everyone be looking at me? Am I ascribing some kind of culturally ingrained sense of importance or authority to myself? I am not so special, they don't care about me. They don't care, maybe, but they are looking. I can feel it. The bridge is coming and the bridge is the worst.

How is it that there are always 12 million high schoolers and middle schoolers crossing the bridge at the same time as me? Some of the younger kids make a motion to shake my hand as they walk by me. Are they making fun of me? I shouldn't have worn my pagne, I can never keep it closed on the bridge, it's too windy. This is embarrassing; how do Senegalese women keep their skirts together in this wind? How much more painfully obvious can it be that I wore this pagne because I thought it might make me look like I fit in more? I think the girls behind me just said something about a xonq-nop. I know they are talking about me. I bet they think I don't know what xonq-nop means. Should I say something? Don't step on the broken plank. I wish I weren't wearing this stupid skirt that doesn't even fit me right. It probably fits me right, I just can't tie it. If I had a female friend, maybe she could show me how to do it right. Wishful thinking. I want to buy sugar peanuts after I wacc, but I don't want to take out my money in front of all these kids, I wonder if I have any change in my pocket wait I don't have a pocket because I AM WEARING A FREAKING SARONG. If I buy sugar peanuts, I bet the shoe seller guy will notice and try to be "friends" with me again. I want the shoes he's selling, but the prospect of waxaale-ing is just too much for me to handle right now. God, my feet are disgusting, I should start doing ablutions five times a day. I can't even think about touching my feet right now, ugh. That would be really disrespectful if I used someone's ablution water to wash my feet because I am too lazy to keep them clean on my own terms. Ok, the end of the bridge, buy the sugar peanuts or don't? Don't, don't, too many people around. I'll go to the lady by the boutique.

I wonder if Tam-Tam is around, I wonder if Bo Bo is around. I shouldn't go up the second street, Yaya and Ziggy might be there. I can't tell if I want to be friends with them. It seems like a bad idea, but Yaya is nice. And the dancer guy is really good looking. Ziggy is a little too friendly, I think. Why are the puppy dog ones always the ones interested in me? They are so enthusiastic about sharing their Guinean sauce, what a funny thing to keep offering, it sounds delicious. It would be so romantic-like to hang out with a Guinean band and eat and dance with them in their artist apartments or whatever they were talking about. Would it really be, though? Or would it just sound that way when I told people about it after the fact and actually be really uncomfortable in the process? I mean, I guess the latter. But on fait comme ca, n'est-ce pas? Shit, I think that was Foday and I didn't say anything. Will he come say something to me? JK, it's Foday's creepy cousin, what was he doing in Podor? That was so weird. He is so weird.

I can never remember if Pape Laay's house is before or after Monsieur Barry's tailor. If I go down the wrong street I am going to look so obvious. I feel like such a tool walking in circles around the block, but all the doors look the same. I should just write down the house number this time, I might have it in my notebook, but I can't just stop and start pulling out directions. Du ma touriste, de. I think that was one of those ladies from Fatou's, I wonder if she recognized me, I should visit – I said I would, but we say a lot of things we don't mean. White lies, like the Baobab Center told us. I feel bad though, it would be pretty interesting to hang out with them again, although the novelty will have probably worn off so we would have to talk about things besides teranga. Or I guess we wouldn't. People are so much more comfortable with silence here, it is really nice. I should go to Yaram's house sometime – I should stop at Youssou's on my way back. Laye is so cute, but I can't tell how old he is at all. He is going to be such a Sy-Sy, well, he already is a Sy-Sy but he looks like he's 15 so you can't really take it seriously. I still really want sugar peanuts. I don't think there are any between here and Pape Laay's. Those mangoes look so delicious; I'll get some for Youssou on the way back. I don't get why Asi and Ami like me so much, I don't do anything. I guess because I am nice to Mame Aicha, but how could you not be, she is the cutest thing ever. Also, I don't talk too much, which I have discovered is a good thing. I think that's why my host family liked me so much. Not challenging like other American girls. It's so funny that my charm-success strategy here turns out to be reticence.

I think this is it, I feel like I recognize that goat. It is so fat. Maybe it's pregnant. It is so hard to tell if they are pregnant or if they just ate something indigestible. That is definitely the same goat. I want to raise goats when I get home. Is this it? Yes. I hope I'm not the first one here.

Related work by Eva Peskin:
Going (Coming) Home
The Resto
Ataaya
Hotel de le Jeunesse
Adhan

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