Memórias de Dakar

foto retirada daqui


Por mera curiosidade, fiz uma busca no google à escola onde andei em Dakar, o instituto de Notre Dame, que é um "colégio de freiras" como se costuma dizer, e dei com o blog de uma rapariga que andou nessa mesma escola, e na mesma altura que eu. Portanto, vivemos no mesmo lugar, na mesma altura e sensivelmente com a mesma idade. Fui lendo as passagens que ela escreve sobre Dakar e aos poucos fui-me lembrando daquela cidade miscelânea, onde se encontra miséria de um lado riqueza extrema do outro, onde podemos encontrar paisagens lindas, praias magníficas de um lado, e imundice e desgovernação do outro. Vou transcrever o que ela escreve e se lembra de Dakar. E eu subscrevo quase inteiramente, porque vi e vivi o mesmo.

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

Extraído do blog Les Nuits Masquées