Toubab Dialaw

17 février 2008

This weekend I visited paradise. Yes, it was heaven on earth. Unfortunately I had this nagging feeling that I was in an oasis and that just outside was poverty and toil- I don’t know maybe it was the skinny children begging for coins on the side of the road or the tattered and dirt-colored clothing that everyone wore. At any rate, I had a fabulous vacation.

No, what really happened this weekend is that I got a glimpse of how most Toubabs experience Senegal, and I came to realize quite quickly why the Senegalese dislike the French so thoroughly. It’s true, we went to an indescribably picturesque coastal village two hours outside of Dakar, but it was far from heaven on earth. I was constantly torn between the desire to return the teranga (hospitality) shown to me by chatting with locals, and the desire to shout at them to leave me alone because I did not want to buy any of their goods at inflated prices. In comparison to vendors in Dakar who have to deal with big African mommas skilled at waxaale (bartering), these vendors make out like bandits- the same pair of shoes that I would by for 2000 cfa, they sell for 8000. But they nonetheless live day-to-day, making ends meet with whatever they can convince tourists to pay.

At any rate, it was an odd experience to be staying in a luxurious hotel with a bunch of other white people (a few Canadians, but mostly old French people) where the night guard will stop what he’s doing to get you a soda at 1 am and the staff will readily tell you what beaches are reserved for “les blancs”- whites. I am used to the chaos of Dakar where my whiteness is swallowed up by the masses of Senegalese people, the smoke from burning garbage, and the black exhaust of taxis. Except for the occasional teenager who tries to get my attention by making kissing sounds, I am either ignored or greeted like everyone else. I am a student living in Dakar, and I think, look, and act like one. People on the way to school know me, we chat in Wolof, I buy fruit or cucumbers, and I pass them on the way home, telling them “Maangi ñibbi, ba suba (inchalla)!”- I’m going home now, see you tomorrow (God willing)! But to the villagers at Toubab Dialaw I was just another wallet, and I admit that to be judged so effortlessly and unfairly was upsetting.

The weekend was nonetheless fantastic. Without anywhere to go except the beach, and room and board paid by the program, there was no alternative to being an unadulterated tourist. So I accepted the inevitability of it. I went to the beach with my book and my ipod and stretched out in the sun, which was deliciously warm. When I got too hot, I plunged into the frigid (really, it was COLD) ocean, fighting against the enormous waves and dangerous undertow. It was a rush. I also climbed the boulder just off the shore with a bunch of friends and sat there for awhile while waves soaked us. (See coordinating Facebook picture…) We ordered drinks, played Frisbee, took long walks along the beach (haha, how cliché), and shopped for jewelry which the ladies on the beach brought to us in handmade wicker baskets that they carry on their heads.

It really was lovely, but so utterly artificial. The only reason I supported such an escapade was because it was part of a larger, and much more genuine, experience in Senegal. I have come to be very critical of tourism like the kind I saw at Toubab Dialaw; even if it does swell the local economy, it gives people the impression that they have experienced Senegal when they have simply been transplanted, language, customs, and all, into another place. Case in point, meals: we ate pasta, salad (absolutely no one eats salad in Senegal!) and egg rolls at various meals, served to us on individual plates with fork, knife, and spoon, and washed down with American beverages that a waitress brought us. Not Senegalese. Nor were the pristine beaches, or the candy-colored little stores, or the flushing toilets with toilet paper (although I did appreciate that little detail…) I do feel a bit snobbish passing judgment on the other tourists, but I have a hard time getting over the fact that they are perfectly willing to accept the sugar-coated experience presented to them without any further thought. Knowing how wonderful Senegal is- both the people and the place itself are inspiring- it is frustrating to see others barely skim the surface and still leave satisfied.

In short, I think my sentiments toward Toubab Dialaw are similar to those of the Goree Island visit. While I recognize that tourism is an important source of revenue for Senegal, I hate the imagery I see of Black Africa reaching its hand out to the great White West for preservation.