The Music of Dakar

Each swerving turn and sudden brake causes our bodies to sway together with an intimacy usually reserved for lovers, a unison akin to a choreographed dance. My sweaty palms grip my backpack and I plant my feet in an effort to restrict my movement along the bench. However the overwhelming number of bodies on the car rapide is part of its success. The more humans squished onto the stiff benches, the less room we have to move and bump elbows. We work together to fill the space, our edges and corners delicately fitting together. My elbow nudges above her hip, while her head rests gently against his arm. And while this human puzzle winds along Dakar’s bumpy streets we mostly sit in silence, the quiet broken only for a quick phone call home or the pop of a peanut being cracked as one enjoys an evening snack. It is as if on this ride we support each other through the trials of the day with this short refuge. The heat inside the tan can of a bus builds, but every rider has a chance to just sit and be. Their bodies relax into the messiness of the ride and there is an unspoken solidarity as we inhabit this small space together for just a couple minutes at the end of the day.

Yet the world outside our bubble of transportation buzzes with noise and activity. In my last full week of living in Dakar, I realize it is the magic and diversity of the sounds of the city that I will miss most. In one week I am going to The Gambia with friends for Spring Break, a chance to rest after seven weeks of development, education and language classes. Upon returning to Dakar I am then moving to Nioro du Rip in the Kaolack region of Senegal for six weeks. I will be interning at the Adja Penda Ba School, which was founded by the non-profit Open International and works to educate the population of rural Senegal by providing a high quality education to all students, especially young girls. I am eager to get back into a teaching role in the classroom and am excited for the next phase of my Senegal adventure. I know, however, that I will miss the city of Dakar and the tapestry of naturally occurring music which provides the soundtrack to each day.

Though each day feels far from routine, there are certain moments that I associate not so much with a time but an accompanying sound effect. Here is a look at my life in Dakar through the songs of the city.

A Call to Prayer, a Time to Rise: As I step outside my room and walk along the balcony surrounding the outdoor courtyard in the center of my house, I am surrounded by the sound of the call to prayer from the Mosque nearby. In the veiled light of the morning I am enveloped by the singing that marks the start of the day. As I set up for my quotidian yoga practice I am reminded of how far I am from Silver Spring, and I am consistently mesmerized by the fact that I am actually living in Senegal.

An Outburst of Urban Sound: On the walk to school the stillness in my house is broken by the chorus of honking taxis and street vendors calling out to passersby. The car rapides speed by, only coming to a rolling stop as the boys standing on the back bumper and hanging off the door bang a coin on the window to yell the route. Ouakham, pronounced “Wah-com” sounds like a bird call as the “wah” swells and fades while the car drives by. The air is heavy with smog and car fumes, and the women selling peanuts and men selling peeled oranges are just setting up for the day, already calling out their hopefully enticing “Bonjours!” and “Ça va’s?” We navigate the busy sidewalks, speaking loudly to be heard over the cacophony of the city.

A Quiet, Polished Haven: For the majority of the day I study, eat, and socialize at the West African Research Center (WARC). The faculty at WARC consists of many well educated Senegalese professors and researchers, their French polished and their British-sounding English clear and enunciated. The patio at WARC is quiet when it is not lunch time, save for the mews of a kitten and the gentle tapping of students on their computers. WARC is my other family in Senegal, and this calm refuge in the business of the city is a constant source of support from teachers, fellow students, and friends.

Bouncing Soccer Ball in Courtyard: When I return home in the evening, in the shadow of the evening call to prayer, I open the door to the shouts of my three young host brothers and the smacks of a soccer ball against the wall. Every few laughs are broken by an outraged shout as someone starts to cry over an unfair push or a stolen ball, but after a couple swift slaps from the older brother (or after a few mediating words from me) we return to the game. Their high-pitched, rapid French was once a constant puzzle, but now we are able to understand each other. Despite their awkward giggles I always try and throw in some English words as well.

Senegalese Music on Tinny Radio: After dinner, when the house quiets down, I have a few moments to work on homework in my cozy, corner bedroom. As I open up my French-English dictionary and the text I have to read, I hear the maid downstairs in the courtyard filling the buckets to wash the dishes from dinner. The metal pots bang together in the gentle sloshing of the water, and while they soak I hear her small radio turn on, its tinny speakers projecting traditional Senegalese music. She scrubs and dries, while I sit upstairs with my readings on my lap, and both of us work to the sound of Senegal’s songs.

American Podcast: Not too late into the night, the business of the day gets to me and my eyes start to droop. After a day lived in a bubble of French and Wolof I plug in my headphones and fall asleep listening to a podcast. The gentle, educated American accent or clipped British inflection is a safety blanket as I doze off. It all sounds comfortingly familiar, especially as I have begun to re-listen to the small collection of episodes I have downloaded onto my phone. The stories are now predictable and have been woven into the dialogue of my day. While I fall asleep I am reassured by the knowledge that my day tomorrow in my current home of Dakar will start just like today’s, with a call to prayer breaking through the dawning light.