I can tell it's been a while since I last posted anything, because the henna on my feet has long since faded. Except the toenails never lose the color. When you keep an eye out for it, you'll notice on the nails of all the women here strokes of burnt red, in crosses, stripes in some stage or another of growing out.
I have trouble grasping the idea that I've been here for seven months. It's gone so fast, but at the same time, it feels like a year or more. It still feels impermanent (my time here), but at the same time, I feel really at home. Almost. Although I can say the thought of family and Mexican food that awaits me in the ever imminent future is marvelous. I'm not sure what will become of my blog, though, when this journey's said and done.
So ever since I wrapped up my field visits a couple weeks ago, I've been nestled in Thiès and reluctant to move. Although my girlfriends and I make it to the beach some weekends, or Dakar when we're feeling really ambitious. I'm not stranger to big cities, but when I'm in Dakar I feel like a country mouse. My friends that live there like the ultra-swanky Lebanese bars where, no matter what I'm wearing, I feel very underhip. The bartenders ask my order in Wolof which means they think I'm in the Peacecorps. Which inevitably means I look frizzy, malnourished, and most likely wearing Birkenstocks. (Which respectively, I'm not, I'm not, and ok, I am).
