For those of you who are unaware, I’ve been spending the last two (almost three!) weeks in Saint-Louis, an island in northern Senegal close to the Mauritanian border. When I got here, the skies were clear blue and it was 90 degrees Fahrenheit. Now, we’re entering the windy season, and sand from the Sahara is clouding the sky. And it’s “cold,” meaning the temperature is in the 70s. The skies are green/grey now, the palm trees are swaying.
I’m doing an art residency, and I am one of two writers. The rest of my cohort are visual artists. I don’t think I would be here if not for this residency. Around this time last year I had found an article (link) about Saint-Louis and, as I tend to do, got obsessed with knowing more about this island. This led me to wonder about travel opportunities in the distant future, until I saw an open call for residents and applied. And, as I also tend to do, didn’t tell anyone until an e-mail came in my inbox stating my acceptance and everyone was happy for me but also (understandably) confused.
So, here I am. Walking across crowded market streets with women selling fish, peanuts, eggs. Baskets of limes balance on their heads, while boys sell oranges and guavas in horse carts. Goats and roosters wake me up with their persistent sounds, and I walk among them in the streets. The call to prayer is expected now, but that took me a while to get used to. I sometimes take naps with the entire city, but sometimes that is my favorite time to walk outside, when the city is silent.
That is one thing I took a while to get adjusted to - sound. The first nights, still in jet lag, I woke up consistently from the 4 am call to prayer. There are around ten mosques here, so no matter where you are you can usually hear one. At night, there are also other sounds such as people talking and distant parties. Oddly, on a night that was unusually silent, I had a difficult time falling asleep again because of how loud this silence was. The dark desert and its vastness was palpable.
I also had to get used to this city’s pace. It’s slow, in a way that can be lovely and simultaneously frustrating. Sometimes, stores don’t open until 4 in the afternoon. For instance, one of my favorite places is the French bookstore called “L’Agneau Carnivore.” But it is only open when the owner feels like it. When I was walking at my New York pace, a stranger commented that “Europeans are always in a rush to get somewhere.” At first, that struck me. The sentiment reverberated in me, and I decided to walk really slow. As slow as I can. The same man also said that walking slow means you’re not stressed. I’ve reverted back to my normal pace after a few days though, embracing the fact that I am an outsider.
I came here to write. And I have been doing so, with some occasional moments of interruption. The main thing I want to write about, which was only clear to me once I got here, is the architecture. The article that I read was about climate change and the water levels rising, putting Saint-Louis at risk of being flooded. What the article did not mention, and what I am trying to write about, is the fact that most buildings are cracking and falling apart due to the erosion from the sand and salt that blows with these desert winds. During the summer, Senegal is in its rainy season. Most buildings are old, but poorly maintained. They are patched up with imported cement and a mix of sand and seashells, which is not durable or sustainable.
Anyway, I’ll save the rest for my upcoming article! Like I was saying, I’ve had some moments of interruption. I have appreciated how much the two residency hosts are taking care of us, since they are used to some people having culture shocks. However, this residency has more activities than I anticipated, so I haven’t been able to be fully independent with my time. I’m still grateful for all that has been provided for us. We went on an architecture tour, we had a traditional cloth-dyeing workshop, we saw a concert and are going to a film screening, and on Christmas day we are all going on a boat tour!
I will cherish the rest of my nine days here, even though I am also thrilled to be back home.
In other news, I wrote a book review of The Long Form by Kate Briggs in the Brooklyn Rail’s December Issue! I was reading this book before I left, and it also has time and slowness as a theme. It’s about a mother and daughter. I wrote:
“It makes sense that Briggs has spent many years as a translator, notably translating the work of Roland Barthes. I can imagine the time she spent on her own novel, working similarly as she does on her translations, focused on every word, re-reading and purposefully choosing each word. In a sense, “mothering” the book. Tending to it, as she would with translation and as one would with a newborn, in an act of care. Translating is preserving the original message, story, and voice of the author.”
You can read the review here (click me)!