Dakar is Whooping my A...Butt!

I won't be coy, I’ll get straight into the meaning of the title. Dakar, for those who don't know the city, is the capital of Senegal which is a country in West Africa. I’ve been here for approximately three weeks and have about four more weeks to endure. I am scheduled to leave on the second of January, so next year. I love making that joke. It’s a beautiful city–a peninsula that is surrounded on all sides by beaches, warm water, and fisherman. Nevertheless, its beauty might be a fatal attraction as everything that seems to go wrong has. Let me explain.

Dakar hit me with a haymaker the very first day. My flight landed around 8:00 pm and once I got through customs, bought a sim card, charged my phone, and took money out of the ATM, it was around 10:30 pm. So, it was late and I was tired. What makes it even more challenging is the Airbnb I scheduled canceled on me while I was in the air and they were not responding to my messages. So on faith, I took an hour-long taxi from the airport to the location where the guest house was supposed to be. Surprise, it wasn't there. In Dakar, Airbnb is not given by addresses, but by the latitudinal and longitudinal coordinates for its exact location.

I was riding around in a taxi for about an hour trying to find the place in the dark and a cab driver who didn't speak English. In fact, he didn't speak French either, only Wolof, the most predominant tribal language in Senegal. I was exhausted so I told him to drop me off at the nearest hotel we could find. I overpaid him by double and got dropped off at a sub-par hotel right above a nightclub. You guessed it I did not sleep well. The next day I scrambled to find one place to stay and found one at the very top of the peninsula called Ngor Village. Although the beach was a five-minute walk away from where I was staying, there was a cultural starkness between the bars and hotel on the beach and the area I was staying at. I mean, there were actual flocks of goats walking around bopping their heads up and down, bleeding, and nursing their young. Once I settled in, I went to my first Jui Jitsu lesson that night. After I came back, the people in the village were praying the Quran on a loudspeaker right outside my window until 1:30 am. You guessed it. I did not sleep well that night either.

My first two days were a precursor for my time here. It was hard for me to go outside during this period because I was intimidated by the challenge I faced. I stick out like a sore thumb, and I don't speak the language. Add to this the informal attitudes, and apathetic disposition towards service of what feels like any kind (like taking orders for food for example), and my guard was up! I perceived staring as a threat like they were going to try and take advantage of me because I was a foreigner, and their lack of zeal to accommodate me when trying to perform basic tasks was disdain. It’s weird here because, in Senegal, I’m American, not black. In the U.S., whether or not they wanted to identify with such, they would be black and solidarity would be found. It finally hit me, that the Watson would not be a cakewalk. In Thailand, it was easier because I had structure; a consistent schedule because of training and the people there spoke English so I didn't feel out of place. Here it is different and I assume in my other countries it will be the same.

I got over the intimidation but it just seems like this country has it out for me. For example, I moved out of the first Airbnb because it was not centrally located, and didn't lend itself to long-term stays. There were also cockroaches in the apartment. Fast forward to my new place, while it’s closer to the place where I train, I actually have a kitchen to cook, in and a sink to wash dishes in–it is filthy. There are bigger cockroaches here, there is no hot water, and I get bitten by tiny mosquitoes in my sleep. Despite these things, I am good and living well. I keep dishes in my room and go to a coffee shop to chill during the day before training. –One incident, in particular, had me feeling very down the dumps. I bought a bike, the same day I moved into the place I am staying now. So basically a week into Dakar. The bike broke within two days. Here’s where it starts getting irritating: I got tricked out of about $500. I was trying to buy an eclectic bike to make getting around Dakar easier, as I also train at a beach about 8km away. As I was walking to go get money at the ATM, a random person stops me and asked me if I remembered him. I was on guard and was like “bro I ain't ever met you in my life, leave me alone”. He then proceeded to say his name was Ibrahima. My guard was down.

An important insight into this story: during my first three days in Dakar I met a man named Quintin. He was a thirty-nine-year-old Senegalese born-American citizen. He was staying the in the apartment above my first Airbnb, that's how we connected. Talking to him actually made me feel more comfortable because he traveled a lot; was educated in Paris, and lived and work in D.C. while dating a Brazilian woman living in Benin. We also had very good conversations over the span of those two days which I plan to write about in a future blog. He introduced me to a couple of his friends: one I met in person Azziz and another over text Ibrahima. He told them to look out for me which I was grateful for.--That's why my guard was down. I thought the Ibrahima in the street was the same Ibrihima Quinton introduced me to. Because he spoke great English I thought he was the one as well. I told him about my intention to buy an electric bike and my need for money from ATM. He told me he was also buying something and could use my help. You see he was buying the food for his cousin’s baby shower in two days. I assumed like Senegalese weddings, baby showers must also be a big occasion for a party. He said he needed big bills for the store owner and asked if we could exchange them once I went to the ATM. Like a fool, I obliged! So I gave him the CFA, around three-hundred-thousand and we went to a store where he told me to wait outside. His reasoning for this was that if they saw me, a foreigner they would hike the price up. After paying the store we hopped in a taxi and went a couple of blocks where he told me to wait while he got the money. You guessed it, he never came back!

Part of me at different points in this interaction thought this could possibly be a scam, but it was too evident, exactly the way foreigners get tricked in some television show. I suppose I thought there needed to be more creativity for a grift like this. In addition, my skepticism was subdued by the thought that I could, punch, kick, or strangle him to the point of near death at any moment. He wouldn't dare try anything, right? I was wrong! A scam can be simple, you just need somebody, simpler. I also learned that am not as physically imposing as I think. Surprise!

So for the next two and a half hours, I rode around on the back of a motorcycle (fun fact: the motorcycle was owned by the shopkeeper where the thief bought “food” from) looking for the Ibrhima prepared to punch, kick, or strangle him to near-death followed by taking off his possessions and leaving him in the street naked. I didn't find him. I now realize that was a good thing. I may have not been able to leave this country if I got into trouble with the law out here. My anger is the exact thing I am trying to reconcile while on the Watson. My brother put it to me like this: “five-hundred dollars is a lot of money, but it’s not. You about to get married, and you are ready to risk it all over that amount of money for the principle of it”. Those were needed.

Fast forward two weeks and I am forcing myself to take a rest. I received a burn when riding on the back of the motorcycle. Turns out mufflers can get really really hot. I continued to train after receiving it, just wrapping it up. It wouldn't heal because the scab kept coming when people I am sparring with would grab my leg in a take-down attempt. It was starting to swell and felt tender to the touch. To make matters worse I decided to go swimming in the ocean. I climbed down a cliff onto the rocks and was swimming for exercise along the coves of the Corniche Ouest coastline. Three things happened, I slipped while on a rock and tweaked my shoulder when catching myself; I got stung by a sea urchin; and introduced new bacteria into the open wound of my burn via seawater. My fiance Taylor, nagged me into going to the hospital because of the possibility of sea urchin sting being poisonous. It wasn't, but I received a tetanus shot for my burn. Navigating the hospital here in Dakar was a horrible experience and in my opinion unnecessarily complicated, it could be a whole blog post in itself, I don't even want to get into that right now.

After visiting the hospital I decided to rest up and let my shoulder and burn to heal appropriately before returning to training. And wouldn't you know, I got sick right after visiting the hospital. It started on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving and went into full-blown fever mode on Thanksgiving day, but now the viruses or bacteria are slowly getting thwarted by my immune system. Praise God! Deciding to not train during my recovery period is a hard decision because I feel like I am being unproductive or useless if I have to sit at home all day. In reflection, it’s important to allow yourself the rest you need. As mentioned before I value the amount of punishment I can take. It makes me feel like superman and I do fear looking weak in other people's eyes, even my own. I gave myself permission to take a rest and am trying not to feel bad about it. I think this is one of the best lessons I’ve learned about Watson so far. Dakar is still winning. I'll let you know if the tides turn in my favor.