Crocodiles and crazy dancing

Life in Senegal has already provided many surprises and new experiences, but none could be as outrageous as those of this week.  Beyond the realms of my own imagination, they have been events that I could never have thought possible.

Last Saturday, we attended an event of traditional Wolof dancing, known as a Sabar.  The occasion takes its name from the drum used to create the music: a conga-shaped instrument played with sticks, hands or a mixture of both.  A group of between five and seven drummers will beat a set of very fast and complicated rhythms to which people will dance.

When we arrived, it was as though nothing unusual was happening that night.  People were going about their daily business: washing dishes from dinner; drinking attaya; sitting about chatting.  I was sure that we had stopped at the wrong place.  As the drummers started to play, however, a large crowd soon gathered, forming a wide circle around them.  Some even brought chairs, whilst others positioned themselves on nearby walls in order to spectate.  Almost all were turned out in their best boubous and, before long, the road had become a sparkling sea of energy.  Having been forewarned, Lauren and I, too, were donning our taille-basses. 

At various intervals, women would jump into the centre of the circle, often alone, and start dancing.  However, being Senegalese, it was not dancing as the rest of the world knows it.  Foot stamping, arms flailing in all sorts of directions, twerking, jumping and even somersaulting were all part of the routines.  After just a minute or two, the women would then scurry back to their seats, merging into the crowd once again.  I could only sit in stunned amazement, jaw hanging halfway to the floor, as I looked on.  That is, until one women decided to grab my hand and pull me into the centre of the circle with her.  Just the two of us.  A crowd of more than 200 people.  Aaarrggghhh!

Having only been watching for a short period of time by this point, I had very little idea of what I should be doing.  The same feeling that comes over you just before a rollercoaster does its biggest drop filled my body.  The only problem was that, in this situation, I was required to do something.  It would not be enough to just sit tight and scream.

Copying my kidnapper, I stamped my feet and waved my hands about as wildly as I could.  Applause and shouts of delight filled my ears as everyone watched the white girl attempting to dance like a Senegalese.  After doing a little spin, we shook hands in true British style and I returned to my place on the edge of the circle.  The whole experience was such an adrenaline rush and I found myself smiling for the rest of the night.  More practise is definitely needed though if I am ever to participate again.

In a continuation of bizarre activities, this week also saw me eat a crocodile… and chips.  There are very few occasions when such an opportunity will present itself to you on a menu and so, with just a little hesitation, I decided that it might be a good idea to give it a try.  Tasting like a mixture of both fish and beef, it was certainly different but also surprisingly nice.

During a lesson a few days later, I played Two Truths and One Lie with my students.  Over half of the class thought that my sister-in-law was Rihanna as they couldn’t believe that I had consumed a crocodile!  An entertaining week indeed.