It’s Tuesday. Two days ago, Sunday, Sarah and I moved from one apartment to another, both in Mermoz a Dakarois commune d’arrondissement named for French aviator, Jean Mermoz. Last year, we stayed in this same apartment but, when planning this trip, Sarah found its Airbnb listing marked unavailable for January. So she booked it for February, and found another place for us to spend January, about a ten minute walk away.
The first apartment is a large, two-bedroom space, on the fourth floor of a newer, secured building. The living room was spacious, it could easily hold half of this entire apartment we are now in. One of the two bedrooms remained locked during our stay, so, effectively, it was a one-bedroom with two bathrooms and entirely too much hallway, living room and kitchen. Both living room and bedroom had balconies, but too small to really enjoy being out on them.
During this season, in the middle of the harmattan, the dust can be get rough. But this year, the winds have been merciful—I haven’t had to wear a mask to walk around outside, whereas in 2019 there were several days I couldn’t go out at all—but that first apartment was next door to an eight-story tower under construction, which produced a lot of additional dust. At the end of each day, our balconies would be covered in patina of dirt, and dust would drift in through the many gaps in the exterior doors and windows. It wasn’t enough to disturb breathing, but it was difficult to keep the place clean in between the weekly housekeeper visits.
And then there were the bugs. Cockroaches and ants are a reality in most of the kitchens around the world, and here it was no different. When a meal is finished, one quickly puts food away and wipes down the kitchen surfaces. But there was something about that apartment that lent itself to mosquitos; maybe the plants that were kept on the balcony, or that all the door and window frames were crooked, as I mentioned, and prone to gaps. The mosquitos would get at me in the evenings, while I worked in the living room with headphones on, oblivious. Or they would get me at night, while I slept. Sarah, ever vigilant, would lie awake with the lights on, listening, and scanning the air for movement. Clap! she would kill. Over the course of our stay, she eliminated a dozen at least. Eventually, we picked up some Mustidose at a nearby pharmacy, but it’s hard to tell if applying it helped; I kept getting bitten.
So while this place is smaller, it’s much tidier. I haven’t seen a bug, and we’ve been here four nights. Each morning the floors still feel clean, almost no dust.
We are now adjacent to an outdoor sports court—including a pair of basketball courts—that is heavily used. During the day, local schools will take turns filling it with students who will engage in various forms of physical education. Today, for example, one class was working on tumbling—a line of kids leaping into somersaults—while another was running laps around the perimeter. Still more groups were doing their own programs. After school, it’s mostly basketball and small court football until nighttime. But some nights there is more going on. Last year, there was a music festival, with a stage put up Thursday and Friday, and music all day and night on Saturday. Last night, a group of men sang until midnight. I managed to record about forty-five minutes of it, and will post here soon.
What I will miss the most about our previous apartment is one the two guards, Mamadou, who we befriended. Sarah has a real Senegalese demeanor, and she is always very popular when she starts joking around in Wolof. Mamadou is an older man, voluable, extroverted; he appreciated having guests in the building that took time to talk. Demb, the other guard, was in his early twenties, yet much more serious. He told us that the stray cat, “Madame” who would wait around the doorway, was there for Mamadou. There had been a “Monsieur” but when Sarah asked after him, Mamadou said something I did not understand until he smeared his hands against each other, in the universal sign for “flattened by a car.” Gross, dude. I made a face and we laughed.
But we both love this flat. It’s close to a main street, Avenue Cheikh Anta Diop, where our favorite bank and several good grocers, stands, and kiosks are. Living is easy for us here.