«Je rentre, je ne rentre pas. Dakar me manque trop, ma famille, free rent, free food, madd, bouye, ditakh, ngalakh, mbalakh, les mensonges de Wade, ataya, my friends, summer time…les invitations gratuites, personne pour te dire “well can you put up gas money?” alors qu’on va au même endroit, like my booty on the passenger seat is going to have a damn impact on the gas usage, #gtfoh…. No place like home…”

Rentrer ou ne pas rentrer? I have a lot of freedom here, I can’t go back to asking for permission to go out… oh hell no. a curfew? shoot me….  How much am I going get paid? What if I don’t find a job . Shit, I’ll probably be paid less at my job at Macdonalds…»

Who didn’t have that monologue a little too many times? un peu? beaucoup? et surtout passionnément? or at least when graduation was close, or a nassaran said something that pissed us off? I know I have. For every dumb question about the country of Africa, I was ready to book a flight back home. For all the looks I got when I could not remember my social security number, I was like “this is it”.

If you are thinking about coming back to live in Dakar, here are a few things you might want to get ready for…

1: Electricity Cuts

You will go nuts with this sh*t. It’s brutal, annoying, and depressive. Summer time is ok but can you deal with it all year? Think about all the gadgets you got…The lights will go off when you are trying to work on a document, get dressed, watch a show, or right when the movie you took hours to understand  was going to make some sense…

Candles, patience, geum yalla, extra phone battery and lots of friends to help you kill time.

Tip 2: If you got dreads, if you are natural or you got any type of afro declinations….

All you need is again patience, and arguments or be deaf to comments, or you’ll end up a loser like me, cutting my dear dreads off… You will get all type of “omg is this real?”, “why don’t you perm it, it will look much better…’’, “what did your mother say?”, “you cannot get a job with this”, “do you smoke weed?”, “do you sing?” “do you paint”, “what are you going to do on your wedding day?” (b*tch I’m going to style it)….

Tip 3: If you thought you were going to find darkskinned people here….

Sorry, there is only me and a couple of others left, we purposely missed the khesseul boat. Ya que des diolas et des sérères métissées dans ce pays maintenant.

Tip 4: If you had your own apartment in your host country…

Ah ben désolé hein. Unless you are a dude, moving into an appartement will mean you officially turned into a hoe. So get it out of your mind if you like living in peace. Your day, and especially night activities will just have to be slightly readjusted. Before you do anything  that  can cost you your life, tell yourself, “what if mom opens the door”, then if you are still going to do ‘’it’’, tell yourself “what if dad finds out”. Nuff Said.

Tip 5: If you are looking for a job

I suggest you start applying online before coming as everything takes extra long here. Don’t worry about your first salary, because unless you were pistonné, you will get a terrible first salary, BUT  IT WILL GO UP, promis, si je mens, je vais en enfer…. *clears throat*! Recruiters care a lot about on site experience, so once you get that, you are making yourself  indispensable. + you are bilingual? That’s it, you just made it. Just gotta give time to time.

Bonus: if you are not married, you probably will be, so if you are not ready, don’t act like I haven’t warned you.

Always remember there is no place like home, I am very happy to be back and unless I am expatriated, I ain’t moving.

Cordialement,

NK

MES SINCERES EXCUSES POUR LE MANQUE NOTOIRE DE POSTS et POUR LE POST BILINGUE (les résultats du colonialisme). Mais puisque je ne suis pas payée pour blogger ,enfin… le ndolisme / the grind a des raisons que la raison ignore. But I agree, I should be slapped for my triflingness and my slackerism. I may have forgotten how to write… but I like to do it. #lmfaovoice, so there we go…!

Facebook, c’est un mal nécessaire, nécessaire to keep up with your friends à la minute, mal parce que c’est Satan. Qui ne s’est pas transformé vite fait en psychopathe après quelques semaines d’utilisation. Qui n’est pas devenu plus sensible à tout? You know you are a stalker when HE/ SHE mentions the name of someone you never met but that you could easily spot in the street, at night, because you went in his profile…. Which happened to be public. Don’t even try to front. It’s okay, you are not alone. #MJvoice

Je ne me lasse point de parler de facebook parce crackbook est une pathologie non négligeable de notre siècle. J’ai su que dans la merde j’étais quand les évènements suivants se sont perpétrés. J’ai rencontré un gars, il avait l’air très bien… mais il n’avait pas de compte facebook. The end.

Pour en revenir au post, Facebook will fuck up your relationship, et si jamais vous survivez, ce sera vraiment à un smiley et un like près.

Case Study : NK vient d’écrire une déclaration d’amour de dingue pour son chéri (chose qu’elle fait rarement), en mode dédicace-statut, du style « Aimer c’est donner raison à l’être aimé qui a tort, bb tu es ma vérité, avec amour, NK» @Pape Ndiaye. Deux jours après, Pape Ndiaye ‘’aime’’ le statut.

Les personnages et les situations de ce récit étant purement fictifs, toute ressemblance avec des personnes ou des situations existantes ou ayant existé ne saurait être que fortuite.

This is how FB fucked it all up.

(1)    Les commentaires et ‘’likes’’ externes

A la seconde près, toutes les amies ou simples connaissances wanées (waw ma accorder li yeup) de NK ont like le statut, « eyooo  c’est mignon», « yaw NK ni nga nobaté » « this is adorable » « c’est beau l’amour » and what not ; mais pas l’intéressé.

(2)    La réaction de bb

Il a like le poste. Il A LIKE LE POST.

NIGGA DID YOU JUST LIKE MY POST ?

So that’s it? he obviously doesn’t care about me. Liker une longue declaration, que ce soit en amitié ou en amour, c’est comme dire merde. C’est comme de l’aumône. Allez, here is a couple coins to calm you down. Be careful when you like stuff. Le like est un signe de paresse, de désintéressement ou de désintéressement intéressé, d’énervement caché….ou de discrétion, ou juste parce qu’on veut limiter le nombre de notifs. So be careful how you like. Dans ce cas ci, bb aurait du liker et lui-même faire une déclaration, en tout cas pour garder une vie sauve et équilibré. Là, il s’est foutu on death row.

(3)    Le timing

24h POUR UN LIKE ? you are a dead man walking. Not only did NK ONLY get a « like », but the mofo liked it 24 hours later, so you are basically taking your time to undeclare your love to me. Is this relationship even worth it?

This is in a love case but even in  friendship, try writing a status tagging friends and reaching the tagging limit. Telling Fatou you reached your limit is not going to keep you out of trouble. That fool will most likely say “if you really cared about me, you would have tagged me first!” WTF are you supposed to say that? Nothing, which makes you guilty, ci peet.

Fb will fuck up your relationships.

Sincerely yours,

NK

Le 23 juin, déclaré férié par moi-même, car étant le jour du peuple, j’ai décidé de me porter malade à cette date chaque année.

Pourquoi ? Parce que dans ma courte existante, c’est la première fois que j’assiste à une situation ou le peuple sénégalais est écouté par le Gouvernement. J’avais perdu foi il y avait longtemps, entre manipulations, remaniements, promesses non tenues, hommes politiques qui ont fait tellement de va-et-vient entre parti au pouvoir et opposition qu’on ne sait même plus à quel camp ils appartiennent, eux-mêmes le savent-ils ? sans doute au camp de l’argent, des immeubles et des maisons de « campagne » sur la plage.

J’avais déjà perdu foi avant d’avoir l’âge de voter et à mon actif, je n’ai pas encore voter.

MAIS

Mieux vaut tard que jamais, NK ira voter en 2012 inchallah parce faith is back and ouuu it feels good insert james brown voice.

C’est nekh, c’est nekh comme quand le Sénégal a battu la France, le 1-0, score qui avait fini de m’extasier, le match qui m’a rendu indifférente à tous les autres matches, un match qui avait une dimension politique aussi grande que la satisfaction que j’ai ressenti, ca aurait du être celle là la date de l’indépendance du Sénégal.

Un peuple, un but, une foi.

Prières pour toutes les âmes plus braves que moi, qui ont perdu leur vie en défendant l’opinion du peuple et profonds remerciements à ceux qui ont enduré bombes lacrymogènes, eau chaude, coups de gourdins, insultes, balles de pistolets, et trahison des forces du désordre et de protection de l’ennemi.

Cordialement,

NK

Tu as finalement cédé. En mode daw yaram, la demande d’amis qui est restée des mois sans réponses a finalement fait l’objet d’un click positif. Arrêt de mort signé. Prochaine étape, aller fumer un bédo avec papa, tant qu’à faire.

Les bienfaits de la technologie, ils sont multiples, machallah. Les personnes qui sont accro à crackbook, comme moi vous le diront. Il y a sans conteste les bienfaits primaires: retrouver des gens à la limite portés disparus, rester en contact avec sa famille et ses amis, et les anniversaires ! Il y a également les bienfaits plus… élaborées qu’on peut également être  des inconvénients,  entre autres l’espionnage et  tout savoir sur les gens qu’on ne connaît pas mais avec qui on a tellement d’amis en commun qu’on pense les connaître, et qu’on risquera de saluer en boîte, puisqu’on y est tous fous, mais à nos risques et périls….

Parmi les inconvénients qui sont multiples et diverses, nous nous concentrerons sur la présence de ceux qui nous ont donné naissance mais dont je ne citerais pas le titre…. pour des raisons de sécurité personelle.

Avoir ces “gens là” comme amis sur facebook, c’est comme se faire accompagner par ces mêmes personnes au bal de fin d’année, et de rentrer à minuit.

Parmi les problèmes qu’une telle amitié peut causer : (le Top 5)

1-    Ce sont les seules personnes que nous sommes obligés d’ajouter et qu’on ne bloquera jamais. Parce qu’on les aime. Et on aura beau cocher et décocher les privacy settings, on omettra toujours quelque chose…

2-    Leur activité préférée, c’est de nous traquer et de contrôler tout ce qu’on fait. Facebook c’est l’outil d’espionnage par excellence, c’est du lourd, c’est 007, c’est Sefyu, casquette et tout. Ils vont ajouter nos amis qui se sentiront obligés de les ajouter pour certains et les autres qui le feront avec plaisir, et qui commenteront  sur tout ce qu’ils posteront, parce que c’est…. mignon. En général, ces derniers n’ont pas leur parents comme amis sur facebook.

3-    En mode censure : on ne sait plus quoi mettre, quel langage utiliser, ex: « merde », ca passe pas ou ca passe pas ? ; ex: « si je met des cœurs sur le mur de mohamed, elle va croire qu’on sort ensemble… ?»…. Mais j’ai vraiment envi de mettre des cœurs, il va être tellement content insert frustation…. ex:J’ai une histoire marrante sur ma gueule de bois de vendredi, mais personne n’en bénéficiera… je suis la personne principale de son feed, ex: vas-y je vais mettre mes statuts en anglais…

4-    Il y aura toujours un orang-outan (ehem…pongo pygmaeus)qui écrira quelque chose de déplacé sur votre mur, qui se sentira obligé de raconter à toute la planète une connerie que vous avez faite…. et avant que vous puissiez mettre la main dessus, le mal sera fait, l’information disséminée, et la punition mijotée….

5- Comme si l’on était pas assez questionné dans la vraie vie, maintenant on doit s’expliquer sur tous ses statuts, les photos avec la petite robe et les talons aiguilles, la date, le gars qu’on a serré dans ses bras, quand est ce que je suis aller à la plage, c’est quoi le duplex? les commentaires, les inside jokes, les personnes sur les photos, notre relation avec elles, leur age, leur classe, leur profession, leur numéro de sécurité sociale… feel me? This shit ain’t poppin’!….

If you are happy to have accepted you parents friends requested, then obviously you live a decent life.

ps: Of course before I posted this on facebook, I hid it from ‘’you-know-who’’ ? Shuuuuut, she might add you !

Ps : don’t send this post to the ennemy please. I am actually serious.

NK

It was already hard out there for a Muslim living in this world of mass….. search of weapons, oil and destruction; ‘mediatization and indexation.

I went on vacation recently. A Ben laden’s lookalike decided to pray in the space between the fly attendant’s seat and the emergency exit. Either I had not flown in a while or I just wasn’t ready for it.

Stupid and immature as I am, I could not help but think ‘’is he going to pray then kill us all’’ or is he going to ‘’pray, kill us and get his parachute out?’’. I started giggling (I already said stupid and immature) then felt bad because I was wondering what everybody else was thinking. I would have given a lung to get a close up on anybody who wasn’t Muslim. Like Alicia’s facial expression when lil mama thought she gained enough notoriety to burst uninvited in the adult world. Then  I remembered there were only Senegalese, Chinese, Arabs and Kenyans in the flight.

Not too long after, a couple of other Muslims (Senegalese this time) got up to holla at Allah in the same exact place. Is this a conspiracy? Are they getting more brownie points? I want brownies… I mean points… then should I be praying too? I thought you were not supposed to pray while traveling?

Then I thought, it makes sense to pray in an airplane, only and especially pray for one’s life. I mean we are a million feet off the ground, chilling higher than albatrosses and if something happens, the last thing I want to do is respect the safety measures, I swear they make me more nervous, so really how about a little prayer?

On the other hand, see what Islam became, stressful, thanks  Media.

Other than that reason, there is no ‘Muslim’ reason to pray in airplanes, like what is the purpose except scaring other people to death? well nowadays anyway…? You are in the air, flying between a billion different  timezones, so which of the 5 mandatory prayer is this one? Numero ocho? A bonus? number 2 in the embarking country and number 3 when you are closer to the indian ocean….?

I would love your insight on that one.

Ps: Do people pray on their way to the US? I wonder how flight attendants feel about that one? Because on my way to Dubai, it was just routine. I am surprised they did not have a prayer room available in the plane.

“Et l’homme pute fut.”                                                                                                                  tout de dreads et de karité vêtu….”                                                                                       (NK)

Poétique non?

As I am waiting on my order aka my Sunday treat to myself, I have this sudden urge to talk about prostitution. Le coeur a ses raisons que …..voila quoi…

I miss my dreads dearly every day, the way they used to fall on my face, the weight, the red tips, and the unique feeling in the water and the fan club I had.

HOWEVER, a couple reasons help me go by. For instance, I’m not mistaken for a singer, a dancer, or a guitarist anymore. But mostly I don’t have to explain the political reasons why I got dreads in the first place…. all the time…. to people who at the end of the day just think I am Americanized. Anyway, back to the corniche Ouest men…, my young entrepreneurial whores if you will.

What the fuck doe menwhores have to do with my dreads? Patience is a virtue. For once, this is not about women being prostitutes. We know about them, shit’s getting old. This is about menwhores. Wait no… men prostitutes because “whoring” supposes some type of fun and “prostituting” has a more professional connotation, you know with a salary, insurance, stds and other benefits.

I see the Corniche everyday and everything it has to offer, the views, the coconuts and the “athletes”??? *clears throat*. In my various jobs, I have been a translator for some Saudis. And as we were heading to a meeting downtown enjoying the corniche view and stuck in traffic, Saudi boss said “hey nk, I notice Senegalese really like working out”, I laughed it off and said ‘’yep gotta stay healthy”.

As I took a better look at the runners, weight lifters and such…. I noticed 3/4th of the people there were men…. And 80% had things growing from their scalps we can assimilate to ‘’dreads” for lack of a better category and 75% of those were “sightseeing” some older toubabs, or the other way around to get themselves out of “poverty”. (Well there comes the connection with my dreads. “Aaaaaah ok’’.) I am ashamed that dreads have that connotation of being one of the main characteristics of a Senegalese man prostitute / body builder/ old toubab magnet. I think this post is going to give the real and the fake mixed couples a rest (and yes you made the right supposition, old toubab with young very dark senegazelle). Men prostitutes. Dang. As much as I despise sexual tourism, I think women prostitutes can use a little break, anyway they are more professional, they got cards and stuff.

Menprostitutes all look alike. They are fine like the selection of actors that Tyler Perry chooses, but they are also athletic, broke and desperate. They work harder than the girls because like Kid Cudi, they work day and night I guess to double the profit, go boys! They are not necessarily multi-lingual as that is not their tongue’s main fonction…. nahmean? (hahaha I know, low blow). I’d like to mention the fact that their services are not solely used by cougars on vacation, they are also used by local old married women who pretend to work out…. as MPs often offers their help to be personnal trainers, pretty ricky style. I guess it’s part of the Wade’s political campaign on the “consommation locale”.

Menprostitutes claim that life is hard and that’s the only way they found to get by,they claim that life is a bitch so they became… bitches to compete with life?? A lion needs its cougar… I just thought I’d shout men prostitutes out on dkfresh, gotta respect the elders you know.

Respectfully yours,

NK

You want to know why your kids haven’t graduated since 5 years, or claim that they keep switching programs; you want to know why they are not coming back home? Forget the brain drain, the fact that salaries are more competitive in rich countries, try FREEDOM…

Comme quoi, il n’y a pas que les esclaves qui essayaient de quitter le bateau.. We are still slaves, just different kinds… We the Senegalese youth, are our parents’ slaves and it ain’t about to change…

As soon as puberty hits, one thought in our mind, like pinky and the brain(minus diop et cortex sakho):
-”Brain, What do you want to do tonight”
-” the same thing we do every night Pinky, figure out how to get the f*** out of Dakar… ”
Only one legal solution: Get the BAC aka high school diploma! For some, there was no way to take the s-series (scientific) since that would increase their chances of failing, which means staying one more year in Dakar… That’s how you have people who graduated with a literature baccalaureate become scientists for NASA.

The top 3 « freedoms » Senegalese youth seeks when away from mommy, daddy, the extended family, the neighbors, the « gardiens » who got all type of dirt on us, and everybody who got something to say in general:

Free to be your own boss: oh what? You got your own place? It does not matter if it’s a small dorm room; all that matters is that it’s yours and yours only. It’s always going to be your favorite secret garden. It can be dirty, decorated in all black, in bright ass colors, in zebra print…. It’s your right and only your opinion counts. You can go to class if you feel like it, or not… spend your money on clothes or on food (either or situation), make stupid economic mistakes on purpose and wait for that wire transfer to end the hunger strike….

Free to spend the night wherever aka ‘’le découchage ”: oh what? You got your own keys? You are about to get your sleeping bag and go sleep wherever the wind blows…. At your bff’s, your boyfriend’s? Your girlfriend’s? Strangers? Weekend escapade in Vegas? Why not, nobody cares right? Especially, nobody can check…You haven’t been home in like a week except that one time when you went and got a change of clothes? Oh yeah, WELCOME TO THE GOOD LIFE (*T Pain voice* with autotune and all)

Free to get f****d up: and this is worst when all your life you never had the right to do anything…. Could not go to birthday parties that ended at midnight, Couldn’t go to the effin Cathedrale fair (first week of May remember?) and then sneak out to go clubbing at Aldo’s matinées good times, couldn’t even go around the corner of your house to play “élastique”, “égatt” (billes), la marelle, le “any’’, etc.…. Well now this is your chance to go wild, try cigarettes, try weed, drink until you drop, party like it was your last chance, straight wilding out, oh what? Nobody to tell on you because everybody else doing the same thing? “Aight, I can get used to this”, dixit any international student, any day. I am not saying international students are turning into drug addicts, I am just saying 95% are going to feed their curiosity until obesity.

Dear parents, your kids are getting degrees, some of them but please believe they are wilding out. Some of them will go natural, get dreads, become rappers, leave biology to become dancers or poets…The more you kept them on a leash before they left, the more they will surprise you, and the more they will switch programs to be FREE longer, sorry.

Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.

Before I dive into that question, I am going to start by talking about what I expect to see in a model. I mean what does a student expect to see in their teacher? A Role model, THAT’S RIGHT, someone you can look up to (iman, Katoucha, etc), someone smarter ( please note use of superlative!) shit someone you want to look like. When I look Halle Berry, who is indisputably a beauty, I think to myself “this woman looks great and her hour-glass shape is enviable”, however I could care less about how smart she is. They are models before all I don’t need her to be smart, and I could care less about her opinion on the Ivory Coast issue or what she thinks about Qaddafi’s morals, I just need her to look perfect something I would not mind looking like.  I want to see the unreachable.

Somehow, that’s just too complicated to understand for Senegalese models and modeling.

So what the fuck is going on?

Senegalese models have high body mass indices and stretch marks (I have those already I don’t need to see it on your ass, I have my own thanks.), they don’t work out, their skins are bleached, and their skins have spots due to wearing a skin that’s not yours and now you want to be a swim suit model….  With spots on their legs looking like damn runaway leopard. The fuck would I want to look up to a model that has self-inflicted skin disease; what happened to natural assets etc… abs, strong legs, perfect teeth….where the hell did they go? Too harsh NK? Sorry, it’s your job to look good, work it out!

What makes stars…. stars, well think about it, they high up there, we want to reach them, if you are a basic chick; you just basic and regular, like the rest of us, find yourself another job… If you got something everybody got, then what’s the point? People who know me know I am obsessed with having abs, a nice fire hot 6-pack, but would I want a six-pack if everybody got one? I don’t know…. Permettez-moi de douter…

I am definitely not saying that you have to be skinny to be a model. Being skinny is kind of an hereditary thing, this is why you always have that one friend who eats twice as much as you and who doesn’t gain a pound, HOWEVER, additionally taking into consideration that we are Senegalese and African and curvy, we need models that look like us, we can’t look up to modeling standards from another race. All that shit is fine, but I need Senegalese models, ANY MODEL to be special somehow.

Modeling in Senegal is a joke. Anybody who did not make it in the tassou, mbankat industry is a model by f*cking default. Models in Senegal are more of socialites then anything, I’m not going to cite any names because I am sure somebody who reads this blog knows the models here I’m talking about, the extremely REACHABLE ones who all look like each long lost twins (“we don’t die we multiply”), on heels they can’t walk in, bleached with “natural bresilian hair”, skintight short dresses, and polka dots leg, with  so much make-up they look like they are living versions of photoshop . Do you think Tyra banks can step up somewhere and not have the whole planet come ask for an autograph, I never seen that happen….here…. no wonder why…. To be a model in Senegal, in addition to all my ranting above, you don’t have to be on the runway or in magazines, you just have to appear in a Salam Diallo’s video or somebody else, go out to all the jetsetters places, drink and dance and find yourself a soccer player to date, and call it a night.

Ps: please note that there are obviously exceptions to everything, but in this situation, the exceptions are either retired, international or with God (RIP). C’est dommage.

1) “Je veux aller en Espagne et khosslou comme tout le monde mai j’ai pas assez d’argent et je n’ai pas la force de me faire refouler par l’ambassade, je suis une ceedo (tiédo) après tout, bon allez hop, sur la pirogue, si j’ai de la chance on ne me mangera pas après plusieurs jours sans eau ou nourriture… j’avoue que mon embonpoint m’inquiète, je ferai en effet un excellent carpaccio pour tout l’équipage.”

2) J’ai vraiment envi que le courant soit continu, putain, allez j’appelle Wade. Hmmm ca sonne occupé… je  vais réessayer plus tard… Ca sonne toujours occupé, bon ce n’est pas grave, je vais aller m’immoler par le feu.

Tout see résume à l’équation suivante:

Doléance auprès de wade non entendu= suicide de préférence immolation par le feu.

RIP to everybody trying to send a message to the president… unfortunately the message is still in the drafts.

Damn it I’m honestly preoccupied by my people’s mental condition, at first it was shocking and weird but now that we are getting used to it, it’s probably going to get worse. I think you can take care of a problem while it’s recent, as soon as habit and routine come into the picture, it becomes hard because you start caring less. I feel like there is a problem that is not being given enough credit, we are too busy watching freakin shows on wrestling and modou kharagne lo right? one of the cases that really made me confused and sad was the woman who killed herself to prove to her boss, and not the president that she was no thief (“Une domestique accusée par sa patronne de vol et qui avait tenté de s’immoler par le feu a fini par décéder”, click here to read the article on senenews). It reminded me of Columbine and the series of murders at the time in US campuses. In this case, it has nothing to do with Wade or his triflin’ess, this woman killed herself to prove she did not steal anything…. WHY WHY WHY? Her boss might even think she killed herself because she could not take the shame. There is no guarantee her message went accross, no! She just caught the SSF- Senegalese Suicide Flu and now this could be an epidemic, seriously, to lose a life to in order not to send a message…?????

Suicide. And not any suicide, the most painful one. Where are we now in the stats? number 6 ? What is it that make Senegalese people set themselves on fire because their message did not go through to the president or just to somebody. I have no answer except EXTREME DESPERATION.

D’ailleurs, I’d like to take this opportunity to tell the world that if  one day you hear that I have comitted suicide, please consider my death to be a first degree homicide, I, NK, AM COMPLETELY UNABLE TO INFLICT PAIN TO MYSELF. It’s just impossible. I am more of a sending email type person, facebook, calling, harrassing, driving around your house, stalking you until you talk to me, but suicide, never.

With that said, setting yourself on fire ? That means you got to a point of despair that’s unbearable. And that’s how bad the poverty situation is getting in Senegal, pushing people to kill themselves as they seem to think their life is not worth living.

To me, pshych people and sociologists need to sit down and find the motives behind this issue. This is a very serious issue and as an economist, it just doesnt make sense, there must be a deeper issue. If i was trying to tell someone something, I wouldnt kill myself, for two simple reasons :

1)   Now that I’m dead, the person knows why I killed myself but even if they tried, they couldn’t help me because I’m gone. So my issue is still not fixed. (ie the ex soldier who wanted his retirement money, not only he is not going to get his money but the other soldiers aren’t either…most importantly, he is not getting his life back)

2)   Now that I’m dead, the person who made me kill myself, is alive, chillin’ like a villain, sans moi pour l’emmerder. He didn’t give a fuck when I was alive, now that I’m dead, that mofo is simply relieved and on vacation.

3)   Bonus : now that I think about it, there are people who actually did not die, that’s the worst, now that I chose the worst possible way to die, Allah is like « oops sorry, that wasn’t the time for you, now you have to live with no body parts», you are now literally stuck between life and death for an undefined period time, hell nah…

We need help and mitigation to take care of this mass hysteria before somebody sets the city on fire. If lives start to become worthless, we are going towards a society with massive suicidal tendencies, we need to stop the madness and find a way to soothe the nation’s pain. Unfortunately, I don’t think Wade reads me…

FYI : I chose age 40 because I loved the movie but in this jungle, you are considered old if you are not married after 25-ish and you will be reminded every time the opportunity presents itself. Funny huh ? Well I guess the level of fun is relative to the culture. I find it extreme for any woman to feel old at that age. It’s unnecessary pressure added to what we already have to go through just for having boobs and ass. ‘xcuse my French.

Single?

It’s hard out there for « old » single Senegalese women. It’s hard period for women in Senegal, but single women have it worse in a country where the value of a woman resides in their marital status and the number of male kids they got. Forget about having a NGO and saving children’s lives, get married and save yourself. I’d like to point out that this is in no shape or form trying to trivialize what it means to be a mother and wife. They are the jobs I respect the most, along with being a father and hubby. However, as I already said, I think it’s unnecessary pressure on Senegalese women

What does it mean to be single in Senegal? Besides that you are considered a triflin’ mofo who is wasting their life, the definition of being single in Senegal basically means not to be married. You could be Oprah but the general consensus on your achievements will be “but she is not married, but she does not have kids, what’s a woman with no kids?.” You could be in a 5-yr old relationship, fiancé’d up and filling out all the criteria of what is considered to be serious in other logical places around the world, but until you tied the knot, you are considered single. All the men who will come up to you and try to court you will have the same reaction to « sorry I’m already in a relationship » ; they will probably laugh it off, look at you like you stupid and say « but you not married right » aka fuck your relationship, bitch you still on the market.

Menopause

As a result of you are supposed to be a virgin before you get married, you are now still single with no kids, and it’s too late—-biological watch, mood swings, constant heat, sterility, it’s already that time in your life and it never felt this way before and you swear this is true and you owe it all to Menop&Society, ain’t that a bitch? I ask you, was it worth it? Not to have the pleasure to be a mother but now the society is semi-pleased with you. They would be fully satisfied if you weren’t 40 but at your age, and still ‘single’, there has to be something wrong with you right? #SMH

Get married or die trying

The social pressure make people rush to get married and get caught in all the additional shit they have to do. I find marriage beautiful but it’s not in my plan to rush it. In Senegal, being wife’d up means catering to your family in law like they got the key to heaven. It also means that everybody and their mama got a say in your relationship and the way you handle it. Shit you’d be surprised how many people care about what you do and how you do it. All of a sudden, every word and every comment is assessed. You’ll feel the same fear you’d feel if you said “terrorist” by accident in an American airport. And the whole freedom thing… I think this is as much freedom I’ll ever get, and what is a person without his her freedom? Isn’t it what we have been fighting for? What everybody is still struggling for? I am not in a rush to get into that dynamic of having to justify everything I do.

Long-distance relationships with illegal immigrants

For all the women who got married and had their husband leave for some country and they haven’t been back in like 5 years. Those are the women I respect the most. Now you left the peace of your home to go live with your in- laws where you will be doing housework, etc and having zero leisure time because they are supposed to “keep” you while your husband is away. Plus you are not supposed to do anything while your “kilifa” is here right? but cater… Man that’s some bullshit. I don’t see the point of getting married to someone who’s gone for an unknown period. Unless you are soldier Ryan, I need you to know when your ass is going to be back. WhatILookLike? Really, unless your partner is in the army, I don’t see the incentive. I know women who been here for more than 5 years waiting on a husband who is not legal in the country he is in and has no clue whatsoever when he is coming back. Meanwhile your ass is stuck here, waiting on phone calls and constantly on skype, not knowing what the hell he is up to, and realizing that all that time he actually had a wife there as well, reason why he didn’t not want you to come visit. Like really, shoot me. Or the other scenario is when the hubby finally makes it back here, 6 years later to find his wife pregnant.

Yours truly,

NK