Love and Marriage . . .

I had my first marriage proposal last weekend. Fatima and Moussouba took me downtown with them so that Fatima could buy new pants and shoes. “Downtown,” the streets are lined with tiny shops selling fabric, clothes, shoes, house wares, and electronics, and the sidewalks are crowded with people selling the same things off of racks, carts, tables, or blankets on the ground. There are also guys who walk around with the arms and necks draped with belts and jewelry, who try to get you to buy things using the direct approach of shoving things in your face. Its very noisy and very crowded.

Anyway, Fatima found a guy with a rack of decent looking jeans, and about 3 nanoseconds after we paused to take a closer look, the guy and his friends produced stools for us to sit on so that we could gaze at his wares in comfort. While he gave Fatima a detailed tour of his selection, the guy in charge of the next rack over started talking to me. We went through the usual introductory questions (what’s your name, where do you live, where are you from, did you vote for Obama, how long have you been here, how long are you staying, do you like ceebujen) and then started talking about my love life. Once you say that you’re not married, it’s all over. Telling the guys here that you already have a boyfriend is completely useless. They either say that they would only date girls who already have boyfriends, because that means that they’re nice, likeable girls, or that having a boyfriend far away doesn’t matter or doesn’t count. I tried to say that I have a lot of things to do before I get married, like finish university and work for a while, but this guy said that I could still do those things if I was married. I tried to say that he would have to talk to my father about this, and he promptly asked for Dad’s phone number. I tried to say that I didn’t want to get married at all, and he pretty much told me not to be ridiculous, of course I wanted to get married, all girls do. Then he started pestering me for my phone number, which is where it starts to get less fun and flattering and more annoying. Thankfully, I was saved from having to make up 6 excuses for why he couldn’t have my phone number because Fatima had concluded her business and we were ready to go. Ciao, pants guy, it’s been fun. I hope you complete your quest for a green card one day.

Fatima scolded me a little for giving the guy my real name. She said that when guys downtown ask for my name, I should give them my Senegalese name, which is Aminata. I wasn’t too concerned about having given him “Kiersten” though. No one can figure out my name here. The ones who listen closely think it’s “Kristen,” but more often than not, I get “Kristel.” It took the members of my family several days to get it right, so I don’t think I have to worry about the pants guy coming for me.

That’s been my only “serious” proposal so far. I was waiting for some friends outside and ATM once, and the ancient ATM guard starting talking to me about my marriage prospects. We both knew he was way too old to have a shot with me, but apparently marriage is something that the men here never tire of talking about. Some guys here learn a few choice phrases of English, so I hear, “You are so beautiful, I love you,” a lot. I’ve had guys walk with me and beg for my phone number on a few occasions. Once I was by myself and a group of about 4 guy descended upon me, speaking more Wolof than French, and actually pulled my cell phone out of my backpack, catching me lying about not having a cell phone in the first place. They laughed and passed it around between them as I stammered, “Excusez-moi, c’est le mien, j’en ai besoin! Donnez-moi, soit gentil!” (Excuse me, that’s mine, I need it. Give it to me, be nice!) I thought they were going to walk off of with it, but they decided to be nice after all. They gave it back to me and went down a side street, but that was a nerve-wracking couple of minutes.

You get into the habit of ignoring people when they talk to you on the street, which is sometimes unwise. Twice now, Ryaunte and I have been walking home from school and have ignored people shouting to us from cars. Turns out, they were people that we knew offering to give us rides. Oops.