Quality of Life Issues

November 17, 2008

Later on this year in the global issues part of my class I will be discussing topics as diverse as the death penalty, abortion, and euthanasia, but that is not what I wanted to touch on here. Rather, I wanted to reflect for a moment on my life as it was before I left Bay Ridge and my life as it has been since my arrival in Dakar.

From the Bay Ridge Avenue stop in Brooklyn, a 10-minute walk from my apartment, I would get on the decrepit and smelly R train, where I would usually stand patiently until my stop at Canal Street in Manhattan, a ride of about 35 minutes. I developed all kinds of strategies for saving time, such as switching from the express to the local, choosing my exits to get me as close as possible to my destination, etc. I would have to fiddle in the depths of my bag for my ID before I would be allowed to make the mad dash to the elevator, and there, unlike here, I would sit at a nicely appointed desk with phone, Filofax and binders and carry out the tasks entrusted to me.

My fairly generous New Yawk paycheck (which contrasts starkly with my present earnings) was usually spent before I got it – about half of it was eaten up by rent, some of it went for food and transport, then there was dry cleaning plus frequent outings to restaurants or to ten-dollar movies with friends. (In Dakar, as you will recall, there are no movie theaters, so that option falls pretty flat). My friends and I tended to meet in the city because friends in the Upper West Side, Riverdale and Jackson Heights were all terribly far away from my place in Bay Ridge – the distances between the boroughs can be daunting, especially if you are dependent on public transportation to get you anywhere. This meant that rather sitting around in someone’s home, swilling wine or cooking dinner, we were usually engaged in a much less personal activity, always one requiring some sort of major expenditure. Hence, the money slipped through my fingers faster than payday could come around.

By contrast, I have no commute at present, as I live at the school where I work. No more flipping the bird at a conductor who leaves the station as I am running breathlessly down the platform to jump on the train, no more getting lattes spilled on my newly pressed suit on the very morning I have a video conference with our head office, no more sick passengers holding up everyone’s morning ride or amusing panhandlers telling jokes as they vigorously shake their cups at me. (I am experiencing a moment of nostalgia here, briefly missing the guy who did the tango with the inflatable doll strapped to his shoes…). It is true that I have no hot water in my apartment, nor do I have a washer/dryer, a microwave or many other conveniences, but I do have a young lady who cleans and does laundry by hand for me once a week. As I am not myself domestically inclined, this arrangement suits me beautifully. Once a week a colleague and I chip in to have a cook prepare us a meal. Our most recent lamb and minted couscous dish with roasted vegetables was absolutely mouthwatering, and there was no shopping or chopping or cleaning up involved my end, which made both me and my tastebuds even happier:
http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Diced-Lamb-with-Roasted-Vegetables-and-Couscous/Detail.aspx
When I finish at school – which I can usually do by 5 pm, barring occasional conferences or meetings with parents – I have a ten minute walk to the beach. It is a small section of beach, a little rocky, sometimes a little dirty, but it works for me. It is now November, a bit colder than usual for Senegal, but still absolutely fine for tanning in a bikini and dipping one’s toes into the water. The few friends I have are all within walking distance or else they are American expats with huge vehicles and the will to drive them almost anywhere – to a remote fishing village to explore outlying areas or even just to pick me up to go grocery shopping. I can go see them in their homes, watch movies, have homemade dinners on balconies overlooking the sea, and even take a hot shower if I am so inclined.

(Should I thus be worried about social security and my 401 K? Probably, but reader thoughts very welcome!)

About the Author : Tamara-Diana Braunstein brings us her stories from Senegal every week. She was born in Brooklyn, New York. She is a restless wanderer who earned an MA from the University of Freiburg and has worked in a youth hostel in the French Alps, a law firm in Montreal, the Metropolitan Museum of Art as well as in university press publishing. At the moment her home base is Dakar, Senegal, where she is supposed to be teaching but is doing far more learning, as you will see by reading her blog at www.senegalschoolmarm.blogspot.com