On Wednesday, I made a second attempt at going to the beach. (I'll post about my first attempt shortly.) This time, I was planning to meet my French neighbours at the beach, so I was hoping for a relatively calm trip. Again, I greeted everyone in Wolof as I walked down the street. A young man (about my age?) on a bicycle heard this, and came over to me.
Man: You are a Gambian woman!
Man: You speak Wolof!
Me: Waaw, mangee goorgoorlu ndanka ndanka. (Yes, I am struggling slowly slowly.)
Man: You are learning my mother tongue. That is good.
We chat for a while.
Craft Vendor: Hey Sista! Come into my shop! I have nice things!
Man: (To the vendor) Don't bother. She is a Wolof woman.
And he rides away.