Recently, I posted about my personal running experiences (or woes) in Dakar. Today, more of a cultural observation on women and running.
It is an unfamiliar sight as I’m running on the Corniche, the stretch of scenic road and sidewalk that runs along Dakar’s western coastline.
In the middle of three male joggers –a more-than-common sight here in Senegal, with fitness serving as an important part of, if not everyone’s life, then at least of men’s lives – is a woman, clad in braids, a faded white t-shirt and long, gray sweatpants. I watch her for a few moments from my side of the street, noting that she has the easy, natural loping gait of most Senegalese runners, one they achieve without the aid of wicking-material clothing or fancy running shoes. She fits right in with her running companions.
Since I arrived in Dakar about a month ago, this runner is the first I’ve seen of the female variety. Although Senegal is much more advanced with women’s rights than most African or Islamic countries, the concept of fitness for females hasn’t yet taken a strong hold. I see men jogging everywhere, quick with their long strides, my short ones not able to keep up with even the slowest of the local runners. But I am almost always the lone female, matched only occasionally by a fellow expatriate.
I’m not the only one who’s noticed the distinct lack of woman athletes in this country, either. Running Times magazine ran a feature in early 2009 about female Senegalese runners, noting that it’s often difficult for them to find places to train, to receive athletic encouragement the same way a man would, and to dedicate their lives and talents to something other than child-rearing. As one interviewee in the article said, cleaning house and raising children is “what it means to be a Senegalese woman.”
The Senegalese Olympic team has had precisely zero female medal winners in the history of the games, according to the International Olympic Committee – although the country does field men’s and women’s teams in some sports each year. Some traditional Muslims perceive women’s athletics as inappropriate due to the “revealing” clothing they must wear, such as a jersey and shorts on the track field. Others are just too steeped in traditional gender roles to see women as strong and capable when it comes to sports.
The locals sometimes seem surprised to see me chugging along the streets in my Western running clothes and (to them) high-tech running shoes. But the comments that are occasionally shouted to me during my jogs are almost always positive; one man told me I was comme une gazelle – and although he surely meant the gazelle that was the slowest of the pack and about to be eaten by the lion, I was appreciative of the encouragement nonetheless.
I hope that a cultural tide keeps turning in the coming decades in Dakar and we see more forward-thinking about women and athletics (and jobs, roles within the home, etc. – but those are entire posts in themselves). If we come back here one day, long after our two years is up, perhaps we’ll see many more sweatpants-outfitted women jogging along the Corniche, showing just as much athleticism as the men who match them stride for stride – and maybe even struggle to keep up.
Rachael Cullins is a twentysomething American girl living in Dakar, Senegal, with her husband and two dogs. She blogs about her adventures in Senegal and travels elsewhere in West Africa. She will reside in Dakar until summer 2013, when she and her family will move to another foreign post as part of her husband’s career with the U.S. government. In addition to West Africa, she has traveled to France, Belgium, Luxembourg, Germany, Italy and Costa Rica and plans to continually add to that list.
