Something made me gasp today. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen it, but such a sight never becomes any less shocking (or at least I hope I’ll never reach the point where it ceases to shock me).

From the relative comfort of my seat in the taxi, I watched as two men, without legs, propelled themselves along the pavement, their calloused hands tucked into flip-flops.

Tears pricked my eyes, but I was mesmerized. Such grit. Such strength. Such dignity. The guys were going about their business, asking for small change... and smiling at the world around them.

Sometimes Dakar offers up sights like this. And that’s when a ‘toubab’ like me gains some perspective on Life...and on her life. Because however ‘privileged’ I am in comparison to the average Senegalese family (though financially I’m the worst off I’ve ever been in my life!) daily life here can, at certain moments, seem overwhelming.

All too often I’ve no time to make the 10p trip on a brightly painted, smoke-belching, overcrowded, exhilarating ‘car rapide’ (communal minibus) which isn’t really very rapid at all...so I haggle the fare with my ‘friends’ (hmmm!) the taxi drivers. Waiting in traffic, with the window rolled down part way, I’m a sitting audience for many a vendor, but also for the needy of the streets of Dakar. Outstretched hands, voices and imploring eyes assail me through the gap. “I’m hungry!” says a young man trying to sell a bundle of sticks with which people clean their teeth. “I’m ill, I’ll show you my wounds” says an old man, rolling up his shirt sleeve and thrusting his arm out to me.

Another can of worms is the estimated fifty thousand talibé boys (‘disciples’) from koranic schools who beg on the streets of the city. Sent out, it’s said, by ‘marabouts’ (teachers) who do not take their responsibilities seriously, some boys will be beaten if they return ‘home’ without the required amount of daily spoils.

A government clampdown this month has seen seven marabouts found guilty of forced begging. But boys are still on the streets. I have had to reconcile myself with sometimes turning away from a 7 year old child with dirty, bare feet, gazing up at me, his hand outstretched.

Some demands can feel invasive and aggressive. I feel uncomfortable, frustrated, sometimes outraged…but then guilt washes over me. With no real social security system, how are people to survive? That’s where the Senegalese sense of collectivity comes in – sharing what you have, a web of mutual support and looking out for one another.

Amongst friends and strangers alike, the phrase “On est ensemble” (“We’re together”) is repeated daily as a farewell term or a kind of “don’t mention it”. Some is through a sense of religious duty…but some seems to be a real desire for togetherness. Coming from ‘the West’, such a non-individualistic approach can feel pretty alien. But when the ebb and flow of support works it feels great. Yet, as a ‘toubab’ I am - rightly or wrongly – automatically classed as ‘rich’ which, coupled with my visibility (!) makes me a prime target for financial requests.

I’m generally a big hearted person with a strong sense of social responsibility. Living here on my Keeping It Real budget though, means I have to watch the pennies myself. But the more striking issue for me is the fear (and the reality) of being befriended or beguiled for a perceived gain. That hurts.

At times I just take myself off and try to be a bit invisible for a while. I’m rather sleep deprived of late. Part of that is due to the Dakar Party Circuit and its robust constitution (!). The rest is down to the fact a new, extra loud speaker has been fitted to the minaret of the local mosque…hurrah. Ramadan’s over now though, so its enchanting / infuriating strains are slightly less of a fixture. Senegal waited for the first slither of the new moon to appear and the fast was broken.

The tradition goes that during the Korité festival you visit your neighbours and apologise for any wrongs you may have done. “Bal ma” – “forgive me”. Big meals are prepared and food is shared...meaning you often have to make room in your stomach for two or three sittings.

Togetherness... yes, but not always. I’ve never lived in a country where jealousy is such a reality. To the point where Senegalese friends have told me they share news of successes sparingly for fear someone will try to ruin it with witchcraft or meddling. Whether it’s a happy couple or a budding career in the frame, that’s one thing you keep to yourself.

And as a foreigner – will I ever be accepted? Well this morning I stepped out of my own front door to yet another chorus of ‘Toubab! Toubab!’ Maybe not then.