Spa day
Hi y’all!
It has been a while! Ramadan and Eid kept me busy, and do not even get me started on work. Every time I think things will slow down, it somehow gets even crazier. But honestly, I can’t complain—I’d rather be busy than bored.
A few days ago, completely worn out from everything life has been throwing at me, I decided to treat myself to the spa. Usually, I just go in for a quick mani-pedi and call it a day. But this time, I wanted something different. The spa I usually go to had this after-Eid deal with combo packages at a reduced price, and I thought—why not? I ended up choosing the hammam, a massage, and a pedicure.
Now, I had never officially done a hammam before. The closest experiences I’ve had were visiting hot springs in Japan or going to a Korean bathhouse. Back when I was living in Japan, I really enjoyed my fair share of hot spring visits—with friends and even family. There was something so calming about just soaking, chatting, and letting time slow down a bit.
I also remember this one time going to a Korean bathhouse after a long night out in Roppongi. We had been at a nightclub all night, and by early morning, we were exhausted. Somehow, ending up in a bathhouse was the best decision ever. It was so relaxing, almost surreal. After bathing, my friends and I just lounged on those long chairs, half-asleep, half-recovering, until noon. It felt like a reset button for the body.
One of the most memorable spa experiences I’ve ever had took place in Malaysia. My best friend and I were staying at a beautiful hotel in Langkawi, and naturally, we decided to treat ourselves to a spa day. The spa itself was stunning. There was this serene pool that looked like a tiny pond, with a design reminiscent of a blooming lotus flower. Everything about the space invited you to slow down, breathe, and let go.
I opted for a mint oil body massage, and honestly, it was pure bliss. With every movement, it felt like the tension in my body was melting away—like all the knots, all the heaviness, were quietly dissolving. At the time, I was going through a difficult breakup, carrying more than just physical stress. That massage did something deeper. It softened something in me. I remember leaving the spa in a daze, walking straight to the beach, and just… crying. Alone, quietly, with the sound of the waves in the background. It felt like a release I didn’t even know I needed.
A few days later, encouraged by how incredible that first experience had been, my friend and I decided to go back—this time for a double Thai massage. What a huge mistake. The therapists worked on our bodies like we were made of clay—stretching, pressing, kneading muscles we didn’t even know existed. At one point, I could hear my friend openly reacting to the intensity, while I sat there, determined not to let my pride take a hit. I stayed quiet… but internally, it was a whole different conversation. It was very intense. Strangely enough, once it was over, we did feel lighter, almost reassembled in a way. But as we looked at each other afterward, we agreed that this would be our last Thai massage.
Speaking of Thai massages… let me take you back to my India days. When I was living there, I used to frequent this Thai spa tucked inside my favorite mall. It was kind of my little escape. I would usually stick to my safe zone: a good mani-pedi. But one day, encouraged by my then-husband, I decided to be bold and try an actual massage. Big mistake. I walked out of that place with a torticollis that lasted for days. I don’t think I ever went back after that.
So with all these mixed (and sometimes traumatic) experiences, you can imagine how reluctant I’ve been to try spas in Senegal. But this time, I was exhausted. The kind of tired that sits in your bones. I felt like my body needed it. So I went back to Perfectissime—I think I may have mentioned it here before. I wouldn’t necessarily call it the best spa in Dakar, but it’s definitely up there in my book. I went for the hammam + body massage + pedicure combo.
Selfie in the locker room.
Once I arrived, I was shown into a small locker room where I changed into a bathrobe and disposable underwear. Then I was led to the hammam area, where a few other women were already being scrubbed. I was first taken into the steam room and rubbed with black soap, before being left alone for about 15 minutes. The heat was intense. At one point, I could barely breathe. I had to reach for the ice-cold towel they had thoughtfully left nearby, and sip some water just to regulate myself. It was almost unbearable… and yet, somehow, it felt good. Cleansing. Like my body was being reset from the inside out. I stayed the full 15 minutes, determined.
Then came the scrubbing. I was led to a beautiful space with three slabs lined with gold and beige tiles. I lay face down on one, thankfully alone this time. The attendant started by rinsing my body, then proceeded to scrub me—thoroughly—with a glove. I actually enjoyed the scrub. It was harsh, yes, but satisfying. What I struggled with was… everything else. Being almost naked. Being handled by a stranger. Being exposed in a way I’m just not used to.
I am a modest person. Very modest. I don’t even feel comfortable at the beach without a cover-up. I don’t undress in front of friends. And I’m not particularly fond of being touched either—unless it’s by people I’m close to. So this was a lot. At some point, my mind was racing in all directions—don’t react, don’t laugh (because yes, I’m ticklish), don’t feel awkward, don’t overthink. And of course… the inevitable thoughts about my body. She even asked if I was pregnant. I didn’t take it personally—my stomach is what it is, and she probably needed to know before scrubbing too hard.
But still. Then something shifted. I let go. My mind drifted… to my past, my failed marriage, my children, my years of singleness, where I stand in life today. It became unexpectedly introspective. Almost like the physical scrubbing unlocked something deeper.
After that, she lathered me with soap, rinsed me with cold water, and it was over. I took a moment to rinse myself again with warm water before heading back to the locker room.
After the Hammam
Now the massage was my favorite part. By then, I had surrendered. I walked into a dimly lit room, soft music playing in the background, and just lay there. No overthinking, no tension—just letting it happen. And it felt so good. There is something deeply comforting about someone reaching the parts of your body you can’t, releasing tension you didn’t even realize you were holding. I needed that—physically, yes, but also mentally. It lasted 30 minutes, but honestly? It felt way too short. I had to move on to the pedicure. By then, it was already past 7 PM, and I had other places to be. I would have loved to just lie there a little longer, maybe even take a nap.
The massage room
The pedicure itself was nothing special—pretty standard. And by a little after 8 PM, I was out the door. Rejuvenated… but also thoughtful.
Because here’s the thing. We live in a culture that constantly promotes self-care—spa days, pampering sessions, “treat yourself” moments—as something enjoyable, even aspirational. Especially for women. But if I’m being honest? I don’t always enjoy the process. Mani-pedis can hurt. Water too hot, scrubbing too rough. Hair salons? Don’t even get me started—long waits, nonstop chatter, and my very sensitive scalp. And the spa? As relaxing as parts of it can be, there are elements I still struggle with—especially the lack of privacy. What I do love is the result. The fresh hairstyle. The soft skin. The neat nails. But the process itself? Not always my favorite.
And I think I’m finally at a stage in my life where I’m learning to be honest about that. To figure out what I truly enjoy—not what I’m supposed to enjoy. Because living authentically sometimes means admitting: maybe spa days just aren’t my thing. Honestly? I’d much rather go shopping.
And you?
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