I don’t know exactly where to start seeing as it’s been over a month since I’ve written (don’t blame me! I don’t have easy access to the internet here!), but I have to say that this place is probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me. The people here are simply incredible, and I have no way of expressing the love that has already developed for them, especially the children in the village and my host family. As I’m writing this blog, I’m sitting in my room preparing for class. Fana is looking over my shoulder and telling me that English is “raffetul” (ra-fet-ool: not pretty). Haha she doesn’t speak English (obviously), or French for that matter, but she says really wants to go to America to work and earn money. She’s 18, married, and works as our domestique here in Keur Samba Guèye. She’s gorgeous and has quickly become one of my best friends here in Senegal. I consider her to be my sole female friend seeing as ALL of my co-workers are male and almost all the friends I made in Dakar were male. It’s amazing that we have bonded so quickly. We come from two completely different cultures and speak completely different languages. I’d say we are probably complete polar opposites in many ways, but yet we have still created an unbreakable bond. We don’t understand each other most of the time, and we both get frustrated when we want the other one to understand. There is a lot of hand gesturing that takes place (which makes us both laugh continuously). The important thing is: we both take the time to understand each other, even though it’s hard. That gives me so much hope for all of humanity on a level that is completely inexpressible in any language.
My new host family is the EXACT opposite of Maman Badji in Dakar.
First, there is Papa Abdoulaye Sow: Older man (late fifties? Early sixties?), salt and peppering hair, Santa Clause type round cheeks, broad and warm smile, a treasure chest full of knowledge, and a laugh that is contagious. He really has become a second father to me (although NO ONE compares to the real thing, love you dad!) and is always making sure that I’m comfortable here and that everything is going ok. We’ve already had many fruitful conversations and discussions about a wide variety of topics ranging from the education system here in Senegal (he’s the principal of the jr. high) to the types of crops that grow in Pine River. He’s hilarious and likes to speak VERY broken English which makes him even funnier.
Then there is Maman Fatou Sow: She has one of the most beautiful smiles I have ever seen. For the first few weeks of living here, I thought she couldn’t speak French, but I could tell that she understood it. So we would only speak in Wolof to each other and we would laugh at all of the misunderstandings. I recently discovered that she CAN, in fact, speak French, but chooses to speak in Wolof all the time. I love that. It’s much more difficult for us to communicate sometimes, but she’s always patient with me and that’s the only way that I will really learn Wolof. I am much more comfortable speaking Wolof now than I was in Dakar, and I owe most of the credit to her and Fana. She also has a very jovial laugh and I can tell she is one of the most-loved people in the community. She has a big heart and a genuine spirit. I grew fond of her very quickly. She takes care of all of the house work (along with Fana) and sells the BEST bissap juice I’ve EVER tasted (lucky me….she gives me cups of bissap ALL the time. :) ).
Sama rakk bu gorr (my little brother ) Moustapha: 15 years old, tall, lanky, confident, and HILARIOUS. He has actually become a true younger sibling to me, which is neat because I’ve always been an only child. We have taken to lutting (loo-ting, the most popular sport here -next to soccer- which is kind of like wrestling) and we always make fun of each other. Lots of laughs. He always looks out for me in the village and is always explaining things that I don’t understand. He’s my little jangalekat (teacher).
Sama mag bu gorr (my big brother) Modou: He’s 26, 100% muscle, loves soccer (is trying to get certified to become a referee), and is very intelligent. He laughs a lot and tells me that I’m different than every other foreigner he has ever met. Haha We’ve had plenty of interesting conversations about religion and culture and he has also quickly become one of my very good friends here.
The village of Keur Samba Gueye is roughly the same size of Pine River populated at 1,275 people. The homes are mostly concrete boxes with thatched roofs surrounded by African grass fences. There are 4 main boutiques that sell salt, sugar, ataaya, mint, butter, eggs, powdered drink mixes, and other random items. There is one small market in town (8 old women who grow vegetables to sell to everyone in the village). There are plenty of creatures that roam around freely (donkeys, cows, goats, sheep, chickens, pigeons, lizards, etc.) to keep everyone company, and there are 3 wells where people go to fetch water. The home that I live in is pretty classy compared to the rest: tin roof, running water from a spigot in the front yard, a large front yard filled with animals including a baby lamb that I’ve named Bambi, and lots of pigeons (one of which I’ve taken a liking to and named Chocolate-Choco for short). There are also plenty of bugs. Big bugs, small bugs, spidery bugs, beetley bugs, hairy bugs, fast bugs, skinny bugs….bugs, bugs, bugs!
One morning around 6 AM I awoke to a weird scratching noise. It sounded quite close to my bed, so I felt around for my cell phone (which has a handy-dandy flashlight on the end, probably one of the most useful things I own), lit the flashlight and pointed it at the floor next to the head of my bed. There was a GIGANTIC African beetle that had somehow flipped itself onto its back and was trying, unsuccessfully, to roll back onto its scary hairy legs. My heart instantly started pounding faster and I took comfort in knowing I was shielded in by my mosquito net. I turned my flashlight off and tried to fall back asleep, but the beetle wouldn’t give up and I was terrified that it would reproduce in my room, so I mustered up some courage, lit my flashlight, pulled up the mosquito netting, grabbed one of my Birkenstocks and began hitting the thing. It instantly balled up and played dead. It was amazingly well-armored and there was no way my Birkenstock was going to win this battle, so I retreated back under my mosquito net and, once again, tried to fall back asleep. Again I heard the persistent scratching. By this point I was absolutely annoyed that this stupid beetle was stealing away my last precious hour of sleep. So this time, I lit up my torch, whipped up the mosquito netting and had at it again. I hit the beetle so hard that it went flying across the floor underneath the adjacent bed in my room. “Ha,” I thought, “That’ll keep you away.” I tucked in my mosquito netting for a second time and, once again, turned off my trusty flashlight. 3 seconds later, the scratching returned. “You have GOT to be kidding me.” Determined to take care of this situation once and for all, I prepared for battle. Slowly I lift my mosquito netting and shine my light onto this beetle about half the size of my fist. For a moment the butterflies in my stomach return, but I quickly suppress the fear and trudge forth toward the little monster. I lift the Birkenstock and slam it down onto the back of the beetle. I hear a slight crunch – a boost to my confidence – I lift the Birkenstock for a second time and slam it down again, this time pressing with all my might right in the crevice of the monster’s neck and body. More crunching. With one final twist of my Birkenstock, the head detaches from its body and a gross yellow puss spills from the wound. I drop the sandal and quickly drop the mosquito netting back around my foam mattress. I had won and I fell back asleep, only to awake to the dead carcass roughly 45 minutes later. It was just as disgusting as I had remembered, so I took my sturdy sandal of cork and pushed the dead creature under the adjacent bed. And there lies the carcass of the little beast. May it rest in peace. I hope all his beastly friends saw him and are too scared to ever enter my room again. And I never considered myself to be afraid of bugs…HA. That was before I ever came to another continent and didn’t know that monster bugs existed.
Moving to the village was absolutely the right decision, but it’s still really difficult sometimes. I stick out like a sore thumb, and everyone knows me by name. The walk from my home to the jr. high school is about 8 minutes long, but because of all the greeting I do along the way, it sometimes takes me a half an hour! Sometimes I feel like people just want to talk to me and be associated with me because I’m a foreigner, and they forget that I’m a human being who needs sleep and privacy. It’s exhausting!
The internship is going really well. I’m teaching English to 3 different classes composed of students ages 9-15, and I’m also teaching a class on human rights to students ages 8-11. It’s so much fun and is challenging at the same time (also the exact opposite of my internship with ONDH in Dakar). My fellow teachers are all fairly enthusiastic and well organized which makes things much more enjoyable.
Overall, I’m absolutely in love with this place and I’m learning so much every day. Most of all, this place has taught me to be patient with myself. When I think of my return to the states, I find myself sad. These people have so very little, but they are all so generous and kind. I’m not only sad about leaving, but a little bit scared to re-integrate into a society where everything is so easy and where people complain so much. (Including myself.) The comforts of home will be so nice, but at the same time, how can I express this experience to others and carry it with me without feeling so guilty about what I’ve been blessed with in life? Exactly 11 weeks from today I will be back on American soil, and I’m not sure how I feel about it. Excited, sad, happy, anxious… There is a big part of me that feels like I belong in this place with these people. I feel that I can be myself without being judged in the same ways that I’m judged in the States, but home is still home. Where my family is, where my friends are, where I can communicate easily and no one asks questions when I want to take 10 minutes to sit alone in my room and listen to music.
I could probably go on for days about my experience here, but I think that’s all I can express today. Love and miss you all back home.
Peace,
Ndela
Pretty sure this quote sums up my feelings lately:
“Home is home even for those who aspire to serve wider interests and who have established their home of choice in distant regions.” –Nelson Mandela
