Global Citizen Year » Lily Goldberg

When the Men Come Home…

Lily Goldberg — Wed, 02 May 2012 16:10:47 +0000

In Senegal the family dynamic is simple, but rigid. The men work, the women keep the home and do the cooking, and the children go to school and help the adults. Of course per family their are variations of this setup. Some girls don’t really get much of a chance to go to school, while others are able to go all the way to college. And many women are able to work in the market and even get jobs of their own, such as in health. But one factor remains fundamental, women do the cooking and cleaning, men do the “real” work. And often decent work cannot be found near where a family lives in a village. Such is the case with my family here in Ross Bethio. While some of the young boys work in the fields or at the nearby motor shop (a dirt lot littered with old cars and parts) all of the older husbands and fathers work in the city of Dakar. Dakar is a 5 hour drive away, so the fathers don’t get home that often. This makes the house a prominently female dominated realm, headed off by my grandmother the queen bee and final sayer of all things. I’ve never been in the presence of royalty before, but I would have to say my grandmother is more regal and proud than any older lady I’ve known. She’s in charge, and she knows it. And so does everyone else. Even among her older friends in the village, she is seen as more of a leader. Rarely does she go anywhere (most of her time is spent sitting on a foam pad, or in a chair in front of her room, overseeing everyone else at work and play.) If friends want to see her they come to our house. And all of the women and children in the family cater to her. She gets the best meals, and bed, and bathroom. And she rarely gets up to do anything for herself, always there is a child or maid around to wait on her.

But when the men come home, things are different. The day they are arriving everyone is both giddy and on edge, everyone but my grandmother. The children are full of glee, excited to see their father after it having been so long. The men only come to visit about once a month if not less. Imagine only getting to see your father once a month if your lucky? Its hard to envision for most, and it makes you a little teary eyed to see the elated faces of the children over one short visit. The men don’t stay for long, maybe two or three days, no more than five at most. So each visit is an event, and the atmosphere I would say is comparable to that of a holiday. Everyone is cleaning and cooking, and making everything and everyone look their best for the arrival. Every inch of the house is swept, fancy braids and weaves are put in, snazzy clothes adorned, and the meals are the most delicious and lavish. Usually it is only one husband who comes home at a time, and the wife of that husband is always in an excited frenzy. As well all the children are happy because even if it isn’t their father coming home, its still wonderful to have a father figure around.

The men sometimes come driving a car so the front gates are opened for this rare occasion. Everyone crowds around the wide metal doors, the children happily cheering on either side of the car as it rolls in. It’s as if we are welcoming the president, all thats missing is the red carpet. The older boys get the bags while the children vie at their father’s feet for attention. And the men always come baring gifts such as body cream, and fruit. I’ll never forget the timid, nervously excited way my Aunt Case served her husband. She was so jumpy and happy. Her hands shaking, she giddily brought in the tray of sliced fruit. Nervous for everything to please him, it was a bittersweet scene. And the children, oh they will break your heart with their elated faces preciously chirping “My papa is coming today!” “Do I look pretty? Is my hair beautiful? Do you like my dress?” “Did you come to see him? Come and see my Pappa with me!” “Pappa, Pappa, Pappa!” They crowd at his feet, smiles wide and eyes bright, begging for attention. Its both beautiful, sweet, and sad, and touching to witness.

Another occasion that sticks in my mind was more recent, just yesterday when the husband of my Aunt Fatou came to visit. She was more dressed up than I had ever seen before. And this is a woman who is not big on dressing up or vanity, not even for holidays. While others go for sparkles and shine, she wears simple fabrics and never employs a fancy weave. But here she was in a shimmery powder blue, rather tight fitting dress, fancier than anything I had seen her wear before. Hair done up all fancy, she was walking on air. Her husband, being the least of frequent visitor, I had only met once before. Fatou and her eight kids (that live here) were elated. The meal was exquisite, one of the daughters served her father and his friend a grand plate of meat in onion sauce, fries, tomatoes, on a bed of lettuce and garnished with carrots. Such a meal we only ever otherwise eat for holidays. After the men devoured the platter of food, the daughter came in perfect time to retrieve it. “Did you like the meal,” she inquired timidly. I craned my neck to see into the next room where only the men were eating. When they replied in the affirmative, that the meal was very good, the look on the daughters face was pure joy. She walked calmly but glowing out of the room. Then as she carried the platter to the kitchen, I saw her skip and do a little twirl of happiness. Flicking sand up with her pointed feet, she was like a senegalese ballerina. Absolutely precious.

Now what can be drawn from this exactly I’m not quite sure, except well it gives you a great appreciation for the strength of the women and children in these families. These women rarely see their husbands, and in a way they are for the most part single parents. The work and daily hardships they take on without a husband to lean on is living proof of the resilient power of a woman. And these children who grow up more or less without a father, bursting with happiness by just one visit, one smile, one hug, one compliment. It makes you appreciate your own family and be so glad for what you have. While its hard watch the stress this way of life causes the families, its also wonderful to witness the joy and warm sense of family that is a rare occasion for these people. When the men arrive it’s like a hole is being filled, the family is complete and all together. And while it may not be for long, they all know what a precious gift it is to have for the time being, and they feed it and love it with all their hearts. So even when the visit ends and the car leaves, things are more somber but still happy and content. The shared feeling of warmth can last them long enough, until next time when the men come home again.

Home; here and there and everywhere

Lily Goldberg — Wed, 02 May 2012 16:00:58 +0000

Something I’ve noticed, without fail, is that consistently throughout all places and peoples in Senegal there is a general, wonderful sense of hospitality, welcoming, and concern for others. They call this “Teranga,” a sense of friendliness, hospitality, and respect conveyed by the Senegalese to all people. It’s most apparent in the traditional long greetings given whenever you see someone. In Senegal when making a greeting there is not simply a “Hey what’s up, or how are you doing?” When you greet someone you ask them how they are, how they slept, how their day has been going, how their family is, mother, father, grandmother, etc. and then they ask all this of you as well if not more. It’s the first thing we were taught how to say when we came because it is such an important signal to the Senegalese. It shows you appreciate their culture and language, understand the value of greetings, and caring about how another person is doing. I’ve seen this at home with my own host family, as well as out and about during random encounters and travels.

I had my first ever Christmas in Senegal, and my fellow Fellows Kaya and Megan (or as known by the Senegalese; Fatou and Awa) had their first Chanukah as well. It was simply the best. Despite the overwhelming nostalgia while being so far away from home we had a wonderful holiday. A major part of what made the holiday so special was the openness and generous hospitality of Kaya’s host family.

I traveled the two and a half hour trip to Kaya’s village in Potou by bus and taxi. Traveling in Senegal is never boring, especially by bus. Rides on the beat up old-school Mercedes (yes Mercedes) public transport vehicles are always full of surprises such as police stops, detours, arguments over money, cellphones — or who knows what — onions and goats on the roof, stops for loading grain, engines overheating, and there’s always a crying/laughing baby or two. No space is wasted as these buses are packed full of people literally till they are busting out the back doors, and then a couple more are still smushed inside or hang out the back. It was by this means that I made my way to Potou to meet Kaya and Megan for the best holiday away from home. Weighted down with bags full of gifts and food, I felt like I was bringing Christmas. A woman on the bus inquired why I was traveling and I explained for the holiday. Another woman with a baby climbed onto the overcrowded bus, and in true holiday and Senegalese spirit the woman I was talking to gave up her seat for the woman with the baby. Teranga. Simple small acts of kindness such as this really show the true character of a person and culture. It makes all the difference.

In Kaya’s village I was greeted by a little collage of children some dressed and some not, all adorable. Everyone was warm and friendly and we danced and sang yuza and the kids loved it. Later we went on a tree finding expedition, and after realizing how maybe a cactus was a hazardous choice, we selected a fine branch from some kind of strange, leafless, birch like bush to be our Christmas tree. Then we got to work making ornaments from seashells and scraps of fabric. The result was beautiful, and Kaya’s family agreed. When I visited again weeks later the tree was still up, in its glorified place on the corner table. We even had some homemade presents and of course Christmas isn’t Christmas without a holiday movie, we watched Elf. And in wonderful respect of the holiday Kaya’s family allowed us to have some time to ourselves. Then we caroled and sang and danced some more. And when it was dinner Kaya said her family had never made food so fancy before. It was just for us, to make us feel like welcome guests and to celebrate our holiday. Such a nice gesture. It was my first Christmas, and it was wonderful. I could almost see the snow.

The next day we had our Chanuka celebration, which resulted in a never ending parade of “The Latke Song” and dancing all around. And later came the latkes. I had stupidly forgotten my potato grater and we were a little worried as to how to shred the potatoes and onions. To the rescue came Kaya’s family, what do you know they had a shredder! All was saved. We managed to get the required ingredients, for the most part, and got to work peeling and shredding, mashing and mixing, and frying over the kerosene heated pot. We crossed our fingers and cooked, and the result was delicious. I was blown away by how great they turned out. The latkes tasted like home. I was standing in a roofless concrete compound in Senegal, but if I closed my eyes with each deliciously crispy bite, I felt as though I was back in America, stealing latkes from the kitchen as my mom cooked for Chanuka. It was weird, and wonderful. And it was Megan and Kaya’s first Chanuka, (believe it or not they had never had latkes before!) and it couldn’t have worked out better. It was a great holiday that made us feel like we were with family and friends even though our real homes were so far away. And it was all possible because of teranga, Senegalese hospitality and respect.

My host family as well shows me the same kindness everyday. It started with the way they first welcomed me to the house, with a huge bowl of food just for me. And ever since they have always made me feel at home and like part of the family. There was the exception that in the beginning they didn’t let me do a lot of work, and I am still treated a little like a guest, but now we have for the most part gotten over that. They let me do my own laundry now. And whenever friends come to visit, either for lunch or for a while, they are always welcoming. For meals we are given a huge platter of food just for us and we are left alone to eat and talk. Before my friends arrive my grandmother also inquires to make sure the selected meal is something my friends will like. I always laugh and say “Yes! We all like chep bu gen (fish and rice and veggies, the Senegalese trademark dish) Ceebu Jen nexna torrop!” It’s because of the wonderfully welcoming and open nature of the Senegalese that makes it so easy to become part of the family. Last time I visited Kaya’s village I was sad to leave, I had bonded so much with the family. Though the food and living standard is far better in my home, I also enjoy living in Potou. I miss seeing the beautiful beach, walking around on market day, playing fútbol with the boys, and dancing with the girls. When Kaya’s sister Syenobou said I shouldn’t leave but live here instead, I wanted to cry. So I just hugged her and said I would come again soon. And when I returned to my own village after being away a while, I felt such surprising nostalgia for a place I have not lived in long at all. I missed my family. My grandmother always sitting regally on her matt, the kids with their funny faces and games, and of course the food. I may be miles aways from America, but here also feels like home.

No Worries

Lily Goldberg — Thu, 17 Nov 2011 12:15:05 +0000

When you travel to a foreign country, you can’t expect to know what’s coming. You learn to go with the flow and see what happens. But what I definitely was not expecting, living in my village of Ross Bethio, was to see my 6 year old little sister Ndeye-Marie, cantering nonchalantly across the compound, wielding a whopping 5 inch chef’s knife in her hand. Of course my first reaction upon seeing this was to jump up off the matt and exclaim to my grandmother my concern. But to my dumbfounded surprise she motioned for me to sit back down waving off my worry along with the flies circling our heads. To her, a 6 year old with a giant knife is completely normal. To me the thought was an immediate red flag. Still I had no choice but to put my own safety values aside and accept the way things work here. And every time I see a child do something we would consider dangerous in the states, I can’t help holding my breath for a minute in fearful apprehension. But slowly I realized, the kids here do seem rather capable and not in any imminent danger.

In America we are trained to worry way too much. We always see straight towards the worst case scenario and do everything in our power to prevent it. It doesn’t matter if the odds of catastrophe are minuscule. If the threat is there in any shape or form, we prepare against it. From baby proofing to building nuclear bombs, America is big on preventative measures. It is the land of excess and extra protection, and what are we accomplishing by it anyway? Are we really doing anything except worrying ourselves to death?

We could learn a thing or two from the Senegalese, whose kids are the toughest I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. Here, pain and outward expression of dissatisfaction is looked down upon. The kids are taught from an early age not to cry over minor bumps or upsets. When they cry they are not coddled, but ignored, shushed or even chided to stop crying. In fact, the child usually realizes there is nothing to cry about and he/she quickly bounces right back to laughing and play. As well they learn to suck up pain as best they can. When my little eight year old sister, Seynobu, greeted me one morning I saw she had a rag bandage tied around her left shin. The dirty fabric was now soaked through with blood and when removed, revealed a shockingly deep gash. I know for a fact that I would probably be tearing up quite a bit from such a cut, but there she was nonchalantly saying hello with a smile.

The only painful emotion she showed was wincing slightly, squeezing her eyes shut and biting her lip, as I applied an alcohol wipe to clean the wound. I explained to her ahead of time how the wipe would be painful. But instead of crying and putting up a fight, she accepted the situation and braced herself for the pain, better than many adults would. The kids here are made of some strong stuff, that’s for sure. In the U.S. I think we baby our kids too much. Our love turns into smothering and overprotection to the point where we deprive them of being brave and independent. Children are capable of more than we give them credit for, that I’ve learned in my past few weeks here.

Now I’m not saying we should let all 6 year olds carry giant knives. Still many other things that are done here, but not in the U.S., hold merit. All the children in my village, while wild and mischievous in play, always remember to respect their elders and be serious when it counts. They have more responsibility than any average U.S. child of the same age. The kids help cook, sweep, clean, feed the animals, sell goods in the market, serve the adults drinks and food, and more. And they always come when called. You have to admit, when you see a 3 year old washing dishes and a 6 year old doing laundry like a pro, you think, “Damn, I sure had the easy life as a kid. Where did my parents go wrong?” Just kidding, of course, my childhood was great. But I have to admit perhaps if I had been taught to do chores from such a young age, they might seem like less of a hassle now, and be a routine part of life as they should. Now I’ve adjusted well, and don’t mind doing laundry by hand or sweeping on all fours. But it’s a fact that the average American teenager is a lazy breed of youth. We get away with murder compared to these Senegalese kids. And you know what, in the end I think we suffer, not them.

It’s better to learn to take care of yourself and others as early on as possible instead of dealing with that burden when your older and just want to live life. The Senegalese kids are so independent, like hard working little adults. And maybe a little too much is expected of them, but it’s far better than the lack of responsibilities granted to America’s youth. And the beauty is the kids here don’t mind the work, it’s normal. Life is too short to waste time complaining about laundry and cuts and minor injustices. Life has its little obstacles and is unfair, but the best way to deal with that is to get over it fast. When you learn to bounce back instead of wallowing you end up much happier and can spend more time actually living.

Now when I see my five year old brother Muhammed run head first into a wall, I don’t worry. He comes up laughing anyway. I see my eight year old sister Seynabu watching her baby sister unsupervised, carrying her on her back so happily. I know that it’s normal and just imagine what a wonderful mother she is going to be. No worries. Who says three year olds can’t do dishes or six year olds can’t do laundry? Who says scraping your knee is a big deal? Who says eight year olds don’t make great babysitters? Who says young kids aren’t capable of anything responsible? You know, I’m starting to forget. American values for kids and how to raise them are fast fading in my mind, and replacing them is a whole new set of boundaries, or more so the lack of them. After being taught to build walls of protection in life to ward off unseen hypothetical threats, it feels good to be knocking them down. It’s such a privilege to live in a place surrounded by happy gleeful children, always ready to put you in a good mood, I’m learning from them everyday. And most importantly they’ve reminded me, life is better when you don’t worry.

Immersion

Lily Goldberg — Mon, 10 Oct 2011 15:54:36 +0000

“Communication has been cut off at the knees. Coherent sentences left hanging in confusion, and words reduced to indistinguishable sounds. I’ve found myself clinging with grateful desperation to the few French and Wolof words I know, and my knowledge is meager. It is one thing to be in a foreign country staying in a hostel with friends and English speaking adults. And quite another to be suddenly thrown into the home of people you don’t know at all, whose culture you are newly familiar with, and whose language you barely speak.”

This was my initial reaction from weeks ago when I first came to live with my host family in Dakar. Since then communication has of course improved some, but still many things are lost in translation. And compared to modern Dakar, visiting my host village in Ross Bethio was an entirely different experience. It had its goods and bads, ups and downs. The main downside being a lack of modern plumbing, but that was expected. The upsides are numerous, the leading factor being a wonderful sense of family and community that I had never experienced before.

Being in the village was just peaceful. The slow, worry free, laid back lifestyle took effect over me. My thoughts hadn’t been that clear in a long time, and it was a wonderful sensation to just be able to relax, lay back, and gaze at the blue sky or starry night. The welcoming, friendly, curious atmosphere made me feel at home in only a day or two. It didn’t matter that I could barely speak to them, they accepted me right away and showered me with food and clothes and warmth.

Though it took a little time for us all to open up fully, I can now honestly say I more clearly understand the concept of being immersed.It is something you cannot fully imagine, you have to just experience it. It’s not just the unfamiliar culture, or food, or language, it is the combination of it all, along with many more unrecognizable differences in your everyday life. These changes, small or large, pull you down beneath the undertow of culture shock. And I find myself swimming through words I don’t understand trying to rise above the next crashing wave of foreign experience. And each time I fail and the waters of confusion wash over my head, I am both shocked and embarrassed, but also refreshed.

I find with each failure an even larger urge to keep trying. I am desperately eager to learn the language, and I feel real enthusiasm to learn with the help from my village family. Learning a language is one of the most impossible frustrations that seems can only be cured by patience. Patience, time, and motivation. And time I have, though also I have a small fear that time too will suddenly disappear, with all things familiar. So I am making an effort to make each moment count. During this last week in Dakar I am spending some nice last times with my host family, and keeping an open mind for what lays ahead. I’m so excited for village life and my apprenticeship, though I really have no idea what it will be about. All I know it is environmentally related and that’s good enough for me. Que sera sera.

Life All Around

Lily Goldberg — Mon, 10 Oct 2011 15:52:58 +0000

In all honestly life here in Dakar is not full of immersion. Initially it felt a little shocking, but that passed quickly. In my home, my host brother and his friends speak some English, so I get a language break now and then. And everyday all of us fellows are together for a good amount of time so we are hardly living without English, or even the comforts of home.

In fact life here in Dakar it is very modern and American in many ways. First of all, in my Senegalese home, the TV is always on. Always. That’s about as American as it gets, right? And also we eat in front of the TV at least once a day. We do eat around the bowl Senegalese style for main meals, but usually with spoons not hands. And if there are a lot of people over, which there often are, we eat on plates with silverware in front of the television or in various places outside. It’s very social and relaxing, and reminds me of home in many ways. The food is delicious, and familiar in the sense of fries and rice. But the meat seems to remain a mystery. Sometimes I’m able to identify a dish as being fish or chicken, otherwise I just eat and enjoy the intrigue.

Living in Dakar I must admit I’ve become more lazy then expected. I’m used to the convenience of the nearby Casino Supermarche, the many food vendors, restaurants, taxis to take you downtown and to the beaches, the modern clubs and nightlife, and people knowing English so you don’t need to practice Wolof as much. Village life is a whole different experience, and I’m ready to start living without these material things, being forced to learn the language, and rediscover my motivation working out in the field. In Dakar we have the luxury of fairly constant electricity, fans and running water, a fridge, a somewhat easy to use bathroom, and many other comforts of American life. So, this is not full on immersion, it is a transitioning bridge along the road towards it. Complete immersion is on its way, or more so we are heading towards it, and the excitement levels rise with each passing day.

We all leave for our villages for the 6 month stretch this coming Tuesday, and there, we will have a whole other experience that can’t even be imagined. We already got a taste of it, living out in our villages for a week. But one week and one month, let alone 6 months, are very different concepts. It’s hard to imagine being away from the other fellows for so long, and all the new friendships made. But at the same time I cannot wait to get back to Ross Bethio and start working on whatever it is I am to do. Hard work has been one thing we lacked living Dakar, and I am ready to exert some energy.

I am also eager to see my village family again, and be immersed in that sense of community. To them I am not Lily, but Coumba Diop a member of the family. It’s like entering a whole different world, and I have a whole new identity, which they are a huge part of. I miss the casual mornings with breakfast served on the floor right outside my room. I miss the long walks, the cleaner air, and of course the kids and the silly games we play.

Also in the village there was such a lack of judgement that I cannot wait to get back to. I would dance Youza for them, badly but to their great enjoyment, or sing Rihanna and Shakira with my sister with no embarrassment or reservations. I was intrigued by the way they sort rice and, giving it a try, I found it to be a surprisingly enjoyable and relaxing task.They were fascinated with my friendship bracelets and of course now I have a million orders to fill. Though being part of such a slow moving lifestyle, I think I will finish them in no time. Living back in Dakar I can’t clearly picture what life will be like these next months, or what kind of work I will be doing. So I’m just gonna let the ever pressing future remain a mystery. I’m leaving my assumptions behind and planning to start this new journey with an open mind, eager spirit, and smiley disposition.

The World Up Close and Personal

Lily Goldberg — Wed, 06 Jul 2011 18:15:12 +0000

Hey, I’m Lily, 18 years old and from Glastonbury CT (quite the uneventful area). It is quiet and nice, but I have to admit it’s incredibly easy to get bored here, which is partly why I’m so thirsting for adventure! It helps to have hobbies — that is my primary boredom cure. I love making jewelry for friends, home movies with my brother, cooking, photography, editing, music, artsy stuff and tons more. I also love to write: creatively, journalistically, ranting randomly, poetry or whatever comes to mind. I have trouble condensing though as you may notice. It’s safe to say I’m very eclectic. I just want to try everything, and I encourage myself not to be afraid to, no matter what the new thing may be.

I feel like life should be richly full of experience, meaning stepping outside of your comfort zone at least now and then. You need stories to tell and new frontiers to explore. And this can only happen by taking a leap in a new direction, or at least a small step to start. I chose to dive head first into something new, and I am ecstatic to be a part of Global Citizen Year this year. In CT I hike and bike, roller blade, rock climb, camp, all that usual outdoorsy stuff. But being one who has never traveled outside the country EVER, I am growing restless in this small town scenario. I can’t wait for life to begin! You should also know that I am in love with nature. We have a long standing relationship dating back to before I could tie my shoes. Barefoot is always more fun. Over the years there have been so many threats, old and new, tearing us apart. And I’ve learned, to my dismay, how many others do not share my apparently less popular view of the earth. Since I was young I understood how we have a simple, fundamentally moral obligation to give back to the world for all it gives to us. And when I discovered that most others do not agree with this idea, I made it my mission to change their minds. How exactly I would go about this I didn’t know, I just knew it needed to be done at any cost. Ah, the naively ambitious nature of youth. Now, of course, I see realistically the comical magnitude of what feat I chose. But still my mind was, and is, set. I still don’t know quite exactly how, though I have some theoretical ideas, but somehow I need to change the way people see and treat this little old planet we call home. For now I just need to get out of my bubble and explore. I want to see the world not in pages of National Geographic but up close and personal. I can’t even begin to imagine what amazing experiences lay ahead for us all, but I know they will be life changing. And that is enough positive promise to make me smile all summer long.