Enjoy!

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“What? Which one?”

“Your American name.”

“Oh, Marisa.”

“Marisa, that’s right.
Where did Marisa go?  Where is
she?”

We were talking about my plans for the future after I returned home.  I’m not sure in what context the question came about for my host mom, but what bothered me was how off guard it caught me.  Where did I go?  Or where did, ‘Marisa’, the girl that originally arrived here go?  Have I really changed that much?  I would expect my real family to notice the subtle changes, but have I changed so drastically that even my host family, who has only known me a few short months, can see it?  I feel like the same person.  But maybe I am blind to my own change.  I’m still the same person, aren’t I?  Well maybe I can’t see it because everything I do here has become normal.

Okay, so I tried to imagine this new routine I’ve adapted to in an American setting and to say that attempt was funny would be an understatement.  Everything is different here, not even close to comparable to what I’ll be returning to.  So, there’s something.  Maybe that ‘Marisa’ that has somehow disappeared is the me equipped to handle daily life in America, and the other me, I guess that’s how I would put it, is the one adjusted to my life out here.  So does that mean when I return, I’ll lose this new person?  I know it wouldn’t happen over night but over time would she cease to exist?  Or will I not be able to adjust back into that other person?  Or, by some miracle, will the two come together and learn to coexist?  One can only hope, but I guess I’ll only know upon return.  As frightening as the unknown quality of that is, I’m kind of excited to go home.  There is so much about my life there that I took for granted and now have found such a great appreciation for.  Well, that kind of knowledge, the perspective of how lucky I am can’t be something I lose over time.  So maybe I won’t lose this other me.  She might not be working overtime like she is here but she’ll still be there.  I’m almost sure of it.  And that’s all I can hope for now, I guess.

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So no, I didn’t work giving out AIDS vaccines, I was never surrounded by malnutritioned children with bloated bellies, I’ve never seen a lion or elephant here, I have never seen any scene reenacted from the Lion King, I didn’t get any weird diseases or eat bugs or any of that, although there are a few straw huts in my community.  That’s not what my life looks like here.  I’m surrounded by a loving family and friends dressed in crazy bright prints.  I sleep every night in a bed.  I eat rice, fish and vegetables on a daily basis.  I drink tap water and have never had a problem.  The Senegalese women, or more specifically the Wolof women, are tough and run a tight household.  Most of the guys act like teenagers.  They hold tradition in high regard but are open and accepting to new ideas.  They love music which ranges from traditional drums to Rhianna and Akon.  They love to dance!  When they laugh, which is often, they don’t just giggle, it’s like a burst of happiness just erupts.  Their laughs are loud and joyous and they can hardly sit still.  Some will hit the table or run away because whatever it was that made them laugh was just that funny.  Family is held above all and no bond is stronger.  They are giving and caring and take the whole community as one big family.  The saying “it takes a village to raise a child,” couldn’t be truer here.

So this stereotype that comes with the word “Africa” is just that, a stereotype.  So yes, in parts of Africa there is starvation, AIDS and Lion King worthy settings, but that’s not all.  There is so much more to it than that.

So much that one can only truly understand by experiencing it.  And Senegal, well at least the parts that I have seen, defiantly don’t fit the “Africa” stereotype.  So no, I have not lived in “Africa.”  I live in the Quartier Gounass, in the town of Mboro, in the region of Thies, in the country of Senegal.

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Enjoy!

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The power goes out here….a lot.  Whether it is because of the heat, a blown fuse, or whatever, it’s a common occurrence. The phrase, “Le courant est coupé,” (The current is cut or the power is out) is used very often.  Somewhere, in the city of Mboro, there is a power outage minimally once a week. But surprisingly enough, my guess anyway, about half of them will go unnoticed.  Life here is not dependent on technology or electricity, such a contrast from American life.  School continues, all classrooms have many windows to let enough light in for classes, most don’t have computers but those that do just won’t have that specific class that day.  Food storage relies very little on refrigerators or freezers as many don’t have them.  Food preparation relies on gas tanks and matches or just a log fire.  Most businesses rely on paper book keeping and do most things by hand.  The local tailors’ sewing machines will be out of commission so they will pick up their work and continue doing anything they can by hand.

Power outages are most noticeable in the early evening.  The family will be gathered around the TV or sitting outside talking.  If the power goes out in times like these, they just pull out candles for in the house or their cell phones, as all are equipped with flashlights, and continue what they were doing.  Conversation is the highest form of entertainment here which never relies on electricity.

So as cool as technology is and as convenient as it can be at times, the American population has, as it seems, become almost completely dependent upon it.  Life in Senegal is not and has never been, and although life is a little more difficult at times they get by.  They are not tied to Facebook updates or Twitter feeds, they don’t feel blind without a lightbulb lighting the way, they don’t need to worry about their food in any case due to the self sufficient manner of food preparation here.  They live off the land and are completely independent of technology.  And, quite honestly, that kind of freedom seems so much more advanced than any first world country could ever hope for.

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“There is going to be so much food,” we were told over and over again.  We were all bubbling with excitement.  When our meals came, one thing stuck out to me.  There was a lot of food, but there were also 33 of us to share it.  The plates were evenly distributed but none of us had a lot.

I thought about my previous Thanksgivings.  Although my family has never been one of those traditional sit-around-a-table-and-pass-the-green-beans kinds of families, we always have a feast.  How many times had we gone home with six or seven Tupperware containers of leftovers?  Huh, leftovers.  A concept neither known nor really accepted here.  Yes there are times when not all of the food in our bowl is eaten but we never throw it out or save it for another time, partially due to the fact we don’t have a fridge but also for cultural reasons.  No, if you have extra food, that simply means someone else will get a meal.  If we have food that could potentially feed someone who would otherwise go without, that is the priority.  Some would call it generosity but here, we just call it normal.  Everyone eats today.  If that is achieved, it is a good day.

Through trying to explain this, I’ve found it almost impossible to explain how deeply rooted this is.  What would an average normal American do if a beggar showed up at their door asking for food?  As much as we would like to not believe it, they would probably just shoo them off.  Not here.  Here it is almost an expected part of the day.  Whether it is some talibe kids, street kids, a mom with one too many mouths to feed, or elderly man with nowhere else to go, they will just stand at the door with their little ADJA bowls and wait.  Without saying a word my host parents will usher them in, take the bowl, hand over what is left, hand it back to them and they will be on their way.  Watching this on a daily basis is humbling.  And yes, this is normal.

So now going back to our Thanksgiving dinner on the beach surrounded by the people I have come to know as friends I realize why this stuck out to me.  We had enough.  This is a concept I have learned to appreciate.  Except for Tabaski, we always have just enough.  And enough is all you need.  Why in America do some eat like kings while others starve?  If we were all satisfied with enough, no one would ever go hungry again.

I feel as though I have found the true meaning of Thanksgiving.  Sitting there with my plate of turkey, mashed potatoes, and pumpkin pie, delicacies we hardly see here, I am thankful for this meal.  Sitting with my friends whom are beginning to feel more like family, I am thankful for these connections.  When homesickness strikes or I just desperately need to vent in English, I know that these people will be here for me just like or more so than the family I have so far away.  Not saying that my family isn’t supportive, but they could never understand what I, a young American girl living in a completely foreign country, am going through.  Well not like this group does.  Sitting on the beach, with the ocean waves crashing in the background, and the drummers playing the beat for the crazy dancers, I am thankful for being in a place as beautiful and exciting as this.  Knowing I have a house in America, with a loving family waiting for me, friends that will always be there for me, and an education valued as gold here, I am thankful for being born into a family and society that allowed me to grow up in privilege and freedom.  Having been able to realize that I am thankful for all that I have back home and how lucky I really am, I am thankful for this opportunity and all I have learned about myself and life in the past three months.

So here on Thanksgiving, try to remember why we actually celebrate this holiday, and no it is not just to eat.  But also remember the motto “everyone eats today,” and try, even just for a day, to be satisfied with enough.

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I got by in Dakar with the help of my friends, my support system.  Being dropped off at site and saying goodbye to them made me realize how dependent I am on other people.  I’d like to think that I am strong enough to stand on my own, that I could handle this on my own.  But reality hit and I felt alone.

Looking at my surroundings in my first site, I realized something else.  I found myself in a place I didn’t fit. But didn’t we get to give our input into where we would be living?  The site was matched to what we wanted, right?  Not exactly.  Due to some personal connections, everyone told me that this site was for me.  And I falsely agreed.  Why, you ask?  Because, once again, I was trying to make everyone else happy.  Once again I forgot to think about what I wanted.  And that was what they asked me.  “What do you want?”  And I couldn’t answer honestly.  So I did something that I normally wouldn’t have.  I asked for help, clearly and honestly.  And, surprising to me, it came.  Now I live in a town where I feel comfortable, work in a place that is constantly buzzing with activity, working with a friend, and living with a family that took me in with open arms.

Those are the major life changes but there are also minor ones too.  Like how I’m not completely afraid of bugs anymore.  Ok cockroaches freak me out but they’re gross no matter where you go. But the little ones I can handle, which, if you ask anyone who really knows me, that’s an accomplishment.  I’ve stopped thinking about what I should do,  or what I have to do, and starting thinking more about what I want to do. I’m a much less picky eater.  Which you kind of have to be considering the options aren’t all that varied.  However, I may never want to eat rice after this due to overload.

I’m beside myself thinking of how ignorant I was.  But now is not the time to think of the past.  Now is the time to look forward.  Besides, I have met someone along this journey as well.  Her name is Fama Siby.  She is me.  She is the new, better, 2.0 version of me.  And I am very excited to get to know her.

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Everything is so different here.  In our “right” society, in this utopia we have built up around us in the U.S. we have learned many things.  From a very young age, we are taught not to litter, that people shouldn’t eat with their hands, people shouldn’t wipe themselves with their hands, that everyone needs some alone time.  But we aren’t “right” anymore.  This isn’t our “perfect” little world anymore.  This isn’t our culture.  This isn’t what I expected.  I realized quickly that I really hadn’t prepared myself for this year at all.

Towards the end of that month in Dakar, I found myself in a daily routine.  I balanced family time with my host family and escaping with my friends to the ice cream shop or just to wander aimlessly through the streets.  I found myself accepting where I was and what I was doing.  Although I can’t say I was happy per say, I was content.  And, quite frankly, for this being the first time I was really leaving the nest, in a place so completely different from anything I have ever known, in a place where I don’t know the customs, the language, or what I was eating half the time, content was ok.

Now I realize it was not productive at all to my transition to sit and reflect on my expectations.  So here is me, accepting where I am and adjusting to my new life.

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During my junior year in high school, the school counselors begin to talk about our future plans.  What college are you going to?  What do you want to study?  Have you picked a major yet?  All questions I honestly couldn’t answer.  And by senior year, it seemed as though everyone had it figured out except me (That’s probably an exaggeration, but it was high school.  Doesn’t everyone feel like that?).   I needed to explore the world, figure out what my passions were, and realize who I wanted to become.  I needed to find me.  That’s where Global Citizen Year came in.

So now in my search for self, I am embarking on a seven and a half month journey of cultural exploration, ethnic exposure, and global perspective in Senegal, Africa.  I hope that this experience will open my eyes to all that the world has to offer and better prepare me for the journey after the journey, also known as college.

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