Friday the 15th marked the halfway point of our stay in Senegal. I’ve been keeping close track of the days, and feeling the halfway mark looming upon me was, frankly, kind of depressing.  A month ago, I had written a proposal detailing all the activities I wanted to initiate at the preschool. The director approved it the day I submitted it, and said he would explain it to the preschool teacher. After a week, I tried to organize a meeting between the three of us. While I waited for that meeting to take place, I continued what I’d been doing at the school – helping the kids color, opening snacks, handing out materials, and drawing the curricula on the boards. A month passed while I waited, and I decided to just explain it to the teacher myself on Wednesday. I launched into a long, painful speech in my stunted French, and she listened and nodded. Then she brought me a stack of 50 notebooks and told me to copy the same picture into all of them (I’ve been designated official artist, because they somehow think my atrocious drawing skills are fabulous) so that the kids in my group could color the next day. She had obviously missed my entire point – that coloring every day was getting them nowhere, that I was tired of being forced to draw pictures and make endless paper chains, that I was not accomplishing anything at this apprenticeship. As I sat there, drowning in a sea of empty, waiting notebooks, I could feel a scream rising rapidly inside my throat. I was perilously close to either letting it out or bursting into an absolute torrent of tears.

That was and will undoubtedly be my lowest point throughout this bridge year. That Saturday, there had been an extremely uncomfortable situation with my host family. Sunday, I got the news that my aunt had just succumbed to her fight with pancreatic cancer. I took some time off work to cry and calm myself down and when I returned, I was still pretty high-strung. When that conversation happened, the frustration and feeling of helplessness that had been building up over the past week completely took over. Luckily, I refrained from exploding, knowing that would distress the teachers to no end, and that moment became a pivotal one for me.

I truly love GCY. I think the program is absolutely phenomenal and plan on being one of the loudest, most enthusiastic voices promoting the GCY experience when I return to the States. Read more…

For our first monthly meeting in Dakar, the Fellows celebrated a late Thanksgiving at Rachel’s house. I was averse to having a “traditional” Thanksgiving dinner, but tried not to dampen everyone else’s holiday spirits. It just struck me as rather America-centric to feel the need to celebrate traditional holidays while abroad, especially while in an immersion program, and especially when the holiday is one as distinctively American as Thanksgiving. (Yes, I am aware that Canadians also celebrate Thanksgiving, but it’s really not quite the same.) Thanksgiving admittedly doesn’t hold much importance with me anyways. First of all, there are far too many questions about the cruelty of the colonizing Europeans and the resulting plight of the natives for me to give thanks for this national holiday. Secondly, Thanksgiving isn’t that much fun for me as a vegan. So right off the bat, my desire to celebrate Thanksgiving was probably less than that of the other Fellows.

However, once all the traditional fare was prepared (we actually had chicken and one symbolic turkey leg), my idealistic-youthful-activist cynicism melted away like butter in mashed potatoes. Read more…

Before I left Boston, my mother warned me not to argue with people if I disagreed with their cultural beliefs. It’s better to bite my tongue, she said, to avoid creating problems for myself. Before in-country arrival, GCY gave us instructions to steer clear of discussing controversial topics with our host families and newfound friends. I understand this. I may be a girl of strong convictions, but I would like to think that when GCY chose me, they saw some semblance of cultural sensitivity. I know how to pick my battles, and I know that as a Founding Fellow, I shouldn’t really pick any at all.

Nevertheless, keeping my opinions to myself is becoming difficult, especially with my host father constantly telling me “we’re your family now, I’m your father now, you should behave as if this were your house in America!” Well, if my real dad and I were sitting on the couch, watching TV, and he loudly announced “I’m thirsty!” I would probably say something along the lines of “oh.” I would not take that as a cue to run to the kitchen, pour him a glass of water, hand it to him while dropping a curtsy, stand there waiting for him to finish, and take the glass back to the kitchen. I have a lot of respect my father, and as a normally nice person, I would gladly get him a drink if he asked for one. But saying “I’m thirsty” is not akin to asking for a drink, especially not asking with a please. Read more…

Before I left Boston, my mother warned me not to argue with people if I disagreed with their cultural beliefs. It’s better to bite my tongue, she said, to avoid creating problems for myself. Before in-country arrival, GCY gave us instructions to steer clear of discussing controversial topics with our host families and newfound friends. I understand this. I may be a girl of strong convictions, but I would like to think that when GCY chose me, they saw some semblance of cultural sensitivity. I know how to pick my battles, and I know that as a Founding Fellow, I shouldn’t really pick any at all.

Nevertheless, keeping my opinions to myself is becoming difficult, especially with my host father constantly telling me “we’re your family now, I’m your father now, you should behave as if this were your house in America!” Well, if my real dad and I were sitting on the couch, watching TV, and he loudly announced “I’m thirsty!” I would probably say something along the lines of “oh.” I would not take that as a cue to run to the kitchen, pour him a glass of water, hand it to him while dropping a curtsy, stand there waiting for him to finish, and take the glass back to the kitchen. I have a lot of respect my father, and as a normally nice person, I would gladly get him a drink if he asked for one. But saying “I’m thirsty” is not akin to asking for a drink, especially not asking with a please. Read more…

My apprenticeship is with the PDEF – an organization (funded by the international NGO ChildFund) that runs many things in the community, including a preschool which I am supposed to “help,” or really just study. After a week of sitting in the secretary’s office with my friendly mentor – she is the secretary – typing lengthy Excel spreadsheets, I have finally commenced inside an actual classroom. Until this week, I literally had not even seen a child. Read more…

As a female here in Senegal, I am often asked if I know how to cook. This is just one of several questions that are posed to me on a daily basis which require in my answer “Aux Etats-Unis, je suis vegetarienne.” People are quick to accept my explanation of why I eat meat while in Senegal, which is that the factory farms, battery-cage facilities and all the abhorrent practices that go hand-in-hand with these places do not really exist here. I have had a few very interesting discussions with people on the issues of animal cruelty. However, while I am obliged to mention my ex-veganism almost every day, the morals behind it have been pushed far into the back of my mind. I assure my questioners that yes, my meat-eating will come to a cessation once I return home, but I had almost forgotten why.  Wednesday morning, I received a powerful reminder.

Since I am here for the year in lieu of college, I’m trying to supplement my “field education” with a lot of reading. Wednesday morning, I was reading Zoë Weil’s Most Good, Least Harm, in which she explains her principle of “MOGO” – Most Good. The idea is that by making conscious and ethical choices in life, one not only finds inner peace, but creates peace in the world around them. Ms. Weil wrote a truly enlightening chapter on making good choices with food. Aside from all the typical “meat is murder!” discourse, she explains carefully and captivatingly the health benefits, huge environmental benefits, and most importantly, how the food we consume affects the people who inhabit the earth with us. She not only reminded me of why I choose to be a vegan, but caused me to reweigh my convictions to see which is the most critical reason. Read more…

As a female here in Senegal, I am often asked if I know how to cook. This is just one of several questions that are posed to me on a daily basis which require in my answer “Aux Etats-Unis, je suis vegetarienne.” People are quick to accept my explanation of why I eat meat while in Senegal, which is that the factory farms, battery-cage facilities and all the abhorrent practices that go hand-in-hand with these places do not really exist here. I have had a few very interesting discussions with people on the issues of animal cruelty. However, while I am obliged to mention my ex-veganism almost every day, the morals behind it have been pushed far into the back of my mind. I assure my questioners that yes, my meat-eating will come to a cessation once I return home, but I had almost forgotten why.  Wednesday morning, I received a powerful reminder.

Since I am here for the year in lieu of college, I’m trying to supplement my “field education” with a lot of reading. Wednesday morning, I was reading Zoë Weil’s Most Good, Least Harm, in which she explains her principle of “MOGO” – Most Good. The idea is that by making conscious and ethical choices in life, one not only finds inner peace, but creates peace in the world around them. Ms. Weil wrote a truly enlightening chapter on making good choices with food. Aside from all the typical “meat is murder!” discourse, she explains carefully and captivatingly the health benefits, huge environmental benefits, and most importantly, how the food we consume affects the people who inhabit the earth with us. She not only reminded me of why I choose to be a vegan, but caused me to reweigh my convictions to see which is the most critical reason. Read more…

First of all, the road to Sebikotane was the longest, bumpiest road I have ever traveled on. By the time we arrived, I had been bounced fully out of my seat at least a dozen times and hit my head on the ceiling once. However, we passed a lengthy stretch of what looked like a hundred twisty, almost skeletal baobab trees. It was worth the head trauma just to see this unforgettable landscape. Then, our arrival itself was much more of an event than it was in Dakar. Gaya, Hilary and I were received by a delegation at City Hall that included the mayor, vice-mayor, one of each of our host parents, our mentors and various other folks. Afterward, we met some village elders near Gaya’s house and one of them gave us a blessing. It was obvious that the community in Sebikotane was excited to receive us and that we would be well taken care of by everybody here. Read more…

First of all, the road to Sebikotane was the longest, bumpiest road I have ever traveled on. By the time we arrived, I had been bounced fully out of my seat at least a dozen times and hit my head on the ceiling once. However, we passed a lengthy stretch of what looked like a hundred twisty, almost skeletal baobab trees. It was worth the head trauma just to see this unforgettable landscape. Then, our arrival itself was much more of an event than it was in Dakar. Gaya, Hilary and I were received by a delegation at City Hall that included the mayor, vice-mayor, one of each of our host parents, our mentors and various other folks. Afterward, we met some village elders near Gaya’s house and one of them gave us a blessing. It was obvious that the community in Sebikotane was excited to receive us and that we would be well taken care of by everybody here. Read more…

There are few times in my life when I can honestly say that I was drenched in sweat. Today was one of those times. Not once before today have I been drenched in sweat without some kind of physical exertion behind it, be it a strenuous martial arts practice, a long run or even dancing at prom with 500 other sweaty people. Actually, now that I think about it, I guess there was a different kind of physical exertion today. Here’s what it looked like:

8:57 AM: Wake up. Realize I am late. Jump out of bed to wash my face and brush my teeth.

9:06 AM: Arrive at Baobab Center. All the other Fellows are already there, watching a French-dubbed version of the cinematic masterpiece known as Paycheck.

9:25 AM: Ananda calls Samba, our guide for the day, who was supposed to meet us at 9. He says he’ll be there in 5 minutes.

9:45 AM: Samba arrives. After handshakes we leave with another guide. Ben Wallace.

9:52 AM: We all pile into an infamous car-rapide. Normally, this is where the sweating would begin, but I got some prime real estate next to a giant window. The ride is very enjoyable, and I am in high spirits. Read more…