For quite a while now, I’ve known I want to live and work in a developing country, working with women and/or youth – probably in Africa and probably with a developmental NGO. I knew all along that this GCY bridge year will have been helpful when that dream becomes a reality, but after meeting some American NGO folks, I fully appreciate that the experience is absolutely invaluable.

My apprenticeship is not just with a preschool – it’s with an entire “community center” of sorts, who run the preschool, health initiatives and other things geared towards childhood development. The whole thing is funded by a foreign NGO. A little over a month ago, some Americans from this NGO stopped by my apprenticeship to check out the preschool, among other things. The Senegalese man who runs the center had forewarned me and asked me to translate – being sure to tell the Americans all the good things I am doing at the preschool, how wonderful the teachers are, etc. The way he explained it, if they got a good impression, they would give him more money for the center. I slightly uncomfortably agreed to do what I could.

The day arrived and in they came, surrounded by every single personnel member from the center, two translators from Dakar, and a cameraman with a mic. Every Senegalese person was in their element, speaking rapidly and trying their darndest to be charming and be heard. I really did not want to enter that throng, so I kept trying to keep the kids’ focus on their workbooks, not the loud, excitable horde that had stampeded into their formerly peaceful classroom.

The ones whom I gathered were the education experts had asked me a few questions about the curriculum, etc., and discussed my answers between themselves. They didn’t seem too impressed, one of them saying something along the lines of: “There are other schools in Africa with more students and more learning.” Standing there listening to them, I again found myself in a situation where I resented the need to bite my tongue, only this time I wasn’t even talking to Senegalese people. The Americans were gone in less than 10 minutes.

That whole encounter left a bad taste in my mouth and I went home immediately after they left to think about it. A very friendly email I later got from the “health specialist,” with a draft of his field report attached, gave rise to two emotions: 1) it made me very uncomfortable with the idea of writing this post, and 2) it made me want to write the post even more because I found some discrepancies within the report. It was just so obvious to me that they could have avoided those by hanging around a little longer, actually visiting for more than 10 minutes, or maybe even putting someone in the field instead of trying to run things from afar. I understand that they have Senegalese people working with them, and I am 100% for putting local people on local projects, but this project just isn’t working in the best way.

In the month since they came here, I’ve visited and observed four other preschools in the area and plan on visiting a few more before I leave. I’ve spoken to many preschool teachers from schools all over the region. I am no education expert, but at least I have an idea of the norms in Senegalese early childhood development, not of “other schools in Africa.” We’ve learned over and again – from US training to the readings Rachel makes us take notes on – how important it is to be country-specific or even region-specific. You have to work within and with the culture! You can’t just go applying one-size-fits-all projects all around the world. They may work to an extent, but they won’t work at their best, and money will be wasted and people won’t get the full benefit.

Just as important, if not more valuable, is the understanding of Senegalese culture that I’ve gained. For example, three days after the Americans came, I was the only Fellow to go to the Gamou, a huge celebration of Muhammad’s birthday. I stayed in a rural village much smaller than Sebikotane, I slept in a bed with 5 other people, I ate around the bowl with dozens of folks and multiple families over the course of the weekend. I had the privilege of kneeling in a marabout’s bedroom, packed to the gills with people in prayer, and receiving a blessing with all these Senegalese Muslims. I am clearly neither of these, but I and my headscarf were accepted with nothing but smiles.

I’ve “featured” a couple of lines in a Senegalese rap recording. I’ve waded through knee deep mud to harvest oysters off mangroves. I ate a raw oyster not two minutes later. I’ve taken every possible form of public transport, known how much to pay, and known how to yell if I don’t get my change. I have Wolof lessons underneath a mango tree three times a week, I teach yoga every Friday. This is only in the month since the Americans have been here.

I don’t think I could feel any more comfortable in this community, and I know I have earned respect, admiration and love from the people I’ve met. They are willing to listen to me and I love to listen to them. I wish every NGO employee, their directors, their such-and-such representatives, even their accountants, could have an experience like mine. You can plan all you want with people holding every kind of imaginable degree, with experts on education, health, environmental preservation, whatever – but your organization will not function to the best of its ability, will not be most helpful, does not have the best chance of being sustainable, if you do not get to know the people you’re trying to help. I mean really get to know them.

This is what I’ve believed for a long time. It has been doubly, triply reinforced since I’ve been here. There are great success stories in the developmental/social change field with this principle at the forefront. I truly hope that more and more people start to see and believe it as well. If not, well, I know all the Senegal Fellows agree with me on this, and I have faith that they’re all going to make big change.

So now, on my daily walks, I have to factor in a few extra minutes to account for all the stopping. I stop to shake hands with, chat with, and receive meal invitations from teachers, co-workers, extended family members, and, because this is Senegal, many other “family members.” I am not excluded from these broad familial definitions – the children at the preschool call the teachers “Tata,” which means “auntie.” It never fails to make me smile to hear all these little voices shouting “Tata Victoria!” and waving frenetically when I pass by on the road. Most enjoyable for me are all the new friendships I’m building thanks to the high school English club that Gaya and I have started. I have never before realized how essential it is to my happiness and well-being to have friends my age, and my appreciation for my friends, both back home and here, has deepened greatly.

My host cousin, who is one of my favorite people here even though he has an awkwardly obvious crush on me, has noted that my “face is more open” when I’m around him and our friends, as opposed to when we’re around the family. This is probably true. I truly like almost everyone I’ve met here in Senegal – my co-workers and family are all caring, friendly and good natured. They like to tease me – about everything – and I feel very comfortable around all of them. However, there exists a sort of wall of professionalism and politeness that I don’t plan on taking down, because I feel like it really helps me be taken seriously as a linguistically-challenged 18-year-old working among people twice my age. My Senegalese friends see more of the “real” me, I guess. My role in the English club as American pop song translator/singer/comedic relief makes me and the students happy and has helped to build our relationships. I am willing to put any and all musical taste aside and sing along to Beyonce, Chris Brown and Celine Dion to help me connect with my new friends. My old friends certainly know that is kind of a big step.

Largely because of these new friendships, I feel like I’ve made the transition from just staying in Senegal to actually living here. It’s hard to explain the depth of this at-once startling and comforting realization in words. It’s a very pleasant shock to realize I’ve been meandering along a sandy path for the better part of an hour, chatting with a girlfriend or two in a language I formerly could not comprehend. It’s very gratifying to have social appointments to balance out all the apprenticeship-related ones. It’s very cheering to run into a friend with whom I can talk about nothing but music, our boyfriends, and how much I miss my long hair – one who won’t ask me questions about why I’m here, what I think of Obama or Abdoulaye Wade, how I would compare America to Senegal, and my opinions on the Senegalese educational system. I am, of course, willing to answer these questions, and those conversations are usually interesting and enriching. However, I am finding that I didn’t fully appreciate the value of a good friend until this experience, when I couldn’t just pick up the phone or go have lunch with one whenever I wanted. Not a lesson I expected to learn while here, because I’ve always genuinely loved my friends, but I’m happy to add it to the list of things I’m learning during this crazy year.

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. However, if there is one flaw in GCY’s modus operandi, I think it’s an overemphasis on the “changing the world” aspect of the bridge year. Discussion with the other Fellows revealed that they felt the same way – we all applied for this eager to run off and “save” a Third World village. But having those expectations made us all start feeling discouraged once the halfway point approached, and I’m now glad I had that near-breakdown because it prompted an invaluable conversation with Rachel and the other Fellows.

Thank goodness that the monthly meeting fell on the halfway day, because we all needed to remind each other of our “meaning” here. Every Fellow is, of course, making a difference just by being here, living in these communities, but I think we were still clinging to a certain vision of “making a difference,” in a semi-unrealistic way. We are supposed to be training ourselves to help “save the world” once we have a college education and some more life experiences under our belts. I’ve been saying this whole time that this GCY bridge year is more about me than the people of Senegal – after all, I was just a 17-year-old high school grad when I got here, what could I really offer them? I often repeated that I was going to learn much more than I could ever teach. There is no doubt that I am learning more about social development and different cultures this year than I have throughout my entire life. I am learning mostly, however, about myself – where my limits lie, how I best fit into the social work scene, and what genuinely makes me happy. I’ve been saying all along that was the point of taking this bridge year, but I guess I had kind of forgotten.

For the meeting, Rachel had us all write project plans for the remainder of our time here. We are so lucky to have that woman with us – she has been essential both to saving our sanity and pushing us to think critically and academically about everything we’re going through. I poured myself into that paper, reflecting on things I have already learned and setting realistic goals that will help me learn more. I’ve totally refocused on learning, learning, learning, so that I can be 100% better prepared for college and, hopefully, be able to come back after college and actually facilitate some of these great changes. Now that I’ve fully reminded myself of my reasons for taking this bridge year, I am so incredibly happy I have the next three and a half months to throw myself fully into the experience.

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. However, if there is one flaw in GCY’s modus operandi, I think it’s an overemphasis on the “changing the world” aspect of the bridge year. Discussion with the other Fellows revealed that they felt the same way – we all applied for this eager to run off and “save” a Third World village. But having those expectations made us all start feeling discouraged once the halfway point approached, and I’m now glad I had that near-breakdown because it prompted an invaluable conversation with Rachel and the other Fellows.

Thank goodness that the monthly meeting fell on the halfway day, because we all needed to remind each other of our “meaning” here. Every Fellow is, of course, making a difference just by being here, living in these communities, but I think we were still clinging to a certain vision of “making a difference,” in a semi-unrealistic way. We are supposed to be training ourselves to help “save the world” once we have a college education and some more life experiences under our belts. I’ve been saying this whole time that this GCY bridge year is more about me than the people of Senegal – after all, I was just a 17-year-old high school grad when I got here, what could I really offer them? I often repeated that I was going to learn much more than I could ever teach. There is no doubt that I am learning more about social development and different cultures this year than I have throughout my entire life. I am learning mostly, however, about myself – where my limits lie, how I best fit into the social work scene, and what genuinely makes me happy. I’ve been saying all along that was the point of taking this bridge year, but I guess I had kind of forgotten.

For the meeting, Rachel had us all write project plans for the remainder of our time here. We are so lucky to have that woman with us – she has been essential both to saving our sanity and pushing us to think critically and academically about everything we’re going through. I poured myself into that paper, reflecting on things I have already learned and setting realistic goals that will help me learn more. I’ve totally refocused on learning, learning, learning, so that I can be 100% better prepared for college and, hopefully, be able to come back after college and actually facilitate some of these great changes. Now that I’ve fully reminded myself of my reasons for taking this bridge year, I am so incredibly happy I have the next three and a half months to throw myself fully into the experience.

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. The Fellows’ faces were literally beaming with happiness. We stood in a circle and gave thanks, and everyone, including Rachel and our three Senegalese guests, was grateful to have us together. I got teary-eyed, as any of my friends will tell you I am apt to do. Ethnocentrism aside, the preparation and consumption of the feast created a warm and genuine feeling of family that night.

So for Christmas – which, fine, is also my favorite holiday – I was happy to do what little we could to make an 85-degree day in the desert feel like Christmas. Gaya and Hilary, who also live in Sebikotane, came over to indulge in hot chocolate, chai tea, chocolate-dipped sugar cookies and Dove Peppermint Bark, all courtesy of Gaya’s mom. (Shoutout to Mrs. Morris: that package was amazing!) Eating those holiday treats while listening to Bing Crosby singing Christmas carols made for a festive mood. We got dressed up and went to the midnight Mass at the local Catholic church, but there was some confusion and we ended up being late. So, after our Christmas slumber party, we returned to the church in the morning to attend another Mass. Feeling the way I do about Catholicism, I was surprised at how comforting it was to be in a church and hear familiar Latin psalms. It was yet another realization of how powerful one’s traditions and customs can be, even if you think they’re not important to you.

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. The Fellows’ faces were literally beaming with happiness. We stood in a circle and gave thanks, and everyone, including Rachel and our three Senegalese guests, was grateful to have us together. I got teary-eyed, as any of my friends will tell you I am apt to do. Ethnocentrism aside, the preparation and consumption of the feast created a warm and genuine feeling of family that night.

So for Christmas – which, fine, is also my favorite holiday – I was happy to do what little we could to make an 85-degree day in the desert feel like Christmas. Gaya and Hilary, who also live in Sebikotane, came over to indulge in hot chocolate, chai tea, chocolate-dipped sugar cookies and Dove Peppermint Bark, all courtesy of Gaya’s mom. (Shoutout to Mrs. Morris: that package was amazing!) Eating those holiday treats while listening to Bing Crosby singing Christmas carols made for a festive mood. We got dressed up and went to the midnight Mass at the local Catholic church, but there was some confusion and we ended up being late. So, after our Christmas slumber party, we returned to the church in the morning to attend another Mass. Feeling the way I do about Catholicism, I was surprised at how comforting it was to be in a church and hear familiar Latin psalms. It was yet another realization of how powerful one’s traditions and customs can be, even if you think they’re not important to you.

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.

(There is no word for “please” in Wolof, but there certainly is in French, which we use. I guess once you get used to talking without it, it would be hard to integrate it into your everyday speech.)

Perhaps the single aspect of Senegalese life that has challenged my tongue-holding the most are these societal gender roles. I am of the mindset that if I cook for my boyfriend, he should do the dishes, and vice versa. This is not so in Senegal. There have been many occasions where I’m forced to do something solely because I am female. At first, I just went along with it, thinking I’d get used to it as time went on. However, the opposite seems to be happening. As I get more comfortable with my family, the more I want to protest. But I obviously won’t. I know what to do now and perform all my duties without voicing my thoughts out loud. I know it’s not that Senegalese men think women are lesser or inferior, it’s just that this is the way they’re used to functioning. Maybe when my language skills and level of comfort within my family are both higher, I can start asking questions that will facilitate an non-judgmental discussion. Until then, I guess you can just call me housewife.

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.

(There is no word for “please” in Wolof, but there certainly is in French, which we use. I guess once you get used to talking without it, it would be hard to integrate it into your everyday speech.)

Perhaps the single aspect of Senegalese life that has challenged my tongue-holding the most are these societal gender roles. I am of the mindset that if I cook for my boyfriend, he should do the dishes, and vice versa. This is not so in Senegal. There have been many occasions where I’m forced to do something solely because I am female. At first, I just went along with it, thinking I’d get used to it as time went on. However, the opposite seems to be happening. As I get more comfortable with my family, the more I want to protest. But I obviously won’t. I know what to do now and perform all my duties without voicing my thoughts out loud. I know it’s not that Senegalese men think women are lesser or inferior, it’s just that this is the way they’re used to functioning. Maybe when my language skills and level of comfort within my family are both higher, I can start asking questions that will facilitate an non-judgmental discussion. Until then, I guess you can just call me housewife.

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.

(There is no word for “please” in Wolof, but there certainly is in French, which we use. I guess once you get used to talking without it, it would be hard to integrate it into your everyday speech.)

Perhaps the single aspect of Senegalese life that has challenged my tongue-holding the most are these societal gender roles. I am of the mindset that if I cook for my boyfriend, he should do the dishes, and vice versa. This is not so in Senegal. There have been many occasions where I’m forced to do something solely because I am female. At first, I just went along with it, thinking I’d get used to it as time went on. However, the opposite seems to be happening. As I get more comfortable with my family, the more I want to protest. But I obviously won’t. I know what to do now and perform all my duties without voicing my thoughts out loud. I know it’s not that Senegalese men think women are lesser or inferior, it’s just that this is the way they’re used to functioning. Maybe when my language skills and level of comfort within my family are both higher, I can start asking questions that will facilitate an non-judgmental discussion. Until then, I guess you can just call me housewife.

I’m rather wary of stating any opinions on the curriculum or pedagogy, since they would be based off my very first impressions. I will definitely elaborate further on these things when I’ve been observing a bit longer.

The preschool is one giant room divided into three sections – 3, 4, and 5 year olds. There are three teachers for over 100 children. They are all absolutely adorable. I handed out uniforms (one size fits all dresses or shirts), which for kids of this age meant physically putting them on, and they were all amused to see me wear my matching, ENORMOUS teacher’s smock dress. I guess that makes me official.

The teacher-student relationship is so much more intimate than in the United States. This not only means that the teachers get to hit the children (more on this to come), but also that they help them pee and share snacks in both directions. It is simply impossible for me to fathom an American teacher cleaning her students’ plastic potties, especially ones that are the size of dog food bowls and thus must be cleaned very, very frequently. Also, I smiled to see the normally rather fearsome directrice spend an entire day working with an especially fretful little girl tied to her back, as if she were her own child.

One teacher has been sick this week, and her misfortune has become my fortune. I get to do a lot more than I would if they were fully staffed, including teaching classes. At first I thought I would be wholly unqualified, but it turns out that I’m not. I will write more on this later. For now, I’m just going to keep doing what I’m doing and enjoying every minute of it!

I’m rather wary of stating any opinions on the curriculum or pedagogy, since they would be based off my very first impressions. I will definitely elaborate further on these things when I’ve been observing a bit longer.

The preschool is one giant room divided into three sections – 3, 4, and 5 year olds. There are three teachers for over 100 children. They are all absolutely adorable. I handed out uniforms (one size fits all dresses or shirts), which for kids of this age meant physically putting them on, and they were all amused to see me wear my matching, ENORMOUS teacher’s smock dress. I guess that makes me official.

The teacher-student relationship is so much more intimate than in the United States. This not only means that the teachers get to hit the children (more on this to come), but also that they help them pee and share snacks in both directions. It is simply impossible for me to fathom an American teacher cleaning her students’ plastic potties, especially ones that are the size of dog food bowls and thus must be cleaned very, very frequently. Also, I smiled to see the normally rather fearsome directrice spend an entire day working with an especially fretful little girl tied to her back, as if she were her own child.

One teacher has been sick this week, and her misfortune has become my fortune. I get to do a lot more than I would if they were fully staffed, including teaching classes. At first I thought I would be wholly unqualified, but it turns out that I’m not. I will write more on this later. For now, I’m just going to keep doing what I’m doing and enjoying every minute of it!

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.

It amazes me that I could hold this book in one hand and fervently, wholeheartedly agree with what I was reading, while holding in the other hand a baguette stuffed with cow. (Although I have gotten used to eating meat, I still secretly think of it as “flesh” and refer to the meats by their previous animal names.) Being immersed in a different culture has greatly shown me my ability to adapt and change with my surroundings. I find myself frequently questioning what is truly “me” and what I‘m just used to saying is “me.“ Veganism, for example, is obviously a strong conviction of mine, but I was able to let it go with relative ease. However, the ethics are obviously firmly embedded within me. What is static and constant as part of my person? Is there even anything at all? These are questions that I’ve never really thought about before my GCY experience, and I’m very glad that I’m now starting to think about them.