The wheel goes round and round...

As stated in previous blogs, my Rotary district here consists of 14 NW African countries. April 16-18 was the District Conference in Lome, Togo to which all of us “Scholars” were required to attend. (Gosh, I hate being told I have to travel to another country!)
The weekend conference started with presentations of the flags that were accompanied by country specific traditional dances. The conference center was overflowing with national pride. After l’overture the conference broke into individual presentations and speeches about Rotary business. During the first morning, at the very last minute, the four of us where run up on stage, in front of 800 people and told to give an impromptu speech—in French! Gotta love impromptu speeches in foreign languages! J Rotary is really good at nurturing that life long diplomatic skill!
The weekend consisted of many diplomatic smiles, hand shakes and good eattin’! The union of 14 countries rendered the conference like none other I’ve experienced.
The one thing I took away from our time with Rotary was the feeling of hospitality. The Wolof have an idea of hospitality called Teranga which roughly translates to my house is open to you at anytime without questions asked, and you shall be treated as family. While I don’t find that this concept transfers easily to Western cultures, and Dakar is quickly becoming very westernized, the hospitality was received in Togo and by Togolese Rotarians was unparalleled.
Paul, a current Rotary President of one of the five clubs in Lome, met us as the airport with smiles and welcoming hugs and his generosity didn’t let up until we were back on the plane a week later. Throughout the conference it was very evident that Paul is a very important person, not only to Rotary, but in Lome and in Togolese society. Nonetheless, he spent hours of his busy schedule with the four of us simple students and without any feeling of rush or bother. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt that in the States, or even if I’m capable of giving like that.
(Photo: Senegalese lady scholars avec Paul during our last hours on the Togolese beach)
When we traveled to N. Togo we had no pre-arranged plans and only a 10 year old guidebook to get us around. Not to worry though because we met Rotarians on the bus who without hesitation agreed to find us a hotel and arrange any travel plans. Then to top it off they arranged a special club dinner just for us! Due to the conference, they had originally cancelled their weekly meeting but they reinstated it so we could get to know the club and vice versa. Not only did we generously eat and drink with them but most importantly, they sat and talked with us. They spent almost 3 hours with us where age, race and nationality played no part as they sincerely wanted to get to know us, like family.
(photo: dinner with Rotary Club Kara, Togo)
The generosity and hospitality that we lived in Togo was absolutely astonishing. People have asked me if I’m scared/nervous to travel by myself. I’m not by myself, I’m with Rotary. Wherever I see the Rotary Wheel I know someone will be there for me. On the other hand, unfortunately, I have found that some Rotarians hide under this same wheel and are not as willing to share such generosity. Overall, I certainly don’t believe it takes a large organization to create such hospitality. We witnessed a beautiful thing in Togo that challenges me to be more selfless and to realize that simple acts can go a long way. I really hope someday I can pass along the same selfless giving of time and sincere hospitality.

Go to Togo.

I’ll never forget a family of Togolese refugees that I had the honor of working with in Chicago. Actually, I’ll never forget their laughter—and how they created a contagious chuckle that makes every part of the body jiggle with glee. This family alone was enough me make me want to go to Togo. Plus, after 3 months of living on the edge of the Sahel Desert, it was wonderful to see the green, green of Togo and to be wrapped in humidity for a week. Our main reason for going was the Rotary District Conference, but as Cultural Ambassadorial Scholars we had lots of other curiosities to squelch!
Animism is very active in Togo and many voodoo practices that currently thrive in the Caribbean and N. Brazil originated in current day Lome. So of course we had to visit the famous voodoo market in Lome. There was a very real presence in the market to which we had our distinct reactions. I, was thrilled! This was another anthropologists dream. So many questions I had! Why do some tongues stick out? Why fur on some, while other skulls are stripped? Jamie, the soon to be Dr., easily explained how dangerous it is that they crush monkey skulls to drink in a potion because the proteins are so similar to human proteins and the combination… Lucy, contemplating God’s call to be a nun, was the most guarded against the devilish presence. Cody, the male, I’m not sure what he was thinking. It was quite an experience.
Aside from the Conference we didn’t have an established program and we were open to whatever options we encountered. Cody, through his alma mater, has some connections to a Benediction Monastery in N. Togo. We also could have taken day trips to Benin and Ghana. Exercising our democratic rights we all agreed to stay in Togo. Thus Sunday morning we jumped on a bus to the northern village of Kara.
27km outside of Kara, further isolated from the world, we arrived at the magnificent Benediction Monastery; a true oasis of peace in the middle of the bush. I was definitely needing some “me time” thus was super excited for our mini retreat. The 15 resident monks very generously received us.

Unfortunately, a little Togolese bug decided to crawl through my intestines and wring them for all they’re worth. So I spent most of our time between the toilet and my bed. From our little travel health pamphlets, we think there’s a good chance it was giardiasis or “Beaver Fever.” It really wasn’t all that bad though because just across the way was the chapel from which every couple of hours the beaver was calmed by the singing of Togolese monks! I’ve never been one for chant but put an African drum beat to it—on top of a secluded mountain--- I could have stayed for days! Our last night at the monastery there was a rain storm. Once again after living in a relatively desert climate, I was thrilled to smell and feel rain!
While at the Monastery we were also able to visit local villages. Some also speak Peul, a local language in Senegal but the Pulaar (people who speak Peul) are a nomadic group who stretch across the continent. So, while my Peul greetings didn’t work, I was able to learn another dialect of Peul. One man was so excited to see us he gave us each an egg for lunch! Unfortunately I couldn’t eat, but everybody said that quail eggs are very good!
Overall, our time in Togo was great! Many times we jiggled with glee! We felt so welcomed by the people and the warm climate! It was a great change to crazy, cluttered life of Dakar. Here are some random things I learned about Togo: (photo: There were bilboards everywhere advocating abstinance. Togo has a relatively low HIV/AIDS rate, but its still prevelent. There are no such billboards in Senegal.)
-Togo is technically a democratic country but the fact that the same family has been in power for over 40 years tells a different reality.
-The last “President” has approximately 100 kids between his 47 wives. I thought the Muslim polygamy rule of 4 wives was a lot but apparently in Togo a man can have as many as he can financially support. He was in office for 30 years before his youngest son took over 10 years ago. The Sunday before we left for Togo another son attempted to kill the current President. Brother is in jail. We didn’t notice any unrest—thank the Lord!
-Mina and Ewe are the dominant local languages. French is the official language.
-Togo was controlled by Germans until after the 1st World War when France and England redrew the national boundaries. Many locals still refer to a large part of Ghana as ”Togo Britanique”
-Togo is a Christian country, though it’s mostly animist.
-The streets are full of moto taxis which apparently emerged after the economic crisis of 1994.
-Many men have clear-cut scars on their face. This is done as a right of passage and each clan, or local group, has a distinct marking.

(Photo: local gas station and this one has oil too!)

catholic in a Muslim country...

I am Catholic. More so, I am catholic.
One thing I love about being catholic is that even though this is the sixth country and fourth language in which I’ve celebrated Holy Week, I celebrated and participated in the same process as every Catholic around the world! So what’s it like to celebrate Holy Week and Easter in a predominantly Muslim country? It’s rockin’!
I’ve found that I can truly examine and search for who I am and what’s important to me when I compare it to another way of doing things. It’s kind of like you never knew how good momma’s cooking was until you left home. Once you’re out and you see other people doing similar activities but in a different way, you must question which is the best way of doing it? Or, why do I do it this way? Or, how can we maybe do it together, better?
In Senegal, Muslims and Christians live side by side no quarrels or qualms. Quite the contrary actually, everyone benefits from each holiday. For example, all schools-- private, public, Koranic, Christian-- were given a two week Easter holiday. All children dress up for Mardi Gras, or Fat Tues. On Holy Friday all of the Christian families make ngalax (a very sweet but wonderful mix of peanut butter like paste, millet baobab fruit juice and lots of sugar) for their Muslim neighbors. During the Islamic holiday, tabaski (last yr during the month of Dec.) all of the Muslim families share the slaughtered goat with the Christian families.
So, on Good Friday at 3:30pm, Lucie and I joined about 1000 other Catholics at our local church for the Stations of the Cross. It was very reverent and it was beautiful to hear the story in French. (Just think, it was Saint Pierre that betrayed Jesus three times, not St. Peter!)
Later that evening we returned for Adoration and Veneration of the Cross. With the amount of people present at the services the collapsible walls of St. Pierre de Baobab allowed the beauty of the service to be shared with the surrounding neighborhood. That means that the meditative singing during the Adoration was joined by the daily 8pm Mosque chant. Whereas one might think it would be a dissonant relationship, it was quite harmonious—everyone was praying at the same time!
Lucie and I decided to brave the Saturday Vigil. At 10pm the masses came out in their best suits and boubous. It was done in true Senegal fashion of “why rush?” – four hours later, at 2am, we were still rocking the Alleluias! Alleluia with a full African choir is a real ALLELUIA!
It was all a beautiful sharing of faith and Sunday morning I woke up a greeting of Alleluias from my Muslim host family!

E=mcsquared; toubab = money

I’m not sure there’s been a day where someone has NOT asked me for money or a cadeaux (present). When we were in Tamba, it got to be quite overwhelming and even a bit annoying. At times we couldn’t walk properly because of the hoards of kids with outstretched hands pleading, “cadeaux, cadeaux, cadeaux”.

When I walk down the street little kids run from their houses with hands out stretched. One little boy who was well clothed and looked decently feed, interrupted his basketball game to give me a pitiful face with an outstretched hand, “toubab, give me 100cfa or bread to eat.” I stopped and asked him, “Why do you ask me? Have you asked your friends? Senegalese are very hospitable, I’m sure they could give you something to eat.” He looked at me like I was crazy.

I got into a taxi a couple of weeks ago and as I shut the door the driver immediately turned around and bluntly proclaimed, “ you have lots of money.” I was quite tired and didn’t feel like discussing this again so I matched his directness with , “and how do you know that? You think I have lots of money because I’m white? You think all whites have money…?” It was a bit assumptive and over the top, but he didn’t say another word.

There is a system of belief/education…I’m not really sure what to call it, that some Islamic
schools teach their boys. The boys are called talibes. Instead of having class all day, they give the boys old cans and turn them to the streets to beg. They believe it teaches them to be humble and to accept what God gives them in life. Many layers to the system exist, and I don’t yet fully understand it so I won’t attempt to explain it. But what I do know is that the streets are filled with little boys in raggy t-shirts who beg for money and toubabs are a main target. As a toubab, I must realize that I can’t give to everybody. I usually don’t give money, fruit is a good option for me. Sometimes I ignore them, sometimes I try to be creative…

For example, one time a small group of boys approached me. I had a 100cfa coin. I gave it to the first little boy with outstretched hand, BUT I took back 75cfa- 25cfa and 50cfa pieces from his little pile of coins. I gave the 25cfa to the next little boy. And made change with the 50cfa piece to be able to give 25cfa to the remaining two boys. They stood there in utter shock that this toubab would make change! Everyone benefits from a simple lesson in socialism!

On the flip side of the coin, one morning I was at the boulangerie (bakers) and a little boy came up to me asking for a money or bread. I looked in his can and found 150cfa, the price of a baguette. I picked the coins out of his bucket, gave them to him and pointed at the loaves of bread. I work for my money and so does he. Perhaps, I do have a bit of the US capitalist system in me.

I can’t even begin to enumerate the amount of times people have bluntly asked me for money or expected me to pay or give presents simply on the assumption that because I’m white I have money. Sadly enough, I’ve had to distance myself from the family in Yoff where I teach English because I believe they see me only as money. And even yesterday, the man from whom I buy my daily banana said, “Its Easter, you should give me a present” and he rubbed his fingers together in the international sign for money. I thought we were simply buddies…

As always, I have tons of questions and hypothesis constantly running inside my head: what is my social responsibility?; What did colonization really do to these cultures?; How can they truly believe that all white people are rich?; How many things would be different if US films and T.V. demonstrated that not all Americans live in mansions, drive nice cars, and eat McDonalds everyday? Will I be able to have a true relationship/friendship in Senegal without the other person expecting any financial gain?...while I’m not rich and have worked hard for this opportunity, I do have more money and opportunities then most of them ever will. How do I rationalize that? How do I justify that? How do I live that?

Perhaps I’m not fully understanding something. Perhaps they mean something different in the cultural language which I don’t fully comprehend yet. While these thoughts run inside me I must be careful with what comes out of me. Whether I like it or not, I am—24hrs a day, a representative of the U.S., of white people. For some, I might be the only white person they talk to in their life. What they think of me and our interaction they might permanently attach as a label for all white people. This is a huge responsibility.

a week in St. Louis, Senegal...

At the end of our trip to Tamba, my Belgian buddy Lies asked if I could help chaperone a school trip to St. Louis, a city in NW Senegal, for the first week of April. Of course I jumped at the chance, then three days before the trip I was even more excited when I discovered that she works with handicap kids! So, on Tuesday morning Mar 31, I rolled out of Dakar w/ 40 mentally handicap kids packed three to a seat, bags lining the floor, mattresses secured to the roof and everybody excited for a week excursion! The moment the bus left, two of the adults started jamming on the djembes (traditional Senegalese drums). The bus instantaeously exploded: everybody was dancing, singing, clapping. My heart was truly happy!
We arrived quite later than expected and I quietly excused myself to fulfill my Rotary responsibilities. There is a very hospitable club in St. Louis and I was able to present myself and my projects to them. I was excited to see women in the club, being that my club is the only club without females in Senegal. (Me with President of Rotary Club in St. Louis)
I returned to the school around 9:30-10pm and the kids had still not eaten dinner and there was no water until morning (think: 40 kids, 10 adults, after a day on the bus, who couldn’t drink, brush their teeth, wash, or flush until morning). It was a pretty good indicator for how the week was to go in terms of organization. For example, the daily schedule allotted 30 minutes in the morning to wake up, wash 45 handicap kids and prepare for the day, when there was only 1 bathroom, w/ 1 working shower and the toilets were constantly overflowing. I can barely get myself ready in half an hour! Go with the flow…I’m glad I wasn’t in charge!
Besides the frustrations with the management and organizational elements, the kids were absolutely fabulous! They emote such an innocent and unbridled happiness. It was really cool to see the moments where they just let go and danced, or sang or colored. They knew they were safe without societal threats or physical dangers; they were appreciated and understood.
After everybody was ready for the day, we did some easy school projects which consisted of arts, ceramics and simple games. They were so proud of their work, it was fun to share! After lunch, the first day we all went to another large park/reserve but didn’t see any animals. You can’t really expect 40 mentally handicap kids to stay quite for 2 hours as they walk through a park looking for animals…some of them can’t even walk for two hours! The second afternoon we all went to the beach to play soccer and just chill. Even despite some physical difficulties their passion was not lacking for the national game!
The first night after dinner we had a camp fire w/ djembe music. I am still utterly amazed at the innate reaction Senegalese have to music. The drums start and within the first few beats they spring from their chairs in what Westerners would find to be a random flinging of arms and legs. Of course, a camp fire in the middle of 40 overly stimulated mentally handicap kids who are wildly dancing makes any Westerner with a sense of legal liability cringe, but, we got through it and even got a limbo line going! The second night we opted for a ‘simple’ dance party without fire, though “simple” once again undermines the fervor of the dance.
It was an exhausting week—I might have averaged 4 hours of sleep a night to muster up patience for special needs kids with whom I don’t share a common language. Whereas prior to this week I noted a significant absence of physical contact and hugs, during the week the kids hugged me, held my hands, and cuddled next to me enough to make up for the previous 3 months and perhaps get me through the next 3! It was such an honor to work with these special kids and see such an intimate side of culture- what they do with their special needs citizens. When in Iwol, the Basari mt. village, there was a young girl with obvious physical deficiencies and most likely mental issues. In the village they shunned her, the kids threw rocks at her and one adult even beat her when she tried to sit next to us. I can’t imagine the struggles this little girl will encounter in her life. The kids at Centre Amintata Mbaye also encounter many struggles that are easily avoidable in the States, however, in the school setting, they are understood, loved, and appreciated. It was great to see and wonderful to share in these experiences. I really feel like I have a special place in that school’s community and look forward to working with them again!
So, Friday morning Lies, Jonathan and I gladly saw all the kids off as we were to stay to explore St. Louis for the weekend. After a week of less than desirable bathrooms and sleeping conditions, it was once again such a treat to enter a simple hotel room—there was a bed! And there was a shower head! And the shower had hot water!! ahhh, simple luxuries! Friday we walked around St. Louis, and it is GORGEOUS! It really reminded me of Seville, Spain. (Seville: Madrid; St. Louis: Dakar). It’s accessible, friendly, clean, and allows for real life opposed to bustle of city life. St. Louis is an island cut from mainland Senegal by the Senegal River. A huge fishing community sits on the coast and claims the best seafood in all of Senegal. The buildings, while collapsing/disintegrating, were beautiful and whisper of a colonial story. The active colors in the streets in combination with the odd angles of falling building in the middle of construction could be a photographers dream. St. Louis is simply charming.
Saturday morning we pulled ourselves out of bed early because it was Independence Day and we were in Senegal’s first capital and another school needed our help. We went to Jonathan’s school, where he gives six English classes a week to 60-80 students per class! That morning a select class was to march in the Independence parade. The kids were superbly behaved and marched like a well trained army. Once downtown, we waited for over 2 hours for the rest of the parade participants. Finally we began to march- the first school behind the military!! They were soo proud. We marched in front of the mayor and all the people who think they’re super important. We marched for all of 45 seconds and that was the end! Of course, that’s a parade in Senegal: prepare the kids for weeks, get matching t-shirts, wake up early, wait over 2 hours then be extremely proud to march for 45 seconds! Either way, all the profs and my family think I’m super cool because I marched in the Independence Day Parade in the original Senegalese capital!!