Its all about who you meet...

So my month of discovering Senegal has finally ended and I’m back in Dakar for the rest of my scholarship period, 2 months. Our last trip to the Casamance (SE Senegal) was just as everybody said it would be—beautiful.

The Casamance is noted as the most beautiful region of Senegal however if one decides to venture there the most prudent will tell you: “oh, noo! It’s much too dangerous.” Secluded from the rest of Senegal as it’s snuggled between the Gambia and Guinea Bissau, with its diverse climates, luscious fruit and natural resources, the Casamance flounders between struggles for independence and submissive national peace. The locals will affirm that while random uprisings exist it’s overall very calm and well worth the risk.

The beaches were beautiful (if you read in French, check out “CapSkirring” blog), the people were amazingly hospitable, the fruit overly abundant (I think we ate our weight in mangoes and its not even peak season), the weather was hot but not unbearable. We did not pre-program this trip but instead decided to go with only our guidebooks and the wind. It was a great decision! We discovered great places but most remarkable were the people we encountered.

Just arrived to the village of Oussouye (uu-sue-e) we were walking the streets looking for a place to stay when we stumbled upon Santa Claus’ hideout! Practically in the middle of the street, like he was awaiting our arrival (after all, he does know all the bad/good lil’ boys and girls), was this elderly, very round man with white hair, a white beard and sparkling eyes shielded by tiny gold rimmed glasses. He nabbed us with his smile and led us to an auberge (hostel). Claude is his ‘hideout’ name and he claims to be a Frenchman who owned three restaurants in France, two of which he only employed handicap persons, before things fell apart with his wife and he moved to Senegal. Now embraced as an intimate member of the Diolla community (local ethnic group), he knows all of the secrets.

1) The first afternoon he led us to a neighboring village to the private home of the women who runs the women’s pottery commune. She gave us a private demonstration and was extremely hospitable.
2) Our second day there (bike ride day!), he led us into the middle of the forest where he had some of his local friends prepare a local feast. One of them took a pirogue (sm) boat to cut the oyster encrusted mangrove roots while the other prepared the fire. In the meantime, we sat on a log with a mat of palm leaves in front of us. I used to think that oysters look like tiny fetus in a shell—I couldn’t eat them. However, being that they went to all this effort, I thought I should at least try one. So, with knife in hand, I cautiously pried open one of the warm shells, still attached to the mangrove root. The juice dribbled down my arm as I flicked the tiny muscle into my mouth…well, about 25 delicious pieces later I could only groan with delight! Love ‘em- who knew?!
3) When you think things can’t get any better, that night SC/Claude agreed to make us dinner! Fresh salads of carrots and cucumbers covered in Greek style yoghurt w/ mint etc (and unless you live on fried fish and fried rice w/ no fresh veggies for 4 months you’ll never fully understand this as a delicacy). Salads were followed by fresh fish kabobs and chocolate crepes to top it off…oh, Santa Claus….:)~ (insert more groans of delight)
(photo: Animist King, Jonathan, Lies and new Scottish friend)

We also met a Scottish speech therapist who is traveling W. Africa on a bike. She doesn’t speak French, is a vegetarian and travels alone. Never say never!
We also met the Animist King. He reigns from Oussouye and covers about 18 villages to the border of Guinea Bissau. He is the only one to wear an all red boubou and he let us ask him any question we liked for about 45 minutes. I’m not sure how to explain this situation. To prepare yourself to see a real-life “King”…Animism …any question…very interesting.



For more than half the trip we were accompanied by John, random English ‘explorer.’ After working for about a year as a lawyer in England he decided that wasn’t the life for him so he has since: run a marathon in Laos, in flip-flops; was conveniently close to Indonesia after the Tsunami of 2004 so dedicated 5-6 months getting local communities back on their feet; rode clandestinely into Pakistan in a trunk of a car; crossed the Mauritanian desert, on foot, alone; the list goes on... We shared many great stories and belly-aching nights of laughter. (John in a fish sorting truck)
So while the landscape and cultural discoveries were unforgettable it was really the people that made the trip. When all together, we comprised of a: Swede, Belge, Canadian, New-Zelander, Englishman, Scottswoman and 3 Americans. Love it! For Jonathan (Swede), Lies (Belge) and I, it was our 4th trip together in Senegal and it was a truly special one at that. Jonathan left Senegal the same day we returned to Dakar. Lies leaves in 10 days. I still have two months, for which I’m very excited.

The more I have traveled outside of Dakar the more I have picked out things I don’t appreciate about it. So, with my French really rolling now I’m going to completely throw myself into life here. While I might not end up loving the city itself, as this trip has reaffirmed, it’s all about the people. I look forward to spending more time with my host family, getting in some quality time at local NGOs, establishing deeper local roots and overall, falling in love with local culture!

Cap Skirring....

Le crépuscule est tombé, donc tout le monde à laisse les vagues pour aller se doucher—sauf mon ami et moi. C’était trop joli pour laisser le soleil se coucher seul donc nous l’avons accompagné en marchant sur la plage. Bien sûr qu’en attendant nous avons trouvé un bar avec une bouteille de vin—mais au retour je n’ai jamais vu une chose aussi joli. La plage était énorme—et vide. Les vagues présents—pas trop fortes mais pas silencieuse. La lumière lunaire apportait un équilibre parfait. Même les filmes ne peuvent pas créer une scène aussi somptueuse…

Birthday Wishes

Another year has come and gone...in my life, that is.
First and foremost I would like to send a sincere thanks for all the love and hugs sent across the ocean via snail mail and/or email. I must say, I was the most popular girl at the school's mailbox! I really can't begin to express how much it meant to me that so many people took time to send cards-- especially because I've come to learn it is not part of US culture. Thank you, thank you! It really is the small things in life that count.

So, what did I do for the my Golden Birthday?...I must say it was a birthday I shall never forget.
I actually spent the weekend at World Youth Day for West Africa. In a town about 2-4hours N of Dakar, NW Africa came together to praise and celebrate God. Once again, in a predominantly Muslim country, it was a great experience. It was once again a weekend of simple accomodations but we met lots of cool people. I now have friends from Gabon and Congo!

The weekend was ironically sponsored by a local beer company, so like all good Catholics, the eve of my Golden b-day Lucy, Cody, our new international buddies and I could throw back a couple of cold ones! I was off to a great start!

Sunday, my birthday, the final mass was supposed to start at 9:30...long story short around 11:30 in 90degree heat w/ the sun beating directly down on the crowd smashed into a stadium like sardines the mass was just starting- but with a military band and political talks about the church's role in Africa... sun burn. Tired, hot and dirty, Lucy, Cody and I decided to skip out and find our own way back to a real mass in Dakar.
The rather normal, tired, hot, sun-burnt and dirty we found a ride back to Dakar. About an hour into the drive a young lady decided to cross the street without looking just as we were wizzing past. Being that it was my birthday, I was in the front seat and thus got a front row seat as we hit her, she rolled over the hood and landed back on the side of the road! By the grace of God and miracles, she was o.k...no blood or broken bones...we were all shaken up quite a bit...
Our hired taxi took off with her to the local hospital and we were left under a tree in mid-day heat...about 1-2hrs later we found another ride...
Finally we made it back to Dakar where my host family had forgotten it was my birthday. Birthdays are not really celebrated here, and I knew that so I bought myself a doughnut, took a cold shower and decided to give myself a good long night sleep- in a bed- for my birthday!
So once again, thank you all so much for the letters of love! It really made the day a special day!

I'm now off to my last trip... tonight 7 of us will take an all night boat ride to S Senegal, the Casamance. Everyone says its beautiful, green, lush and with lots of mangos! They also speak Creole Portugese...so I have a feeling its gonna be a great week!

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.