We Share It

With each passing day, my morning walk gradually becomes more familiar. I leave my homestay treading on the soft, parting sand that covers every possible surface. As I make my way to my service site, the sun creeps higher into the sky. Walking along busy streets, I pass by new people everyday, yet some familiar faces stand out. There's the baker, who loads the back of his car with stacks of freshly baked loaves, ready for his daily delivery. Then, after turning the corner, I pass a familiar merchant selling school supplies, books, pencils and bags. Farther along this street, I pass by the most remarkable people of all. Two elderly gentlemen sit in the shade of a protective wall. They smile as I approach, displaying rows of gnarled teeth and a joy that surpasses all else. I shake their withered hands and respond in turn to their friendly greetings. Looking me in the eye, they wish me a peaceful day.

As I return home from my morning of service, they are in the same position as when I first passed by. I've been passing these two homeless men twice a day for the past few weeks. With all their worldly possessions laid at their side, they sit and watch life drift slowly by. These gentlemen talk with such openness and genuine curiosity, asking where I come from and where I go each day. Everyday their  kindness, generosity and happiness is reflected by their words and actions. They have invited me to sit with them and have offered to share their meager lunch with me. I see how willing they are to share what little they have, and because of this, I have been compelled to return their generosity.

After one morning of service, I greeted my friends, handing them each a bag of peanuts. The joy on their faces was unmistakable and they continue to thank me, even days afterwards. I know that if our roles had been reversed, they would have done the same for me. Everyone here shares what they have, even these two elderly men. They may not have a house full of material things, but they have life, and because of that, they have shared with me their positive outlook and their joy. Every time I walk away from them, I have a smile on my face. I only hope that what I can reciprocate is equal to what they have given me.

These types of meetings are certainly not a rare occurrence here in Senegal. Individuals will call from their stoops and go out of their way to greet me. There is no sense of personal isolation here, making it impossible to walk down the street in the same bubble of privacy I have come to know from my life back home. At first, the incessant greetings and remarks from strangers made me feel uncomfortable, but after spending time here, I have become used to this change.

I realize now that many people are like these homeless men, reaching out with hope, just looking to be acknowledged. Realizing that everyone has something to share has made me far more comfortable meeting new people. I have come to enjoy the spontaneous greetings and making new friends while crossing the street. Taking the time to slow down and say hello can mean a great deal to someone.

Like my experiences with these two elderly men, I have found that there is something to be learned from every encounter. I see how these men interact with their surroundings, despite their adverse circumstances; it’s as if they condense happiness out of thin air. Something about the way they hold my gaze and the softness of their voices sets inside me a feeling of wonder. While these men have barely more than the clothes on their backs, they exude a sense of vibrant life. I feel welcomed and appreciated by these men I hardly know. They see life from a different perspective, more interested in the people they meet, instead of the things they have. Each day that passes, I try to become a little more like my two homeless friends.

A New Home

As the dawning sun rose into the sky, my body pulsed with nervous energy. I was poised to set sail on an ocean of unknowns. I knew this day would be a turning point during my stay in Senegal, yet I had no idea what to expect. Somewhere deep down, my excitement whispered words of reassurance. Everything would turn out wonderfully in the end.

I walked into my homestay, greeted by the sound of my little brother’s squeals of joy. He dashed around the corner grinning from ear to ear. More giggles burst from his lips as I shook his hand and asked how he was. He beckoned me to look at his marvelous toy car, and we spent the next few hours driving it wherever our imaginations could go. As our energy dwindled, we sat and relaxed with the rest of the family. Suddenly, I noticed he had stopped talking completely. That’s when I realized, my two year old brother Rassoul, had fallen asleep in my lap. 

As usual, several nights ago, Rassoul and I were playing with his toy cars and horses. For some reason that particular night, he thought everything I said or did was absolutely hysterical. His laughter could be heard throughout the house as he jumped and shouted with mirth. He turned in my direction, and in the most perfect English a two year old could muster, he said, “Macoura (my Senegalese name) I love you.” After lifting my jaw from the floor, I looked at him in astonishment. He looked right back, with a grin on his face.

Moments like these remind me why I’m here, and how important it is to be fully present every second. Life flashes by and if one doesn’t keep a watchful eye, many beautiful things are easily missed. My host family is wonderful, and being actively involved with them continually strengthens our relationship. Solidarity permeates every aspect of life here, it’s impossible to not feel welcomed and embraced. 

A Walk In The Rain

We awoke to the soft and gentle sound of rain. The placid sky leaked cool droplets, quenching the sandy soil. This promised us a reprieve from the heat that assailed us over the previous days. It was the final day of our trek and we ventured out into the misty marshes without hesitation or concern over the threat of stormy weather.

The trek entailed slogging through mud and dashing around slippery embankments. Thorny branches clawed at our arms and nagged at our belongings, tucked away in our packs. One false step would result in a certain faceplate into the mud. Sure footing was difficult to come by, and made every step a gamble.

Each movement was overshadowed by the continual barrage of rain. After an hour of marching around thickets of mangroves, my clothes were completely drenched with water. My shoes were soaked, and made a funny squishing sound with every step I took. The rain somehow managed to seep through every seam of my pack cover, permeating the contents. Every inch of my body was soaked by rain, and everything I carried, soon became swamped as well, but there was something very magical about this state of being. 

There was no way to escape the rain and water, but I felt absolutely no desire to do so. I felt utterly content. The entire experience was very liberating, I didn’t worry about how wet everything was or how muddy and gross my shoes were. I was at peace with the wild, at home in the rain and completely free. I felt like throwing down my back, tearing off my shoes and frolicking in the torrents of rain. 

Group Service in Ndioukhane

Working with the youth of Ndioukhane has been a marvelous learning experience. We were challenged first with forming our plan of action. We had no idea what the week was supposed to be like for the students or for us. The village was extremely accepting of our presence, but it wasn’t clear exactly what we were supposed to do.

Our goal for the students was for them to have a fun and educational week. The first day of activities provided a fantastic starting block for the adapting program. The lessons we learned from the first day were a wonderful source of new ideas and methods, which we were able to implement in subsequent days. Once the students were divided by age, our lesson plans became far more effective. From singing and dancing to lively songs, to learning and writing new vocabulary, our days were filled with laughing, smiles and fun. 

The community displayed their benevolent hospitality throughout the duration of our stay. Everyone was excited to greet us and test our Wolof vocabulary. As if learning both French and Wolof and the same time wasn’t hard enough, the natives of Ndioukhane are a mix of both Serer and Pular speaking families. My hurried morning walks to the wanag, (toilet) provided a time for me to meet all sorts of exciting locals. I did, of course, prefer the return journey as a time to converse and engage in more lengthy conversations. 

     

I experienced the culmination of Ndioukhane hospitality during my brief home stay with a local family. I was fed three full means in the time it takes to properly digest half of one. Never the less, I arose to the challenge in full appreciation of their generosity. I wasn't too surprised by the second lunch I was fed, but on my return from the wanag, a group of boys beckoned for me to join them for their meal. I was immediately offered a spoon and a place to sit, so as to best attack their platter of food. I ate my fill, again... then left the boys with smiles on their faces and food in their bellies. 

Spending our last night with home stays was a fantastic way to finish off the week. Many of the nearby children recognized me from school, some were even my students! I was given the Senegalese name of Makura, which spread through the village like wildfire. 

This week has been a marvelous introduction to community service in Senegal. We caught a glimpse into the education system by working directly with the village youth. I certainly learned a great dal about my own strengths and weaknesses. I saw how others managed a classroom, and was able to compare that to my own relative successes and shortfalls. Seeing the excitement of the children each day was by far the most rewarding aspect of our week in Ndioukhane. Also the fact that many of our lessons and activities were retained by the students, gives us hope that we truly did make a positive impact on this village. 

Photo Update from Ndioukhane

Village children walking to the well, on their way to fetch a pail of water.

Preparing breakfast in the morning shade, my host family is eager to have their pictures taken!

A lonely scavenger searches for fallen leftovers. 

As the heat of the day slowly died away, rising clouds blew in spectacular storms. Fierce winds, heavy rain, and a brilliant display of lighting. 

The Mango Tree

Why do we love? Is it because what we love is always there for us? Because this beloved thing provides some necessity, a comfort or perhaps something we cannot fathom life without? During the past week in Ndioukhane, I have come to love the mango tree, for all these reasons.

In the sweltering afternoon heat, we took refuge under the branches of the mango tree. It’s foliage protected us from the sun’s piercing rays and offered us a safe place to rest our tired bodies. After a morning of teaching and playing with village children, the welcoming branches of the magnificent mango, extended to us their nurturing embrace. Not only did the mango provide us with a shady space for recuperation, it also produces vital sustenance for the weary body. 

The sweet, juicy flesh of a perfectly ripe mango is the ideal snack for any occasion. I bite down, and it’s succulent freshness gushes into every part of my mouth. Flavor explodes, and tremors of happiness and delight reverberate through my body. The entire experience of feasting on this delectable fruit, leaves my body feeling invigorated and refreshed. The perfect snack from the perfect tree.

Afternoon Hospitality

Our first week in Senegal was a blur of new sights, smells and sensations. The sandy streets of Yoff are crowded with friendly people. The calls to prayer from the nearby mosque last for hours, filling the air with the peaceful sounds of worship. The salty coastal breeze, blows around the distinct oder of fish, in all stages of decomposition. 

After a few short days in Yoff, we traveled to the small village of Joal. Most of our time was spent developing our Wolof skills and starting to tackle French. The highlight of my time though, was my day-stay in the neighboring village of Fadouith. I spent the afternoon with Alphonse, a 19 year old native of the village, who was studying at the university in Dakar. He was so friendly, showing me around the village and introducing me to his friends and family. After satisfying our appetite, we sat down for some tea.

Drinking ataya is a Senegalese tradition. The tea is usually consumed in three stages, with the cups of tea growing progressively sweeter. By the third cup, the tea is loaded with copious amounts of sugar, making it a delicious afternoon beverage. I watched in awe as the tea was pored back and fourth between two cups, giving it a frothy top. This was the finishing touch, added just before each glass was enjoyed. 

One might guess that drinking three small cups of tea couldn't take more than a few minutes, but in fact this can be a quite lengthy process. We spent three hours that sweltering afternoon, sipping down our ataya. Instead of worrying about what was planned next, or rushing on to something new, we simply sat and enjoyed each others company. I caught a glimpse into the Senegalese perspective of time, got a chance to relax with some locals and enjoy their hospitality.

Me and Alphonse after our afternoon ataya! 

Our new tailored outfits!