Thursday, August 21. Post #1
Salaamaalekum!All I can say is that I am so hot. I wish I could just stroll around in a sports bra and short-shorts, but that wouldn’t go down here where flashing a knee looks a little risqué and a sports bra is like full-frontal nudity. Nonetheless, this humidity causes the body to beg for relief, attempting to bribe the atmosphere with sweat and thinking longingly of the fine air-conditioning from this morning that made off along with the electricity. A bathtub of ice cubes sounds really great right about now, but I’ll make do with this increasingly toasty laptop instead. Obviously, I’m not writing from Davis, CA, and certainly not from anywhere around LA! But I’m starting from the end of this story. Lets go back:
Culture is a confounding matter. And identity is interwoven therein. These understandings are the same ones that took me to Spain for a semester two years ago and have brought me abroad once again, but this time to Senegal. I knew that I would never have any perspective on my own way of life without getting a taste of another way of going about it. I chose Spain for its Spanish and because it sounded exotic. It seemed like everyone had been to Mexico, but how many people had traversed the wide ocean and come back with a Spanish lisp? Obviously I came back with much more: I continue to take shorter showers now thanks to Spain and their dehydrated, powderized, rehydrated, and put-on-a-shelf-in-your-pantry style milk paved the way toward my conversion from 1% Milk to Plain Soymilk. Anything tastes good next to non-refridgerable wannabe dairy, and non-fat tastes downright creamy in comparison. The yoga that I picked up as a treatment for culture shock has become intrinsic to my daily routine and absolutely necessary for ordinary tasks such as stair descending and fridge opening. More deeply, Spain helped me independisize myself, gain navigation skills, understand the importance of communication, and internalize the power of one’s own mind frame. However, it also taught me the hazards of loosing your rational self in the belief that your thoughts provide you with an ultimate power in your life. Sure, positive thinking can pave the way for great things, but it cannot directly alter the outside world. This is something that I forgot for a brief period early in my exchange period in Spain. Maintaining a modicum of rationality while reaching for the stars is absolutely essential.
These new learnings integrated themselves into my being and came with me to college and on my trip to Thailand last December with my Oma. That trip inspired me to become a backpacker, which I plan to undertake in the future, increased my confidence in my travel abilities, and provided the opportunity to garnish an understanding of meditation. Learning to let my thoughts sweep through my as a means of letting them go, rather than holding them at bay and thereby clinging to them indirectly, is an important skill that I expect to employ here in Senegal, and forever. It is a tricky business because as far as I can tell, you must fully experience something within yourself in order to entirely let go of it. Otherwise, you must fixate on it to a certain extent in your attempt to ignore it or push it away, and in this way it remain with you. So, I bring positive but rational thinking from Spain and meditative letting go from Thailand.
Spain left me with the realization that I passionately wanted to live abroad again and that I desired the attainment of a third language. Since then I have studied French as a means of providing me with an avenue towards study in Africa, but always with the hope of an opportunity to study Chinese later in life. For the last year I have been preparing myself for this semester in Senegal and the following one in Chile, and I’m so glad that the multiple applications, petitions, travel shots, and visa acquisitions are through. As a foreign languages major, most of my classes abroad will count toward my major, which would not have been the case had I pursued biology as I had intended at the inception of my college experience.
You might ask, “Why Senegal?” Well, after studying in Europe, I knew that I wanted to experience cultures more radically different from my own and the first thing that came to mind was Africa. I knew very little about this continent at the time and recognized that there was no way I’d ever be able to blend in here. To an extent, I hoped that the experience of being so distinct in appearance would aid in my understanding of how it is to be part of a minority. As I mentioned, French seemed a logical choice of language considering recent colonial history and this left me with the choice between two francophone programs offered through my college: one in Madagascar and the other here in Senegal. I opted for the one that would allow me to live with a host family the whole time because my emphasis is, after all, cultural integration as a means of understanding another way of life.
So here we are, come about full circle to the end and beginning of this story: hot, humid Senegal. (Although, since we commenced this tale, some nice men have come and provided me with a lovely fan that I might marry before the day is through. Cool air! Aaaaaah!) I arrived at midnight last night (7pm in CA) after 24 hours of traveling including two layovers in London and Lisbon. The three days before my flight involved persistent anxiety and many mental lists concerning packing. However, upon stepping onto the plane, all that remained was relief that I had finally made it and curiosity at the four passengers to either side of me. As I mentioned on facebook upon arriving at the London Heathrow airport,
“I was having far too much fun on my flight to bawl. Couched between a pair of tipsy Irishmen on my left and two Stanford students including one who was deaf on my right made for excellent conversation and improved signing skills by the end of the flight. :-)”
Note to all travelers: food on TAP Portugal is significantly better than that of United Airlines. If you have a choice, you know who to claim!
My experience of coming to Dakar was not so much a sudden shock as it was a slow inundation. When I went to India, I felt that I stepped out of the plane and straight into a new world of sensation overload. Car horns blaring incessantly, magnificent tangly trees, pungent city scents, and wide eyes everywhere marked my first India snap-shot. But Dakar came on gradually, boarding the plane from England to Portugal with a few stately looking, well-dressed men who I suspected of Senegalese origins and intensifying with the brightly colored dress of the women on their way from Lisbon to home. The English faded into Portuguese and then a blend of French and an entirely new, bouncing language: Wolof (pronounced with a silent “w.”) So much more color, fashion sense, and liveliness emanated from this crowd, peppered with blonde hair and light skin only here and there. A beautiful people, I must say. On the bus toward the plane, conversation took off and one man took up what seemed to be a jaunty monologue meant to amuse the public around him, who joined in from time to time with a quip or comment. Interestingly, this same man would continue his performance for periods on the plane, much to the confusion of anyone who didn’t speak Wolof. He reminded me of one of Shakespeare’s fools, employing humor and eccentricity as shrouds for critique and truth. Obviously, I would have loved to have understood what he was saying. This hightening of Senegalese culture permeating the plane’s atmosphere opened way for the podunk airport with its silent, pistol-bearing security guards who turned out to be quite friendly. French was the language of the day, er, night (at least for me seeing as how Wolof was not really an option). Without the airport, there was less of a crowd than I might have expected and, instead of the staring eyes of India, I perceived figures and outlines leaning forward and offering a cab ride or a phone card. Fortunately, I had my handy CIEE program escort who provided an escape from the sellers. We did, of course, need to stop and greet with a short conversation anyone who he knew. It is customary to provide much longer and more detailed greetings in Senegal as a way of community-building. I was incredibly relieved when I was able to keel over in a bed and get a full night’s sleep. That brings us to this morning at 10am at the Suffolk University dorms where I’m sharing a room with Rachel from the University of Virginia who also arrived a few days early. That which ensued in our exploration of the city, trip to the beach, and my first taste of Senegalese cuisine will have to wait because this is long enough as it is.
This blog is my way of keeping in touch, reflecting on my own experiences, and hopefully sharing something special with everyone who finds their way to this page. Thanks for reading and I hope that you’ll post any questions you might have so that I can respond to them in future posts.
Jërëjëf!Peace and love,
Jocelyn
Me, Rachel, and Brendan.
bucket of water into the toilet. I was overjoyed at the revelation! Basically, I'm back to being 2 again, which makes three of us in this household! Junior and Noh-Noh are two fabulous little tykes who keep our home lively, to say the least. You may note them in my new profile picture that I absolutely adore! Junior is the son of Jou-Jou, my adult host brother, and his wife whose name I'm having difficulty remembering. My host sister Melanie is mother to Noh-Noh, but her husband is currently working in Italy. I believe that I have another host sibling who is currently living in London. My cousins Assane -the toilet teacher- and Chantalle both live with us as well as the two bonnes, or maids, who go back to their homes on Sundays. One of them is called Mare but the other has a name that I have difficulty pronouncing. She's the one depicted in the photo with Noh-Noh on the upper left corner of this post. The matriarch of this whole household is my maman (host mom) Elizabethe. This is a catholic household residing in a house of two stories plus a terrace in the midst of the neighborhood of Mermoz -only a 15 minute walk from the seaside campus of Suffolk University where I take my classes. The photo above and to the right is the view from my second story room into the central courtyard. I hope to post more photos of my family as the opportunity arises. I'm still hesitant to impose myself
upon them, particularly since the "inside" dress is very different from how one dresses "outside."
