The watch beeps at 7am to tell me its time for Jocelyn’s private yoga, crunches, pushups, and dancing extravaganza, soon to be followed by a short shower that would be more appropriate to call a short drizzle. The washing of underwear occurs at this time since each person is responsible for her own socks, bras, and underwear. After my brief but refreshing rendez vous with the cold water and detergent, I dress myself and head down to a breakfast of baguette, with butter or chocolate spread, and milk. I could have hot chocolate or nescafé, but I prefer the powderized, boiled milk that, if served to me hot, leaves me drenched in sweat before I even leave the house. I could do without that sweat.
The walk to school is 20 minutes along dusty, exhaust ridden roads lined by locals who I make sure to greet kindly. Greetings are incredibly important here, although I’m still trying to negotiate who exactly I aught to be taking the time to exchange the customary, lengthy, Wolof greeting with. It’s good and fine to make friends and be culturally sensitive, but being a tubab (foreigner), I attract a lot of (unwanted) attention. We all do. The number of times that I have been offered or requested a phone number is countless and one marriage proposal is already in the bank. Oh, that romantic day in front of the gass station when that tall, dark, and …I didn’t get a good enough look at him to know whether he was handsome… man called from beside the gas pump, “Hey, tubab! You beautiful! Will you marry me?” To this mix of English and French I deftly repied, “Oh, I’m already married! Buh’bye!” …Good times.
Having passed the fruit stands and multiple vendors, I arrive at Suffolk University Campus where I have a class or two in the morning taught by Senegalese professors before I head back home for lunch at 1:30pm. My host brother, Lou-Lou, comes home from work at the bank on his spiffy motorcycle and joins the rest of us in eating the largest meal of the day. It is heavy, oil-laden food that is absolutely delicious. Rice and fish is the norm but French fries are a popular rice-replacement and vegetables are usually provided. If everyone else is having meat then they still provide me with fish, pescatarian that I am. We eat in the living room alongside the active TV, either eating around a communal bowl with the use of forks and fingers or on plates over our laps. I’m incredibly grateful for the allowance of right-hand usage in the fish-eating business because picking out all those little bones with a fork is nigh impossible. Oh, and the fish comes whole –head and tail included.
Back to school I go, taking advantage of the wireless to post blog entries and the like, and I finish up my classes for the day. I’m taking Wolof, Advanced French II, Senegalese Culture and Society, The History of Islam, and a community internship course. For my internship, I’m co-leading a student-founded ONG working to provide tutoring and various activities to local girls as a means of furthering women’s education. Classes accomplished, I hang out with other American students, do homework on campus, or return home to hang with my family in the living room. The Wolof flies right over my head so I sit and listen, wishing I knew what was going on and keeping a lookout for the few words I do know. When they occasionally revert to French, my ears perk up. Dinner is at 8:30pm and it is followed by fruit for dessert –usually mangoes from heaven or watermelon. I usually go to bed right after dinner, but everyone else stays up a bit.
By this time, several planes on their way to the nearby airport will have coasted over the house so close that I almost want to plug my ears and the power will have been down for more than fifty percent of the day –on and off. Apparently this is a new phenomenon over the last three years that is a politically hot topic; the Dakar people are enraged at their President, Abdoulaye Wade, because the power outages are indicative of his failure to maintain a stable country. He was the opposition in the 2001 election, the Obama of Senegal, lighting up national hope that politicians would actually work for the good of the people instead of maintaining a façade of democracy in order to rule for twenty-year swaths of time without doing a thing, like the previous two presidents. Unfortunately, Wade did not live up to his promises, and since his election the price of food has skyrocketed and the quality of education has plummeted. People are angry, but he was reelected anyhow. You might compare this to Bush being reelected; we’re not really sure how it happened, but what can ya do? (I send out my apology to all American Republicans at this point in my post! :-D I come in peace!)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
CULTURE SHOCK
Being in a new culture is not always a breeze. Granted, I let my blog present my positive mental incline, laughing at myself and focusing on the good stuff, but sometimes I loose that ability to laugh at myself –and I cry. See, it is so critical to keep perspective and recognize the cultural differences constantly because, if you loose sight of that and try to copy/paste your own cultural presumptions onto a situation then you are doomed to conflict and misunderstanding. Easier said than done. This means that every time my host mother speaks to me, I must keep in mind that what might sounds like yelling and chastising in the US is actually suggesting and encouraging here. So, when a family friend compares me to previous American students here and says that they assimilated far better than I because they actually went out and partied like the Senegalese as opposed to being quiet in living room conversations like me, I need to keep in mind that he’s only trying to encourage me to “do as the Senegalese do.” Even as I recognize intellectually what is going on, my gut reaction is one of distress. Even if I know they mean well, I tense up. It’s a constant learning process: making mistakes, not understanding, letting go, correcting, forgetting, remembering, asking, listening, and watching. I have to navigate carefully through the busy market place in Marché Sandaga, guarding my belongings, fielding people left and right who are trying to sell me their wares or be my guide or both. Knowing who has good intentions and who just wants to earn a few francs is nearly impossible and staying on the cautious side inevitably leads to slightly offending some well-meaning people. A few off encounters in the market combined with a few misunderstandings or assumptions at home is plenty of stress for one day. This, my friends, is culture shock.
Monday, September 7, 2009
The Terrace at 7:23pm
The call to prayer sounds over the surrounding buildings, drifting from this mosque, and then that, and then another, fading one into the other and singing at once. A cool breeze smelling of rain, cars, and food: spices, frying fish, happily eating people. The flit of birds, their warbling call. The warbling chant of the prayer. Colorful mosaic of broken tile spreading forth and fading into dusk, the clatter of silverware and dishes from afar. -- They are breaking fast. -- A fading orange sky and heavy rain clouds hang above distant barking and immediate bleating. The prayers fade as well, and the flapping laundry, once bright orange and green, looks grey. Afternoon sweat clings coolly in the evening, and one more day of Ramadan has passed from hunger into contentedness.
-9/5
-9/5
Monday, August 31, 2009
A little about my host family and the learning experience.
There is much that I have learned here in the last week and a half, not the least of which was figuring out how to lock and unlock my bedroom door with this old-fashioned key. It took me about five minutes each try for the first several days. Assane, my host cousin, kindly taught me today how to flush the toilet; this involves pouring a
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."A view over the terrace.
This picture is from the off campus
dorms that I resided in last week. It is the first rain, and we're taking full advantage of the fact that we're not visible from this balcony. Others may have been enjoying a nice run through the rain, but I doubt they were able
to enjoy it in a sports bra!
This is Annie, my rain buddy.
This is a car rapide -a sort of public transit- that involves a guy hanging off the back and shouting the bus destination to passerbys. You knock a coin on the ceiling or side or the vehicle to signal the driver that you want to get off.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Loves of the First Week
Saalaamalekum!
Albeit a French country and although I just took a class in Wolof language, I am currently listening to a Spanish song by Juanes that captures my current sentiments quite well: "Hay tantas cosas que me gustan hoy de ti. Me enamora!" There is so much that I like about this country today that I fall in love. :-)
Love #1: Teranga
This is a Wolof word embodying the open arms and hospitality of the Senegalese people. Each and every one of them considers themselves embassadors for their country, creating relations with America through us. They love us, want us to return frequently, and hope that we'll send home wonderful stories of Senegal. I shared a heartfelt conversation about teranga with Amadou, the doorman at my current dorm. In speaking with another exchange student, I came to learn that this kindly Senegalese man had need of une torche (a flashlight) to save him from having to feel his way up the stairwell in search of intruders throughout his night watch. Thus, the two of us decided to purchase one as a gift for him. His pure joy shone through as he thanked me and explained how this was true teranga, something that one did from the heart instead of out of self interest. He has invited us to come and meet his family at his home in a nearby banlieu (a sort of ghetto), which we are looking forward to greatly. Amadou spends his rainy shifts sweeping water off of the entryway patio in order to prevent the lower level of our residence from flooding. He then returns to a home where he must sweep the water off of his flat roof and wade in water knee high. In light of these habitual conditions of some locals, the other students on our program who were flooded out of a second set of dorms on their first day here do not feel at all out of place. Their experience of rushing luggage away from the deluge in their rooms and onto a bus headed toward a nice, dry hotel was truly a luxury in comparison to local banlieu inhabitants.
But I digress. I was describing the hospitality and friendliness of the people here. They honestly do want to treat you the way that they'd have their own children treated aboad, in spite of the fact that we're also viewed as walking money bags by the vendors and beggars. Frankly, the multiple requests for our phone numbers, as white American women here, is also indicative of certain financial expectations. Apparently I can expect several marriage proposals in the comming months. If any of you are desirous of a Senegalese husband, just send me a note saying so and I'll pass it along. You'll be hooked up in no time!
Love #2: The fruit bats
Oh yeah, baby! You thought mangos were good in the states, but they cannot compare with the delicacies that suspend in the embrace of these local chauves-souris. From the balcony of our rooms, we can witness the swooping flight of these winged mammals up-close and personal. Cuping their mango du jour, they hang out, reaching over to snag a tasty morsel from a nearby limb and looking quite cute, actually! I hope I have such great entertainment when I move in with my host family! Speaking of which, I'll be meeting them tonight. I'm in a matriachal Catholic family with a widdowed host mother, Elizabethe, who has several married children living in her home along with four grandchildren: a six-year-old, two toddlers, and an infant. I'm excited to meet them. :-)
Love #3: Balcony Dancing (shadows included!)
Gym membership is not yet activated and there is little time for seeking out climbing these days, so one must take excercise into one's own hands. Ab workouts are great and all, but I need a little more breathing and blood-pumping going on to make it a true workout. That's were dancing comes in; apparently no one can see me from my balcony, so my ipod and myself just get jiggy. No better way, I tell ya! I can twirl around there, trying any number of moves that might draw stares at a club, and just let loose without a single witness besides the fruit bats and my own shadow. The shadow itself can be quite entertaining at times. You should check it out one of these days! Just get yourself some good lighting and a fabulous tune in your head and see how that shadow can be the source of perpetual fun!
Okay, now that you know my secrets, I'm going to head off to lunch. The food here, albeit laden with oil, is delicious. Yesterday they trained us in eating with our hands out of a communal bowl, which was magnificent, but there's no telling whether my host family will adhere to that tradition. Dinner tonight with my family may include spoons.
Well, ba beenen yoon inshalaa!
Je vous aime!
Hugs,
Jocelyn
Albeit a French country and although I just took a class in Wolof language, I am currently listening to a Spanish song by Juanes that captures my current sentiments quite well: "Hay tantas cosas que me gustan hoy de ti. Me enamora!" There is so much that I like about this country today that I fall in love. :-)
Love #1: Teranga
This is a Wolof word embodying the open arms and hospitality of the Senegalese people. Each and every one of them considers themselves embassadors for their country, creating relations with America through us. They love us, want us to return frequently, and hope that we'll send home wonderful stories of Senegal. I shared a heartfelt conversation about teranga with Amadou, the doorman at my current dorm. In speaking with another exchange student, I came to learn that this kindly Senegalese man had need of une torche (a flashlight) to save him from having to feel his way up the stairwell in search of intruders throughout his night watch. Thus, the two of us decided to purchase one as a gift for him. His pure joy shone through as he thanked me and explained how this was true teranga, something that one did from the heart instead of out of self interest. He has invited us to come and meet his family at his home in a nearby banlieu (a sort of ghetto), which we are looking forward to greatly. Amadou spends his rainy shifts sweeping water off of the entryway patio in order to prevent the lower level of our residence from flooding. He then returns to a home where he must sweep the water off of his flat roof and wade in water knee high. In light of these habitual conditions of some locals, the other students on our program who were flooded out of a second set of dorms on their first day here do not feel at all out of place. Their experience of rushing luggage away from the deluge in their rooms and onto a bus headed toward a nice, dry hotel was truly a luxury in comparison to local banlieu inhabitants.
But I digress. I was describing the hospitality and friendliness of the people here. They honestly do want to treat you the way that they'd have their own children treated aboad, in spite of the fact that we're also viewed as walking money bags by the vendors and beggars. Frankly, the multiple requests for our phone numbers, as white American women here, is also indicative of certain financial expectations. Apparently I can expect several marriage proposals in the comming months. If any of you are desirous of a Senegalese husband, just send me a note saying so and I'll pass it along. You'll be hooked up in no time!
Love #2: The fruit bats
Oh yeah, baby! You thought mangos were good in the states, but they cannot compare with the delicacies that suspend in the embrace of these local chauves-souris. From the balcony of our rooms, we can witness the swooping flight of these winged mammals up-close and personal. Cuping their mango du jour, they hang out, reaching over to snag a tasty morsel from a nearby limb and looking quite cute, actually! I hope I have such great entertainment when I move in with my host family! Speaking of which, I'll be meeting them tonight. I'm in a matriachal Catholic family with a widdowed host mother, Elizabethe, who has several married children living in her home along with four grandchildren: a six-year-old, two toddlers, and an infant. I'm excited to meet them. :-)
Love #3: Balcony Dancing (shadows included!)
Gym membership is not yet activated and there is little time for seeking out climbing these days, so one must take excercise into one's own hands. Ab workouts are great and all, but I need a little more breathing and blood-pumping going on to make it a true workout. That's were dancing comes in; apparently no one can see me from my balcony, so my ipod and myself just get jiggy. No better way, I tell ya! I can twirl around there, trying any number of moves that might draw stares at a club, and just let loose without a single witness besides the fruit bats and my own shadow. The shadow itself can be quite entertaining at times. You should check it out one of these days! Just get yourself some good lighting and a fabulous tune in your head and see how that shadow can be the source of perpetual fun!
Okay, now that you know my secrets, I'm going to head off to lunch. The food here, albeit laden with oil, is delicious. Yesterday they trained us in eating with our hands out of a communal bowl, which was magnificent, but there's no telling whether my host family will adhere to that tradition. Dinner tonight with my family may include spoons.
Well, ba beenen yoon inshalaa!
Je vous aime!
Hugs,
Jocelyn
Friday, August 21, 2009
First Day Pics
Snapshots of Dakar!!!!
Note that, when in Senegal, one ought to ask permission to take a photo of even an inanimate fruit stand. Hence the lack of people in most of my photos; I was trying to keep people from getting mad at me!
Note that, when in Senegal, one ought to ask permission to take a photo of even an inanimate fruit stand. Hence the lack of people in most of my photos; I was trying to keep people from getting mad at me!
Salaamaalekum!
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,
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
It's good to be home.
Wow. Five months gone by and I'm back home from my stay in Spain and my travels through Europe. It was quite an experience, marked by an abundance of free time, eternal Spanish, self-reflection, readjustment, overcoming obstacles and fears, making friends, and gaining perspective. I'd say one significant shift in my world view is that toward becoming more of a global citizen. I don't feel that being American or Californian is particularly significant. Instead, I find my allegiance amongst the ranks of mankind and know that I must give to this international community instead of hoarding resources within the boundaries of my homeland. If I went to Spain looking for myself, in some ways I did so, but in other ways, I lost myself even more. I know my values more surely than before, but my essence is more foreign to me than ever. Who knows who I am. But I've rediscovered what is trully important in life: it's not about getting things done or maintaining standards or moving up in the world. It's all about enjoying the small things, like bathing in the sprinklers or running on springy grass. Those are what really count.
I hope that those of you who have read my blog have enjoyed making this trip with me, catching up on my life, and perhaps learning new things as you've gone along -I know I have. I aspire to inspire, but I'll settle for having given a few hearty laughs and heart-warming smiles amid my multitude of words. This blog has given me more than just a way to remember Spain by: it has also been a much needed outlet, a means of keeping in touch, and a way to reflect on what I was going through. This blog has been as much for me as for you, and I've enjoyed every second of it. I hope you have too and thank you so much for your comments and enjouragement. It means much more than you know.
Adios Spain and hello America.
Besos,
Jocelyn
I hope that those of you who have read my blog have enjoyed making this trip with me, catching up on my life, and perhaps learning new things as you've gone along -I know I have. I aspire to inspire, but I'll settle for having given a few hearty laughs and heart-warming smiles amid my multitude of words. This blog has given me more than just a way to remember Spain by: it has also been a much needed outlet, a means of keeping in touch, and a way to reflect on what I was going through. This blog has been as much for me as for you, and I've enjoyed every second of it. I hope you have too and thank you so much for your comments and enjouragement. It means much more than you know.
Adios Spain and hello America.
Besos,
Jocelyn
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)