I am not my Hair

So the blogging once a week plan hasn’t worked out as well as I would have liked it to, with the internet being so slow blogging is tough to get around to. I’ll try and remember everything that has happened since my last blog though.

First off, and the thing that will probably make a lot of people back home happy, I cut my hair. I was trying to keep it going as long as I could but I just didn’t have it in me anymore. I had braids for about 2 weeks after leaving the village and when I took them out a few days ago, let’s just say that I found some not so pleasant things in there. So, I decided it was time for the naps to go. My brother and cousin took me down the street to the place where they get their haircut every week, happy to see that I had given up my pursuit of the Maxwell afro. Watching the coiffure (barber) cut off the locks was a bittersweet moment for me. Bitter because I don’t see myself growing my hair out again and deep down I’ll miss it a little bit, but sweet because the haircut only cost 500 CFA…$1. Paying $1 for a haircut, a really good one, was one of those moments when I think that I should just stick around Dakar for a good while longer.

In regards to class, I enjoyed this week more than any other so far. In the mornings we had our language classes, as usual. Wolof is getting harder and is really difficult to learn because it’s not really a written language as much as it is an oral one. Thus, outside of our professors, not many people know exactly how to write the words, which makes asking for help with homework from my family pretty tough. For any given word, I can 5 different ways that people think it should be spelled.

In the afternoon though, for our arts and culture seminar we spit up into four groups and chose between bronzing, ceramics, glass painting, and a kind of African tye dye (I forget the name). I chose ceramics, which is essentially pottery. For me the opportunity to play with clay for two hours every afternoon was too good of an opportunity to pass up. It brought me back into my Play-doh days. We also got to use the wheel, which was dope but also a lot tougher than it looks. You really have to put a lot of muscle into it and it’s difficult to keep the clay centered. Nonetheless, I ended up making a few pretty cool bowl-looking-things and a couple of lop-sided vases to bring home.

I’ve haven’t played soccer everyday the last couple of weeks as I was doing before, but I have managed to get some good games in. It was tough transitioning from the gravelly and dusty fields of the village back to the slower and sandier world of beach soccer. Most of the time I go play with my friend Avery from the program, but other times I just grab the ball and go try and find a game on my own. Here on the beaches on Senegal, if you have a ball, you can find a game. As soon as I show up to any beach with a ball in my hand, I’m approached by a group of Senegalese guys, makeshift goals are made, and a game begins within minutes. As I’ve told several people already, while I obviously love playing competitive division 1 soccer, it is in many ways refreshing to just get out there and play with people who play merely for the joy of the game. Playing the game I love, with nothing more than a ball and a beautiful beach half-way around the world, reminds me of why I began playing this game in the first place.

Last Saturday I went with my cousin to this break-dance competition/concert in the park near my house. It was unreal. I’m talking hundreds and hundreds of people watching some of the most ridiculous dance moves I’ve ever seen. It’s another one of those things that you would never see in the States.

In terms of night life, I’m huge on the music scene here. There are lots of clubs and bars you can go to, but I’m more a fan of the concerts and jazz spots. You can just chill, grab a drink, and listen to some really good music with your friends. There’s an unlimited collection of talented musicians here and it’s hard to find someone you won’t like. 

If you follow global and international affairs, you know that the country of Madagascar, an island on the southeastern coast of Africa, has recently been the hotbed for a lot of political unrest. The army just overthrew the President is what was seemingly a coup d’état. Because of it, we have received four new students to our program here in Senegal, who were initially studying abroad in Madagascar. They’re real nice kids, but definitely put us to shame in terms having a tough time adjusting to a different country. Because of they’re experience, they bring a new meaning to the notion of “roughing it in Africa.”

Senegal hasn’t exactly been a utopian land of peace either, however. Tomorrow there are the local elections for a variety of hotly contested seats and things have been getting pretty heated here between the various political coalitions. It’s impossible for one to walk for more than five minutes without hearing the beating of drums, the honking of horns, or seeing a parade of people walking down the street chanting with picket signs. Unfortunately, some of this political passion sometimes turns violent. A few days ago, several buses were set on fire on the other side of town, and fighting broke out between a members of two major political parties (note that there are over 60 political parties here, so there are a lot of different agendas). Since the incident, the police have since employed a midnight curfew. At SIT we have been briefed on the do’s and don’ts of this election period so we all know when and when not to be out. We are all safe, so there’s no need to worry.

On a lighter note, I really miss barbeque. This is the longest I’ve ever gone without eating a hamburger, ribs, or a hot dog. It’s killing me. I love the food here but nothing compares to some freshly grilled bbq.

Well, I wasn’t able to get to everything, but I’m about to hit up the fish market with my brother and probably go lounge on the beach for the afternoon.

I miss everybody and hope that all is well. Time has been flying since I’ve been here and I’ll be back before you know it. 

My stay in the village of Semecouta

During the week where all my friends back at Davidson were either taking cruises, relaxing at home, or going crazy on the beach, I was having a different type of spring break experience. Last week, SIT took us across the country to Kedagou, Senegal, where we would be doing our village homestays. The 21 students were split into 6 different groups and shipped off to our respective villages for what promised to be an experience unlike any other. My village was called Semcouta.

My experience in the village of Semecouta is a difficult one to articulate in a way that will do it justice, but I will try my best to do so. It is a village that lies in the remote outskirts of Kedagou, a region in the southeastern most part of Senegal. To get there, one must take a series of winding, dusty roads approximately 10 km from the city center. Yet while the settlement seemingly lies just a few miles down the road, the worlds that exist in the city and the village could not be more dissimilar.

Here yellow taxi cabs are replaced by cattle, homes made of brick are replaced by those made of mud, and street lights are replaced by the multitudes of small fires that burn within the various compounds each night.

The people of Semecouta are undoubtedly some of the kindest and most hospitable I’ve ever come across. Their silvery Senegalese accents are distinctly different than their counterparts in Dakar. Surely similar to the way that accents in the United States typically become more pronounced as one moves from the city center and out to the rural countryside. Additionally, the citizens of Semecouta are members of the Dejanke (pronounced Ja-hon-kay) tribe, a ethnic group that immigrated to Senegal from Mali hundreds of years ago yet have maintained their cultural by seemingly removing themselves from Westernized culture.

My host family was the Cissokho family. Upon my arrival I was greeted by my host-father, Lamine Cissokho. A tall, thin man, his distinct wrinkles and weathered skin probably make him look older than he actually is. He showed me to the hut in which I’d be saying and introduced me to my new family. He and his family live in a compound of about 12 huts with the families of Monsieur Cissohko’s older and younger brothers. All together, I believe that about 35 people live the compound. I was immediately welcomed into the family and shown the unwavering “teranga” (hospitality) that Senegal has come to be known for.

Over the course of my stay in the village I did a multitude of things. Some of them were with Elena and Whitney, the other SIT students who stayed in the same village (although in different compounds). We spoke with the headmaster of local primary school about the education system in the village and the obstacles that the school is faced with due a lack of

 monetary resources. Although nearly half of the Senegalese government’s budget supposedly goes towards education, the primary school in Semecouta has 317 students and only 5 classrooms, three students share one desk, most parent cannot afford to buy their children notebooks, and the during the dry season temperatures in the classroom can exceed 110 degrees. The list goes on and on. The discussions were certainly sobering.

Again, as it continually has throughout my trip here, soccer has proven to be an extremely useful cultural icebreaker. Each evening I would walk over to the dirt field down the road, and play in what ended up being extremely competitive games with the older boys and young men in the village. Afterwards, I would walk with them back to their compounds where we would discuss how life in Semecouta is relative to that of Dakar and even the United States. We would exchange stories ranging from hilarious to somber on the political, social, and economic dynamics of our respective countries. It was in these conversations that I learned more than I ever could within the confines of a classroom.

I’ve always understood poverty. I’ve always been aware of its social, psychological, and emotional implications. But never before have I lived it. Never before have I been immersed in the very conditions that make me so despondent when I see them on television and the internet back in the States. And never have I developed intimate and personal relationships with those who have lived under the umbrella of poverty for their entire lives. But I have done all of that now. These people know they are poor. They know that whether or not their children are able to eat at night depends on factors that are often beyond their control. Things such as the weather, the river, and if the animals they rely on to eat and sell breed effectively with one another.

            Things that I deem necessities back home are seen as luxuries here. Things such as closed toed shoes, more than more pair of pants, pillows and sheets, etc. Even things such as medical care and dental care do not exist here. If someone needs medical treatment, they have to borrow one of the 3 cars in the village and drive to Kedogou. Even this, however, becomes a rare occurrence, seeing as how if someone goes to see a doctor they probably won’t have the money to pay for it. Most of the time, people decide against going. Imagine breaking your foot and trying to fix it with tree branches and mud because you know that the potential medical expenses will take away from the amount of food you will have for your family to eat. These are the realities of life here.

But I’ve also learned what I believe is an even more important lesson. Now if you know me, you know I’ve never been one to equate wealth with making one directly happy. However, I will admit that, whether it was my own ignorance and naivety or the way that the media has portrayed it to me over the course of my life, I have typically associated poverty with some sort of unhappiness and misery. But this is not the case. These people are poor yes, but that does not mean they are miserable. They live with an easy-going happiness and sense of community that is far too infrequent in the United States. They know that they don’t have much, but they do not wallow in self-pity. They are happy for what they have and even happier that they have each other.

If living in Dakar was getting out of my comfort zone, than living in Semecouta was like being on another planet. But even as I say that, I realize that the people of Semecouta and I are far more alike than not. I can say that without question, it was the most humbling experience of my life, and I am a better person because of it.