Dëgguma dara

I realized just now that writing this blog entry is going to be extremely difficult. This past week, the rural visits, turned out to be one of the most challenging experiences I have ever had. At the same time, I learned so much and I feel very accomplished, yet I don’t know if I will be able to adequately find the words to describe it. Nevertheless, I shall try.

As I wrote in my previous entry, my rural visit was with the organization APROFES, a group working for women’s empowerment in Senegal. During our pre-departure meeting, I asked Victoria, one of the directors of the CIEE program, if my hosts would be French-speaking. She replied that they would definitely speak French because APROFES is a well-established organization, so the people working there will have been educated in the French system. I was relieved to hear this, because I know very little Wolof (even though one of my classes is Beginning Wolof) and absolutely no Zarare, the other local language. Two other students, Claire and Molly, were also assigned to this host. Although we did not know what specific projects we would be working on or observing, we knew that we would spend some time in a village and see how the organization operates at the grassroots level.

We arrived in Kaolack on Monday after a three-hour sept place (seven-seat taxi) ride. We went to the APROFES office, where we sat around doing nothing for a while and ate a delicious lunch they provided. One of the women brought us to a bank that works with the organization to distribute microfinance loans to women, although the most interesting part of this little field trip was seeing part of downtown Kaolack, not the bank itself. We got back to the office where we were given an itinerary of sorts for the week. Each of us, it turns out, would be dropped off at a different village the following morning and spend the following three nights there. I was apprehensive to be all alone in a village, but I felt like I was in good hands with the organization. That night I slept at a host family’s house, which was really glamorous and snazzy, even more so than my house in Dakar. I tried to rest well, mentally preparing myself for the upcoming days of village life.

The next morning, bright and early, a jeep pulled up to the house to take me to the village. To my dismay, I quickly learned that an APROFES employee would not accompany me to the village, and I was once again reminded that Molly, Claire, and I would each have our own villages. Thus, I would be entering this village toute seule. At least they would be French speakers, as I was told prior to leaving Dakar, right? We drove farther and farther away from Kaolack, and then turned off the paved main road and started driving down a dirt road. A while later after driving down a twisting and turning dirt road, I realized that we were really going into the bush. We stopped at a village full of huts and donkey carts, and the driver told me that we had arrived at my destination. He told one of the women something in Wolof as he set down my bag and a jug of bottled water. I have since concluded that he must have said something along the lines of, “Here’s a toubab. She’ll be here for three days, she doesn’t speak Wolof, and she doesn’t eat meat, chicken, or fish. Have fun!”

I stood there, and within ten seconds I learned that nobody in the village spoke a word of French. Oh mon dieu… this is going to be the longest three days of my life. Soon after saying Salaamaleekum they figured out that my Wolof abilities were very sub-par. I hadn’t even packed my Wolof textbook because I thought I would be dealing with French speakers. The only Wolof reference point I had with me was a sheet of paper from when I was studying Wolof a few days prior that had some verb translations on it. They kept pointing to me and saying to each other, “Dëggul dara!” which I understood, rather ironically, as it means, “She doesn’t understand anything!” I also understood, “Lekkul dara!,” or, “She doesn’t eat anything!” In my Wolof class, we have learned a lot about verbs, but very few nouns. Thus, when some Wolof finally started to come to me, my speech was limited to saying: “I eat” or “I sit” or “I go” and the like. Of course, the people in the village fell victim to the human tendency to assume someone is stupid if they do not speak your language. My host mom in the village thus held my hand any time we walked anywhere and did very obnoxious charades every time she tried to explain something to me.

My host family consisted of an older man, three women, and at least a dozen kids ranging from infancy to adulthood. I never counted, but at one point in time I saw 20 kids who could potentially be offspring from this polygamous relationship. Some of them may have been other kids in the village belonging to other families, though. The family’s compound also had two cows, a donkey, two horses, many chickens, at least five sheep, and probably ten goats. The compound was quite big; there were many huts and a lot of field space. The husband had his own hut, and each of the women had her own hut where her respective children also slept. The older sons each had their own hut as well. Gender roles and dynamics were very apparent. The women and girls worked all day from dawn past dusk in the fields, cooking food, cleaning and doing laundry, collecting water, and taking care of babies and little kids. The majority of women in the village had a baby strapped to her back. The men and boys, on the other hand, sat around all day doing very little. I saw some of the boys herding the animals and directly donkey carts, but I saw them mostly sitting under mango trees and eating peanuts.

Shortly after being dropped off, after the initial swarm of people surrounding me and asking me questions I did not understand in Wolof dispersed, I pondered how on Earth I would last three whole days and three nights in the village. As I took in my surroundings, I felt culture shock hit me like a brick wall. I grabbed my book, which I hoped could be an escape and a temporary return to the familiar, but people did not respond well to me reading. I had heard that reading was considered rude by some Senegalese people, since it is a very individual activity, and the culture places great importance on sharing and bonding with others. I realized that the negative attitude towards the book came mostly from the fact that the book was a very foreign object to them. All of the women and some of the boys were illiterate, and even the ones who were literate did not have access to materials such as books for leisure. In fact, even if they were literate and had books to read, there wouldn’t be any time to read, because they (the women and girls at least) are always working. I put away the book, and was at that point at a complete loss for what to do. When I approached a few kids, some of them started crying and running in the opposite direction. Simply my presence made babies and toddlers cry. Everything about me was foreign to them though, so I wasn’t surprised.

As lunchtime approached, a giant concern struck me: I would have to eat around the communal bowl. Although many of my fellow students have had to do this with their host families in Dakar all semester, Soso and I always eat in the Western fashion, off of individual plates with forks and knives. I really hoped that I would not have to eat with my hands. I still cannot not think of how unsanitary the concept of it is… even if everyone washes their hands first, people still lick their hands, then stick their hands back in the bowl of rice and shuffle things around… essentially, everyone is consuming each other’s saliva. Please excuse me if I sound culturally insensitive. When they said, “Aisha, kay, lekk” (Aisha [my Senegalese name], come and eat), I walked towards their eating area. They each dipped their hands in the same bowl of water to prep for eating. They brought out the bowl, and offered me a spoon, to which I was quite grateful for. Inside the bowl there was rice, two fish in the middle, and some cut up mangoes. Since the fish was still completely intact, it was easy to avoid, and the rice and mango combination proved to be quite delicious. There were kids with runny noses eating from the bowl who would wipe their noses and then stick that same hand in the bowl. I decided it would be better to just not think about it and keep my eyes on my little section of the bowl. With so many people eating from this bowl, I didn’t want to eat too much, because I would feel bad for taking food that would go to someone else who needs it more. They insisted that I eat more and more until finally I could not manage to eat any more rice. I walked away quite relieved that I had jumped over that hurdle.

Later that afternoon they brought me out to the peanut fields. One of the women carried a little stool with her, which she put on the ground, pointed at, and looked at me: “Togg.” Sit. I sat down and felt weird watching them work. So I put my bag down and started to glean the peanuts along with the rest of them. After a little while, I started working up a sweat, but I found so much tranquility in the process of pulling up peanut plants and picking up loose peanuts that I hardly even noticed. I felt at ease for the first time that day. I did not need to know the language to communicate with the other people surrounding me. When I walked up to one of the women to give her my handfuls of peanuts to put in her sack, she would smile, and that was all the communication I needed. I didn’t have to watch out for any cultural barriers or sensitivities, all I had to do was connect peanuts. I find working with the Earth to be very therapeutic. As the sun sank lower and lower in the sky, my brain that had been spinning in circles all day finally started to reach an equilibrium, giving me back my sanity. One of the women said: “Noppalu.” Rest. So, I went and sat down. As I did so, two girls a little younger than me started to tease me that I wasn’t working. I couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying, but I heard “Toubab”, so I was the only one they could have been talking about, and then I heard “liggeyul,” which means, “doesn’t work.” I didn’t have the vocabulary to explain that one of the women told me to sit down and call it a night, so I just tried to ignore the girls.

I had to walk back to the compound with the girls who had been teasing me. They would start chastising me if I did not properly greet someone we passed, but then if I did greet someone or say something in Wolof, they would just repeat what I said in a mocking tone and start laughing. I tried not to show that it was upsetting me, because that probably would have just egged them on. So, I started to say “Dëgguma,” which means, “I don’t understand,” every time they would say something to me in Wolof. Eventually they just gave up trying to make me upset. My host mom asked if I wanted to take a shower, handed me a bucket of water, and pointed behind a shed. When I later said I needed to use a toilet, I was hoping for at least an outhouse, but I found a hole in the ground.

For some reason I was surprised by the lack of electricity. I guess it was not the lack of electricity so much as it was the darkness of everything once night fell. I found the darkness comforting, as though I was taken out of the spotlight. We ate in the dark and everyone finished up his or her chores in the dark. I was served two dinners that night, as I had eaten around the bowl not knowing that they were preparing an omelette for me, which I ate afterwards. I went to bed earlier than everyone else, which was weird, but I was exhausted and it is not like I could converse or anything with anyone.

I realized that if it weren’t for the language barrier, I could adjust to village life pretty well. Americans pay to rent campsites and cabins so they can do what the people in this Senegalese village do for free. I like doing everything and living almost completely outside. I like going to sleep and waking up to the smell of a campfire. I even like working in the fields. I don’t need electricity, and I am sure with a little time I would adjust to the lack of running water as well. I do not, however, support polygamy or forcing girls to get married when they are still teenagers. And, I feel that it is every person’s right to receive at least a primary education. I also would need time to read and a large supply of books.

The following two days were equally as challenging, but I could feel myself gain strength as the hours passed. I didn’t freak out if someone wouldn’t stop speaking to me in a language I couldn’t understand. I learned to just go with the flow. I was concerned by the lack of women’s empowerment work I was doing. Although helping out the village by picking peanuts off plants was not a waste of time, it was not what I went there to do. My host mom kept saying she was the president of that village’s APROFES chapter, but I did not know enough Wolof to actually ask her what projects they were working on. She showed me a community garden with vegetable plants, fruit trees, a somewhat fancy irrigation system, and a brand new well, so I figured that the garden had something to do with the organization. At the end of my third day, a woman from the APROFES office in Kaolack came to meet with all the village women involved with the organization. I sat in on the meeting, and although it was conducted in Wolof, it was interesting to see the hierarchies within the organization and the formalities of the meeting. The woman in charge from the organization spoke French and told me that she was following up on a microcredit loan APROFES had given the village. She also had asked the women what kind of training they would benefit from. The women wanted basic literacy training and business training, which the organization will hopefully be able to provide in the near future. Unfortunately this woman did not stay long, so it was back to understanding next to nothing anyone told me.

After the initial shock of not being able to communicate at all with anyone from the village, the next most appalling thing to me was the level of poverty this village faced. All of the kids, and even some of the adults wore second-hand clothes that were obviously dropped off by a goodwill-type organization from the United States or Europe. Most of these clothes were rags at this point, and most of the babies and small toddlers didn’t even wear pants. There were also some public health issues I noticed, particularly in the way infants were handled. I did not intend to enter this village with a patronizing or an I-know-better-than-you attitude… some things really concerned me, though. I saw newborn infants strapped to women’s backs, with no neck support whatsoever. The babies’ heads were bent completely backwards, bouncing up and down, and the women went about their work. I also saw some frighteningly small babies. Many infants and small toddlers seemed to have respiratory problems – I could literally hear all the phlegm trapped in their airways. The smaller children all seemed to have runny noses and colds. People use their hands to eat everything, and I didn’t see soap anywhere. I could tell that malnutrition was an issue because many of the kids and small children had outward-protruding bellies although they were skinny otherwise.

Women would often give me their baby or toddler to hold (that is, if they did not immediately start crying) and then tell me in all seriousness to take their child back to America with me. The first few times that this happened I was really hoping that they were just joking so I could forcibly laugh and then give them back their child. But then when I said “Déedeet,” or, “No,” I would feel cold-hearted because I could not provide an explanation along with it to tell them why it simply would not be feasible for me to take their baby with me. People constantly asking to use my phone or asking me where my money was also bothered me: “Ana xaalis bi?” When I would reply that I didn’t have money, “Amuma xaalis,” they would regard me with an incredulous expression on their face. I carried around all my valuables and money in a purse with me at all times after being asked where my money was over and over again. They also wanted me to take tons of pictures. When I reviewed the pictures at the end of the stay, I couldn’t identify half of the people because I took so many pictures. I did find it very interesting that they knew I would have a camera even before I had a chance to show them. Perhaps all toubabs that visit this village carry cameras with them. I was also asked for food a lot, and I never even showed anyone that I had a stash of fruit in my bag. I guess all toubabs carry fruit with them, too. I did give my host family Nutella as a little token of my appreciation for their hospitality. They had never seen Nutella before, nor did they know what to do with it. I explained it is for eating, so they opened the package and put a little bit of Nutella in each person’s palm. I tried to explain it was for bread, but they seemed so content eating it their way that I decided not to disturb the peace.

I was commonly asked, “Ana jëkkër?” which means, “Where is your husband?” When I said that I was not married, I would get some funny responses. If it were a woman, she would typically be astounded and ask me why I did not have a husband. If it were a man, he would then offer to be my husband. A few of the women tried to recruit husbands for me in the village. The two girls around my age who kept teasing me would point to a random guy about my age and ask, “Sa jëkkër?” or, “Your husband?” This would really embarrass the victimized guy, especially when I said no. Finally one night I told the two girls, “Soxlawuma jëkkër,” or, “I don’t need a man.” I explained as best I could that I study and I work, I am independent, there is no need for me to have a husband. They started clapping and shaking my hand when I said this. I realized that I may have destroyed the very fabric of their society just then and inspired rebellion in these two girls. …I was supposed to be working on women’s empowerment, right?

On the morning of my fourth day in the village, I woke up with mixed emotions. I was highly anticipating the arrival of the jeep to bring me back to Kaolack, but a few of the women and girls had really started to grow on me. Although the previous three days had been some of the longest days of my life, it was a learning and growing experience, and a few of them had been really supportive in the process. They accompanied me on a final stroll through the village. We stumbled upon a man who spoke French. We had a conversation with him as a translator between our two parties. The women said that they really liked me and they were sad I was leaving, and I could feel my heartstrings being pulled. The jeep soon showed up, with Molly and Claire already inside. I said, “Jerejëf, ba beneen yoon!” to the village as I climbed inside. As we pulled away, I was so happy to leave the village on a positive note, and I also felt so incredibly accomplished. I also realized that that was the longest I had ever gone without speaking a word of English, and for that I was proud as well.

Although I felt very helpless for most of the time I spent in the village, looking back on it, I have concluded that it was a necessary experience to fully learn Senegalese culture and society. It was a feat that was not like anything I have ever accomplished before. I have said this several times now in this blog, but you really learn the most when put in situations outside of your comfort zone. The people in the village took me in as one of their own, no questions asked, and although there were some incidents with money and that, their hospitality was incredible. Despite the poverty and health issues, they were so happy and welcoming. Even the stern looking elders shook my hand and greeted me with a smile. I am very pleased to be a student in a study abroad program that not only encourages, but also requires experiences like this. This past week has taught me more than a semester’s worth of knowledge in international relations or culture and society or whatever field applies.



On a more solemn note, I returned to Dakar to find out that my $100 pair of Chaco’s was stolen. Someone broke into Soso’s back porch and took everything. I am going to be looking at everyone’s feet when walking through my neighborhood from now on. If I find those shoes, I do not know what I will do… but I want them back. I keep reminding myself that it is not the end of the world, they are just shoes. And compared to some of the other thefts targeted towards students, it could be much worse.

But, on a happier note, two Moroccan men who live in my neighborhood asked me if I was a student at Sciences Po. When I replied, “Non! Je suis americaine!” they were genuinely surprised and told me that they have never met an American who speaks such great French. This seemed a little exaggerated to me, but, yay! I can speak French!