Kii jigeen la. Now that’s a woman.—A compliment or insult? Comparing the roles and rights of women in the US and SN.
So my head is, as it often is here in Senegal, in a jumble as I try to sort out my thoughts on yet another tough topic—women. This translates into feminism, women’s rights, and the role of the Senegalese woman. Senegalese society is incredibly different from that of the States, or at least that in which I grew up in Skokie/Evanston, Illinois. I recently had a 2-hour discussion with American and Senegalese students on this topic. It opened my mind and eyes a lot.
When I first arrived in Senegal, I was extremely disappointed to see the seeminly subordinate role women play in society here. I believed that they were relegated to all that was domestic and didn’t have much of a choice in the course their lives took. Society, it seemed, expected them to grow up, marry young, have lots of children and stay in the house all day to raise the children, cook the meals, clean the house, do the laundry, etc, etc. … the tasks from which, I feel, women in the US have been fighting for decades to be relieved.
I hope that as I continue with this entry, no one is offended. I suppose my thoughts could come across as judgmental or offensive to women in the US or “une senegalaise” who might happen upon this site. But I feel it’s best to express my dead-honest opinions, the ideas that tumble and collide with one another in my head. I shared the following thoughts with the group:
I think everyone can agree that education is a fundamental human right. And I believe that it is at the base of feminism. Once you are educated, opportunities open up for you. Your life is improved. Economically speaking, you can enter the professional world. And that opens up an entirely different conversation about equality in the workplace, one that I’m not willing to discuss right now. (But on that note, I was shocked to read the other day that they just now made it so that men and women are awarded equally for winning the Wimbledon. There is still a lot of work left for us in this world.) Anyway, I guess it is our western feminism that believes women should not have to stay at home and should instead be at the office alongside their husbands. The Senegalese pointed out that this is not a model that can be imposed upon Senegalese, or African, society. It simply does not work for them. Women are the most honored and respected members of society. You could say, they hold this society, with a high value on family, together. You will never talk to a man who loves his mama more than a Senegalese man does. Unfortunately, women play a subordinate role. Even though all decisions are run past the mothers and, in theory, take their opinion into careful consideration, it is the man who is the vehicle for making and announcing the decision. Men are always served first; when shaking hands, it is appreciated if the woman curtsies; men hold the leadership positions; men earn the money, women tend to the household…. And the list goes on. But ask any man, and his mama is his favorite person. All men know the value of the woman. They know they would not exist if it were not for their mothers. And it’s true, “Les femmes senegalaises font tout!!” The Senegalese women do everything!! It’s really unbelievable.
So my question is now this: as this new generation of women advances in their education, what will they do once they are married? Will they work/continue to work, and leave their children with another family member during the day? Or will they stay at home to raise their family? Originally, I judged this as throwing away their education. But I now realize that this is NOT at all the case. It is important to have educated women raising families. I personally thought working in the professional field was the only way to put an education to good use, but I was WRONG, and I am the first to admit it. I personally benefited from having a mother who slowed her professional interests for many years in order to raise my sister and me. And I am ever grateful. So who am I to judge a nation of women who make the same sacrifice in order to raise their children?
After talking to the women who were in this discussion, they said, once they get married they plan to combine their familial and professional interests. They will likely do like many families in Dakar that have a working mother and father, they will, incha allah, hire a maid to help with the cleaning, and use their family members to help take care of the children during the day. However, they will still continue to do their share in child raising, meal preparation, and household cleaning. One woman wakes up at 5:45 every morning to sweep the house and do other chores before leaving to participate in this program, and she has achieved her bac, done 2 years of higher-education, and worked professionally for a year. But she knows that if she doesn’t wake up early, it will be her mother who has to do the work and she hates to see that happen.
At one point I made the comment that I am almost proud of the fact that I don’t know how to cook or clean. They were appalled. I definitely don’t take pride in this, but it was to say that: yes, I AM a woman, but no, those are not things I will learn to do, or feel obligated to do, BECAUSE I am a woman.
One of the Senegalese men also brought up a huge point—privilege. Throughout my time here, I’ve become increasingly aware of the privilege I was awarded by being born into an upper-middle-class white family in the United States, but I had never thought of it in this context. In the United States we have machines that do everything. Machines that save women time so they can go to work instead. You put your laundry in a machine, go to class or work, come back and it is clean. You turn on the faucet and water comes out. You run the vacuum cleaner and minutes later, the dust has been removed. Just the fact of having a carpet means you’ve got decent funds. And after a long day at school or work, you can come home, pop something into the toaster oven or microwave and have your meal ready in 5 minutes. In Senegal, this is not the case! Laundry is a four-hour process requiring constant action on the washer’s part. In the bush, you must go to the well to get your water. To remove dust, you bend your body in half and use a hand-held broom. To make a meal, you cook for 2-3 hours. In Senegal, if these women don’t do all these tasks, who will? In the States, you can say the machines will, but that is not yet the case here. (And of course, you can ask why can’t the men help with all these tasks. This is a good question. But they also have defined chores, such as tending to the farms and animals to provide food for the family, and collecting the materials to make fences, etc. Personally, I’d like to see men and women share in all these tasks, and they do to a certain extent, but throughout human history, there have been activities relegated to the different sexes.) So I think that all westerners, before judging too harshly this society with defined gender roles and trying to impose our values on another culture, must first carefully consider the privileges we have at home, with the means to buy our time-saving machines, and the infrastructure, such as electricity and running water, that allows them to work.
I also tried to explain to the Senegalese that in the States, stay-at-home-moms do not receive nearly as much respect as the women do here. Is this a side effect of the feminist movement? —that now raising a family is looked down upon, compared to a woman who works alongside her husband in the professional field. And maybe my impressions are all way off the mark, but this is certainly how I feel. It is considered alternative these days to be a stay-at-home mom. How is it that raising your children is now alternative?! (And I think that this is also another privilege, since it seems to me that you need two sources of income in order to support a family these days.) In Senegal, there is an extremely strong family value, one of which I am not aware in the United States and I believe this is thanks to the fact that the mom stays at home to raise the children here.
I fear that in the US, women who stay at home to take care of the family and do domestic chores are seen as taking on a secondary role. It brings me back to the popular “a woman’s place is in the kitchen” jokes from high school. I think that attitude has made me very resentful of everything that is domestic; I’m on a personal mission to prove myself equal to men. In this quest, I’ve tried to dissociate myself with anything and everything domestic. But in Senegal it’s a different game. I shared with the group, that when in the bush, nothing made me prouder than when a man or women would come into our compound, and upon seeing me doing the dishes or sweeping the floor, would announce, “Kii jigeen la,” meaning, “Now that’s a woman.” I loved helping in the house. That is an honored and respected role here.
My other question for these women, is that if they decide to stay home and stop working once they are married, will they be doing this because they want to or because they feel this is society’s expectation for them as a married woman? I never really got an answer to this. But I think it is because they want to. Though I’m not sure they feel there are many other options. But they told me that just as I take pride in not being able to cook, they take great pride in being able to cook and take care of a household.
At one point in the conversation, one of the Senegalese men acknowledged that their society was transitioning, that women were achieving high levels of education and entering the work field. But he asked the women to do it slowly, and to teach their children these new values. But I reminded them, that this transition would require a change in the men’s comportment as well. As increasing numbers of women go to college and enter the professional world, men will have to accept this, and make changes in their own attitudes, behavior and contributions in the household so that the women can do this successfully.
And now, I suppose this comes back to me. I had a lot of time in the bush to sit and think, to evaluate what is important to me, and to try and figure out how I want to lead my life, based on the life lessons I’m learning here. In fact, I think I did that for about 12 hours a day. Here, when a man asks if I’m married, I give him an incredulous look, shake my head, and tell him I’m too young. He asks my age; I tell him twenty. Without fail, he tells me I’m not too young, and asks how long am I planning on waiting. I tell him about 10 years. Now he’s the shocked member of the conversation. His jaw drops. He tells me I’ll be too old when I’m 30. But I explain that I need to finish my studies at the university, and travel and work for a few years, incha allah, to establish myself in the professional world, before settling down with a husband and starting a family. If I’m lucky, he finally nods in agreement and understanding; sometimes though he’ll insist that I need to get married soon, telling me my plans are no good; or he’ll just give up since I’m a tubaab with western ideals. I hope that I can find a happy medium between being a professional and being a mom. I don’t think these are two mutually exclusive roles. They definitely should not be. It would be incredible to be at home during my children’s early years. I was lucky enough to have both my parents working from the house through my junior year of high school. I think this has had a huge impact on the person I am today. I want to do the same for my children. My parents have shown to me that this is possible and I am forever grateful. I have always had a hard time reconciling my personal professional goals and wanting to be a “good mom,” without ever being considered domestic. But I think in Senegal, I’ve realized that it’s possible to be all three and that that is a huge accomplishment and honor.
The Crazy Things You Can See in Senegal
This post is dedicated to all the seemingly ridiculous things I've seen in Senegal, that bring a smile to my face, sometimes a full-out laugh, but get no response from the Senegalese.
We'll begin with cows since they are a constant source of entertainment in this metropolitan area of Dakar. The other day, while waiting for my bus along a very busy road, traffic came to a halt while a huge pack of long-horn cows was herded through an intersection. Here I am, in the middle of a city with lots of cars, and cows come waddling through. I couldn't help but laugh. I looked around to see if anyone was as entertained as I was, but no one else seemed to acknowledge the fact that this was happening. Another incident came when my friends, Jayna, Megan, and I were walking home from class, along a busy road leading into downtown and we encountered another long-horn cow walking freely along the sidewalk. I grabbed a great picture. Finally, last week on my way to work, I passed a huge long-horn bull tied to a lamp post. He was there for a couple days and then disappeared, I presume for a sacrifice for a baptism or wedding.
Sheep are another category. You can almost always hear a sheep bleating in the distance. I would expect this in the bush, but not in the city. There are sheep tied to trees throughout the neighborhood. Then you see them in funny situations, like a live sheep being stuffed into the trunk of a cab. Or many being loaded and tied onto the top of a Ndiang Ndiaye. From the interior, you hear their hoofs scuffling on the roof, until they finally settle down for the ride.
Another smile is brought to my face by men in the informal job sector. You can buy absolutely anything you want from the window of your car or as a pedestrian on the sometimes-existant sidewalk. My favorite item for sale are the baby palm trees. Men walk down the street carrying one in each hand. The roots are wrapped up in plastic, and they walk around in hopes of a sale. I guess we all have to make our money somehow, but I never would have thought of selling trees!
Now I know I've talked about this before, but the lack of pedestrian rights and defined pedestrian areas never fails to amaze me. The rule of the road is: the biggest object wins. Therefore, pedestrians don't stand a chance. And if the area is big enough, it's fair game for vehicles to use. Thus, every day before and after work becomes a tricky game of strategy and careful navigation, and often some swearing at passing vehicles. My NGO is located along a very busy road that leads to the airport. One side of the road, has patches of sidewalk, the other side is just completely sand. The cars, frustrated with the traffic jams, often drive through the sand in order to cut time off their commute. But this is the only place for pedestrians to walk as well. I have to laugh when I look up and see three or four cars headed at me, bouncing along the sand. It reminds me of a rodeo, for some reason, all the cars are horses running over a mound. But after I laugh, I then quickly try to position myself behind some solid object like a boulder or fruitstand, so as to protect myself. Don't worry, the cars can't drive too quickly in the sand. This certainly keeps what-would-be-a-boring-walk-to-the-bus stop very exciting.
Here, we are in the final countdown to the presidential campaign. Campaign rallies and political meetings are a bit different than they are at home. Often, they are smaller and held in public neighborhoods spaces. They are very dynamic. I never understand because they are held in Wolof, but last night, the speaker would say something, and suddenly the women dressed in their boubous and foulards would rush out of their chairs, blowing their whitsles, and bouncing their butts and bodies to the beat of the drums. Men would wave their flags wildly. It's very exciting. You will also see caravans of Ndiang Ndiayes and car rapides going down the roads, packed to the brim, often including drums or stereos, and with people on top as well, all calling out, holding posters and wearing t-shirts supporting their candidate.
And my final thought for the moment, though I'm sure I'll continue to update this post, is the current status of my bus stop. I would sit on the unsheltered bench down the street from my work every evening while waiting for the bus. It was an uncomfortable blue metal bench, rusty in some places and slanting at one end; its legs were rooted in a concrete platform. A metal blue and yellow square stood on a post behind it to indicate it as a bus stop. One day last month, I came out from work and couldn't locate the bench. Finally, I discovered it was where it always was, the problem was just that there was the nose/grill of a huge truck over it, having apparently run into it and completely knocked it over. How this happened, I'll never know. As my father would say, "It's a good thing I wasn't sitting there." A couple days later the truck disappeared. However, the bench to this day remains a mangled mess of metal. Now I use another bus stop, but smile every time I look down the road to see my former point of embarkation.
That's all for now. Life and work in Dakar are going well. Not too much else to say, except how much I love this crazy country that always keeps me on my toes...
Oh Senegal, how you never fail to amaze me.
“Yeggal” Get on. A ride in the Car.
I wrote before that I would know I was really “Senegalese” when I could comfortably and independently take their famous Car Rapides to get around. Now I use them and their more standardized buses daily to get to and from work. I know I blogged the first time I rode in a Ndiang Ndiaye, very similar to a car rapide, but my ride today has inspired another entry. I want to take you with me in this unique form of public transportation.
First, you must be able to differentiate between a Ndiang Ndiaye and a Car Rapide. A Ndiang Ndiaye is an all white 40-passenger van, with two columns of benches. There are seats that fold down in the middle aisle, so you can have 5 people per row. The accepted and practiced etiquette is fascinating, everyone always moves up to the seat farthest forward as they open up, so that the new passengers can sit down. The vans load from the doors in back. You grab onto a ladder (which grants access to the roof), step onto a board and then into the vehicle. (Sometimes men will run after a car, grab the ladder, and then jump on. The best is when four or five do this all at once, especially when the car is really full. The car seems to gobble them up as they one by one squeeze their way in and disappear into the interior. If there are already too many passengers, they hang off the back with the apprenti (French for apprentice).) I’ll try to take some pictures of this.
Car Rapides are a bit different. They are painted half yellow (top) and half blue (bottom) and then have beautiful images painted on the sides and hood. (Often the hood and grill of the van depicts two eyes, and then the word “Alhamdulilaay” written in the middle. This means, “Thanks to Allah.” It’s funny when these vehicles seemingly stare you down on the road.) They, too, load their passengers from the back. In car rapides, there is a main cab section where the driver sits and a bench, which can uncomfortably fit up to 3 people. Metal bars separate the cab section from the rest of the interior. The wall of bars is lined with a bench that can seat over 6 people, and then there is a row of benches facing this first row. Passengers finagle their legs and bags so that every thing fits. Behind these two rows of benches, benches line either side of the car. In the states we would never try to fit more than 4 people on these benches, but here they squeeze in 5 or 6. It’s unbelievable, and also uncomfortable. But no one grimaces or complains.
So anyway, to catch my car today, I waited at a bus stop, also used for Car Rapides and Ndiang Ndiayes. After hailing a car and getting in since it was going in the right direction, I asked the apprenti where they were going as a final destination. I explained where I wanted to go, and about five other people in the car all joined the conversation, debating with one another whether I should get off at one stop to take another car, or keep going. (Mind you this all occurred in Wolof!) But at least five people, if not more, were discussing with me, the apprenti and one another, trying to determine my best route.
You can always ask for help in the US, but there is rarely quite the same sense of community collaboration. Maybe it’s because tourists/strangers aren’t quite as conspicuous as I am here. Or maybe it’s because our system of public transportation is much more organized with designated routes, and placards on every train or bus indicating the line number and direction of travel. They have buses of this sort in Dakar, but their Ndiang Ndiayes and Car Rapides have no such indication. Instead, there is just the apprenti hanging precariously off the running board, holding on to the open door calling out the vehicle’s destination point. To stop the car, he taps a coin against the metal side. There are few predetermined stops. The stops are generally decided by when someone hails the car, or a passenger requests a stop. And you pay your fare of 15-20 cents when the apprenti asks for it.
Today, one of our apprentis was wearing an old worn-in plaid sport coat that was too big for him with faded grey dress slacks. A black beret completed the outfit. He looked to be 12 years old, though he was probably 17, but he reminded me of a newspaper boy from the 50s. He stood on the ladder, leaning his head to the side of the car calling out “Fann, Fann,” the neighborhood to which we were headed.
It is amazing to me the community ethic that forms within a car rapide. It manifests itself in other ways too. An older woman got in and her shawl was dragging on the ground. A woman already seated, picked it up, held it while the first woman situated herself, and then re-draped it over her shoulder. Or two women got off, and they each had big plastic basins with them that they’d stored under the benches. The two apprentis swiftly picked them up and placed them on the women’s heads, without even seeming to think about it. It is second nature to them, though it was something I had to learn to do while in the village (help a woman put a basin on her head, that is.)
The visual images are incredible too. The cars are beautiful on the outside, but often more than worn-down on the inside. Benches have tattered blue vinyl covering, the Styrofoam stuffing sticking out left and right. Sometimes, small squares of Styrofoam are tied together, in a puzzle-like fashion in order to make a bench seat. The paint is chipped and the metal is rusted. There can be pictures, or tattered curtains or pieces of fabric decorating the interior, but some cars are completely bare. But then there are the people. It’s a fabulous juxtaposition, the women with their heels and make-up in their incredible boubous, foulards (head wraps), and shawls, all made of brilliantly colored fabrics, sitting inside these crowded decrepit vehicles. And it is amazing how they wiggle in to fit 5 to a bench, especially because many of these women are not small by any means. They’ve got jaay fonde, Wolof for a very well–rounded bottom. I haven’t quite mastered the straight face all these women maintain when squished together. Today, one woman left an empty bench with little legroom, to come make herself the fifth person on our bench. I think half of her left butt cheek was sitting on my right thigh. I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling, or even laughing. But I love these little adventures in the car rapides, where everyone is willing to help one another, no one complains, and there is certainly no shortage of good people watching.
Some food for thought: The injustice in our world
I guess this was bound to happen at some point, that I break down and essentially complain, or rather express my discontent and confusion, about the injustice in our world. I just watched the movie, "Darwin's Nightmare," a documentary about the fish export industry, prostitution, and poverty in Tanzania. I won't get too much into the film, but it reveals the unfair relationship between the Global North and South. 500 tonnes of fish filets are flown out of Tanzania to feed 2 million Europeans, but then there are 8-year-olds beating one another up in order to get one handful of rice for lunch.
The movie had interesting timing for me personally, because last night I went to a Superbowl party at the US Marine's house in Dakar. (I felt obligated to go cheer on the Bears. Too bad they lost.) Anyway, not only was it bizarre to be surrounded by over 100 tubaabs again, but it was shocking to see the extravagance of the Superbowl itself. I don't know how much money is spent on it between the millions spent on each ad, the 150-$5000 superbowl rings, the tickets, concessions, the half-time show, the players' salaries, the energy required to light the stadium, etc etc etc. If it is not a multi-billion dollar production, it definitely scores way up there in the hundreds-of-millions-of-dollars range just for one football game. And you can point to SO MANY THINGS in American society that are like this. (And on this note, why are professional athletes and artists being paid so much when teachers are being paid so little?)
It is so hard for me to reconcile the money being spent on the Superbowl when there are 8-year-olds fist-fighting for a handful of rice.
I mean, how can there be such injustice in the world? How and why does this happen? And then, more importantly, what can be done to change this? I'm not suggesting that the money spent on the Superbowl would be better spent sending food aide to Tanzania, because that is NOT a solution and is only a very temporary band-aide for a very big wound. And I'm not suggesting that the rich members of the world need to give up everything they enjoy in order to level the playing field. But I do want to figure out how this can begin to be changed. How can the structures in our world be altered so that these two extremes do not occur? ...so that everyone can have access to food, potable water, clothing, and a safe place to sleep. And what can I personally do in my life?, -- what can we all do in our own lives? -- to make this change happen.
Any thoughts?
Pensive, frustrated, and confused,
Hannah
