Beneath a Baobab: Stories from Sénégal

Cultures Collide, Again

And so another fundamental difference between my culture and that of the Senegalese becomes more and more obvious as my time tally grows ever larger. This time it is about money and giving.

Yesterday, I had not one, but two conversations in which my Senegalese friends emphasized the communal aspect of life in Africa. (It is them that say it’s an African phenomenon, not me making generalizations.) I’m not sure where to begin. And it’s hard to know where to begin when having this discussion with the Senegalese. This is not going to be an eloquent blog entry because I cannot figure out my own thoughts.

Here, you share EVERYTHING—from your cigarette to your lunch bowl of ceebujenn (fish and rice) to your salary and savings. (I have partaken in peoples’ meals on the street more times than I can count since coming to Senegal. They are insulted if you refuse to join them around the communal bowl.) Here, though, most people don’t really have savings. According to my friends, this is because you can’t earn enough to open a bank account and you cannot just stash some away in your house. If a family member comes asking for money, you can’t lie and say you don’t have any when there is some hiding beneath your mattress. There is a sense of obligation here to give what you can, even if it is not much, at least you’ve made an effort to help.

Apparently, it is common for distant family members and friends to approach one another for help with a bill or to buy a sack of rice to feed the family. I don’t believe this exists in the States. Though I can’t say for sure. It has been over 8 months since I’ve been in that culture. But I try to explain to my friends that this phenomenon doesn’t occur, that people don’t freely and openly ask for money. I think there is a certain shame that accompanies this act in the States that doesn’t exist here. I am, by no means, trying to say that asking for money is a shameful act; it’s just that money is just such a taboo topic in the US. Please correct me if I’m wrong.

When speaking with the Senegalese, I find that I often speak in superlatives or broad generalizations. They tell me that in Africa you share everything you have. If you “have” you “give.” My friends tell me that even if all you have is 100cfa ($.20) and someone asks you to help them out, you’ll give them your 100cfa without even thinking about it. I simply reply that that mentality does not exist in the US. People don’t ask one another for money in my culture. In the US, if you have you often give by contributing to organizations that work for a cause you want to support.

But then I begin to realize that my experience—my family, my circle of friends, and my neighborhood--doesn’t exactly represent the reality of the average American. Maybe the same pattern of behavior exists in the US as in Senegal, but I have been blessed to live a life that is financially comfortable. And then I start thinking some more. I remember that there are the usual characters that come around the neighborhood asking for money. My family almost always tries to help in whatever way we can. But there always seems to be a sort of unease that arises when this one man comes to our door. Does this mean these interactions are viewed as socially unacceptable? Do they occur more frequently and comfortably in other neighborhoods? I don’t know.

I told my Senegalese friends that it is exhausting being a tubaab sometimes. People are always asking for money. Vendors at the market and cab drivers consistently offer us inflated prices. Beggars demand “cadeaus” (presents), 100cfa, or the clothes you are wearing. After a bit, it certainly begins to feel as though we are seen as a walking dollar sign. But I’m beginning to realize that maybe we’re too sensitive. I think what we tubaabs don’t realize is that the people who ask us for money ask the next Senegalese person for money as well. Maybe we’re too sensitive to this because we have the money and we don’t give it. And maybe this all has its roots in the fact that we are different here; we stick out on the street like a sore thumb. So these requests for money, that are a regular part of one’s daily interactions with people here but that are not at all standard for us Americans, are misinterpreted by us as being a result of our skin color and nationality. And since people don’t freely and openly ask for money in the US, that is why we feel so uncomfortable when it happens here, especially because I think most Americans are aware of the financial advantage they have coming from the US.

But there is also this other component. It’s not that I don’t want to give, but I know I personally cannot share everything I have while I’m here because I will have expenses, such as textbooks, when I return to the States. My friends often say to me, what’s the point in saving? You may be dead tomorrow. 5000cfa will be of no use to you tomorrow if you are dead. And though they make a good point, I seem to ride on the fact that I will likely, Incha Allah, be alive tomorrow and still kicking even 20, and hopefully 60 years from now. I will need to have money saved to carry me through my life activities. Is the Senegalese mentality inhibiting their own development? One cannot accumulate capital without savings and investment.

It was funny, and completely awkward and bizarre, when I told them that I opened my first bank account when I was in kindergarten. My bankcard still has my photo from when I was five. So I’ve grown up with this appreciation for savings; as soon as I earn money, it goes directly to the bank. My friends here, on the other hand, are inclined to spend their money as they receive it.

The other thing, I try to explain to them, is that I’ve been working since I was old enough to baby-sit. Since I was 16, I worked at my synagogue and held summer jobs. I earn my own money for my clothes and entertainment; I contribute to my university education, and I was even able to save enough to purchase a used car. My friends here don’t work. They get money, I presume, from their parents or older siblings, or are paid for by their friends. The inherent advantage for me, though, lies in the fact that there are jobs in my country. Here, how is a son going to work when his own father doesn’t even have a job? My inclination toward working and saving—is this actually a privilege?

My final thought, and then I think I’ll conclude because this has been yet another marathon entry, relates to the family value in Senegal. My friends always scoff at me a bit when I tell them I work and then put my money into my own account, and that after school I will likely not move back home. They question me for not giving my earnings to my parents. I could at least give them something at the end of each month; they propose a sack of rice. It is hard to explain that my parents are much more financially stable than me and that contributing to help buy the groceries would not make that big of a difference. I try to explain that it makes my parents proud to see me earning my own money and becoming independent. In fact, it is more helpful for them that I buy my textbooks and clothes, rather than give them the money I earn. At least, that’s the impression I have. (Mom and Dad, feel free to correct me if I’m wrong.) So maybe my friends are right. Maybe I ought to treat my parents to a nice bottle of wine every month or flowers or a fruit basket. After all, my parents are the ones that got me to where I am today. Every boy's dream, here, is to one day have enough money to buy a nice house for he, his mom, and his own family. So I don't know, maybe I don’t show my parents as much respect as I should. That is definitely one lesson I’ve taken from Senegal. (Though material goods are not necessarily my preferred form of respect.) But my questions is: is my experience unique to that of someone in the upper-middle class? Or do most American young adults share my mentality and contribute similarly to their families?

Oh it’s hard to know. It is frustrating being a symbol of wealth and power because of the color of my skin. It’s tiring to constantly feel exploited when negotiating prices. It’s difficult to often be told, “Danga naiye” (you’re stingy; you don’t spend your money). It’s hard to describe my culture to the Senegalese. It’s hard to justify the frustration that arises from requests for money. Senegal has taught me a lot. I am constantly reminded how lucky and fortunate I am to be in the financial situation in which I find myself. But more importantly, it is vital to share and to help a fellow human out. Yes, you must do it within reason, but you should always make an effort. And you should give willingly and happily and without expecting anything in return. I hope that our two societies can find a happy medium—that the Senegalese will never lose this aspect of community and group survival, but will also learn to save and invest in their own future, and that Americans will learn to take better care of one another and will share as a way to demonstrate thanks and respect.

posted by Hannah Gelder @ 9:15 AM