Ready or Not, Here I come
(I am back in the US, but this was an entry I wrote during my last two weeks in Senegal.)
Here I come, back to the land of Stars and Stripes and amber waves of grain and the American dream. Away from this land of Teranga, tea, and rich Senegalese culture.
Back to a place where I will no longer be anything special because of the color of my skin. Where children won’t scream and cry when they see me, where men won’t propose at first meeting.
Away from this place where guys greet one another on the street by asking, “How’s it going? Are you in peace?” Where people understand Asalaa Maleikuum, Jerejef, and Incha Allah.
Away this land where it’s cool to love your mom and God.
Away from small neighborhoods with boutiques on every corner selling everything you possibly need. Away from frequent fruit stands, fresh baked baguettes for breakfast and dinner, and a thriving informal sector such that you can buy anything from fans to LED lamps to stuffed animals to tissues from the window of your transportation.
Away from this place of $.10 mangos, and where $.20 will take you a long ways.
Away from this land where the call to prayer is heard 5 times a day and where Muslim brotherhoods chant for hours on end.
Away from this land where the temperature is comparable to paradise almost every day.
Away from family meals around a communal bowl, where it’s acceptable to eat with your hand.
Away from this place where men, women, kids, and elders spit, blow a farmer’s snot, talk about diarrhea, and burp, but excuse themselves when they hand you something with their left hand.
Away from this place where the fish on your plate looks like a fish with its head, eyes, and tail in tact and where the chicken is killed minutes before it’s prepared.
Away from this place where a peanut butter sandwich is horrendously unappetizing, but camel meat, fish eyeballs, and a ram’s head are a fine delicacy.
Away from this place where every day feels like a fight for my life while walking down the street.
Away from this place where my nose always runs from the pollution.
Away from this place where dirty feet are simply unacceptable, where the people are beautiful and elegantly dressed, even when leaping across puddles of sewage.
Away from this land where men appreciate nice women with a solid, curvy figure, where big is beautiful.
Away from this place where the men know how to dance, lead, and aren’t afraid to hold a girl.
Away from this country with its rich village culture.
Away from this place where most people speak at least 2 languages if not 3, 4, or 5.
Away from this place where I live with minimal ecological impact.
Away from this place that taught me the true value of family, friends, community and humanity. Back to a land where I’ll understand the conversation around me and where simply communicating won’t feel like such an accomplishment.
Back to a land with four seasons rather than two (wet and dry), and where cold means cold, and not just the lower-70˚s.
Back to a land where defensive driving presides over offensive driving, where there are more taxis without cracked windshields than with, and where the vast majority of roads are not made of sand or dirt.
Back to a place where pedestrians have the right of way and cars and motorbikes are not likely to use the sidewalk as an extra lane.
Back to a land where sheep are not likely to be found grazing in the city or tied to a streetlamp, and the only cows you’ll see in the city are remnants of Chicago’s public art display.
Back to a land where hot water heaters are common and Turkish squat toilets are not.
Back to a land where Sundays are spent watching football, basketball and baseball, rather than soccer and traditional wrestling.
Back to a land where men are afraid of touching one another, where they don’t hold hands while they walk down the road.
Back to a land where men are less likely to try to tell me what to do with my life.
Back to a land where I don’t eat meat, poultry, or fish.
Back to a place where the prices are set, where I cannot bargain for any purchase I make.
Back to a place where I will no longer sit on the street for hours with friends watching people pass.
Back to a land where a Jewish vegetarian unmarried 20-year-old woman who doesn’t cook is understood.
Back to my biological family, my roots.
Back to the country in which I was born.
From Africa to America, from Senegal to the United States, from Dakar to Chicago, from the Ecovillage of Mbam to the Village of Skokie.
From Anna to Hannah. Annastasia to Hans. Back to Hannah Elizabeth Gelder. No longer Anna “Mbam/Tigadegue/Blockage” Basse/Sagna/Mbengue/Sarr by name, but always that person in spirit.
Goodbye Senegal. Thank you for what you have taught me and for fostering the experiences I’ve had. Jërëjef for helping me become the person I am today.
An Ode to Mbam
There’s something about the bush that grabs me. I think it’s the tranquility and the simple way of life. Saying goodbye was one of the most difficult things I’ve done in Senegal. It’s hard to explain the emotions attached. It is a place that I will never forget. It’s a place where I feel loved and appreciated. I hope that I can…no no, I’ll write this affirmatively… I know that I will continue to go back there and maintain the relationships I created.
On my last visit to Mbam, I returned to the beach, one of my favorite places in the world. I walked there alone, balancing my bag on my head, the wind blowing against my body, walking across the wind-drifted sand road. I traversed the village, greeting people as I passed them and shaking small children’s hands. Eventually, the houses disappeared behind me and the river came into view in the distance. Me, the sand road, baobabs speckling the countryside; the late afternoon sun beginning its descent, a flock of white herons taking flight, their wings glistening in the sunlight; the silhouette of men washing their horses in the river, the dry fields cleared, sown, and waiting for the rains to come, the flat salty lands leading up to the river. I felt whole. I was sad, and I was happy. These are the scenes that I love.
I met friends at the beach and as we walked back toward the village, they broke into an impromptu wrestling match. I watched as they wrestled and played in the sand, their dark bodies smeared with the blond sand and white salt residue. They ran and washed themselves in the river. These are men in their mid-20s. Some are still in school. Others are not. Some have left the village for work, but are back for the weekend. This time of year, though, they all spend long hard days in the fields getting ready for the rainy season. They are tired, they say, but here they were just having pure fun. That’s when I realized I’m jealous. I so rarely see happiness manifest itself in such a pure form. At home, fun comes in such forms as baseball games, BBQs, movies, and plays, but these are all organized events and activities. Here it was just man and nature. And they live there! They have this every day of their life.
It hurts to know that I won’t be returning there soon. It hurts to know that soon I won’t even be in the same country, let alone the same continent. At least when I’m in Dakar, I’m comforted by the fact that Mbam and its people are a 4 hour ride away. But this time I won’t be going back. Maybe I’ll be back in October, maybe in January, or the following May. Yallah rekk ko xaam. Only God knows. I hope I’ll be back sooner rather than later. My experiences there are ones that have changed me forever. I will never forget and will always appreciate the way people treated me with open minds, hearts and arms. It’s unbelievable. Mbam is part of who I am, and I will bring it with me wherever my life leads me.
So, Goodbye Mbam. Thank you for the lessons, the tranquility, the community and the millions of memories. I hope to keep you a part of my life. It’s too incredible to give up. They think I’m lucky to live in the US. But remembering the guys playing at the beach, so carefree and happy, I think they’re the lucky ones. Their life is hard, but it’s simple. And simplicity is something I think we should all strive for in our lives. Their worries are more fundamental—food, money, rainfall. But that’s what it is. There are no guns, no lack of community, no running from one place to another, no approaching deadlines. Oh it’s too different worlds, but I am so glad and so fortunate to have been exposed to this one. It has taught me so much. May God keep them, Bless, them, and love them. Que dieu vous gaurde, waa Mbam.
The Beauty of Community
Tuesday, I returned back to Dakar from my last visit to Mbam this time around in Senegal. I'm still working on perfecting my entry to try to capture the essence of Mbam and what it is about village life that grabs me. But in the mean time, I thought I'd post on one of the aspects of life in the bush that attracts me.
Community. That's what it is. In Mbam, everyone knows everyone. They stop in the road to greet one another and chat. And though small communities have their disadvantages too, namely gossip, a person has a true sense of belonging. When I return to Dakar, I am always surprised by how many people there are. People pass one another on the street without the slightest acknowledgment. Everyone does their own thing. But fortunately, human nature, drives us to search and create a community. And I've created that for myself in various ways, even in the hustle and bustle of big city life.
In Mermoz, my neighborhood, I obviously don't know the majority of people that live there. However, I have created a group of friends, and I often encounter them on the road when I come home from work and go out at night. Tuesday, after returning from Mbam, I was on my way to the tailor's, and feeling sad about leaving Mbam, when I encountered a friend sitting by the street. I stopped and chatted for a bit, and that's when I realized that even in this big neighborhood, I still had a community and network of friends. Then there's also a group of young boys that play soccer in the street. One of them figured out my name, and now they all call out to me when I pass by their game.
My American friends always commented that if walking with me in Mermoz, it took them 10 minutes longer to get somewhere because I stopped to greet everyone I knew along the way.
I've also found a community for myself in Point E, the neighborhood in which I work. Today, I was shocked when I left the office to go get cafe touba (a spiced coffee from the city of Touba; it's very good) and two people I passed on the street greeted me by calling out my name, "Anna." One man was walking carrying a large lunch bowl, and the other was driving by in his car. I didn't recognize them, but they seemed to know me. After my cup of coffee, I passed by a fruit stand and said hello to the young vendor from whom I buy fruit from time to time. Then I continued on to my usual lunch stand where all the waitstaff (not a very good wordchoice for this eating environment) know my name, as do most of the people who eat their regularly. It's a good feeling.
I crave community. I subsist on interhuman interactions. I thrive in settings in which I know people and people know me. I think these daily interactions with people are what make each day worth living.
This is why I love the village of Mbam, the neighborhood of Mermoz in Dakar, and the small community of Macalester College.
I don't know what will happen when I return to the US where I don't stand out quite as much as I do here. There I'll blend into the background with my white skin and speaking the local language won't be a surprise to anyone. People won't take such an interest in me anymore. I hope that I can continue to find and create little communities for myself where ever my life takes me. The lesson I will take with me from Senegal is the importance of greeting your fellow humans, being open to conversation and taking the time to chat casually with others. That is how relationships and communities are built.
Over and out. 11 days until I'm Stateside again. Wow!
