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.
posted by Hannah Gelder @ 5:41 PM
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