Am na benn at ci Senegal!

Am na benn at ci Senegal! (I have a year in Senegal!)  I’ve officially been in Senegal for over a year and in my village for almost one year.  I can’t believe time has gone by so fast nor how comfortable I’ve become here.  Happenings that I used to think unique and so strange have just become commonplace.  I’m used to the site of babies running around naked, chickens prancing into my room, events being determined by temperature, and using an outside toilet/shower.  I have to remind myself to stop and remember my impression when I first arrived; I’ve just become so comfortable, and I can even speak Wolof without needing to first translate into English (which is a relief, seeing as my English abilities are steadily receding).  My host family is wonderful, and I’ve grown used to their customs as much as they’ve grown used to mine (and my quirks).  And I’ve gotten absorbed into my work, which has been keeping me quite busy.

Let me now describe a typical (if there is such a thing) day in my life.  It is the beginning of the hot season now; days reach up to 110 degrees F, but the evenings are still cool.  I therefore wake up, curled in my sheet, to the call to prayer sometime between 5 and 6 am.  Luckily, my village does not have a speaker, and instead the imam stands in the middle yelling out the words.  When he is done, I can successfully fall back asleep until the donkeys start braying, baby goats screaming, and people begin moving around outside.  After I roll out of bed, I go for a nice early morning jog.  The sun is just beginning to rise as a bright ball, and I pass some of the village kids walking to the middle school and high school 3 km away.  The kids call out to me as I run, and I remember to greet them as I pass them in both directions.  When I reenter my village, the place has suddenly become alive.  Children call out to me as I head toward my compound, some of them daring me to race them and others just wanting to shake my hand or see me wave at them.  I join the women at the water pump, waiting my turn to carry a bucket of water (on my head of course) back to my room to shower.

I generally emerge from my room around 9 am.  As soon as I open the door, the 3 toddlers in my compound run into my room.  I have taught them to shake medicine containers like maracas, and they love to grab these and come sit on my bed.  If only two of them notice my door opening, they are certain to call out to the other to come join as well.  I walk outside and greet my host grandma and the other women in the compound.  Then, I usually head on my way for my morning activity.  As I have a variety of projects, this activity could be in my village, up to an hour’s bike ride away, or back in the town I just ran to that morning.  As I bike ride or walk through my village, people call out greetings to me.  It’s generally the same greetings each time, but it’s nice to be recognized and to see how much everyone values getting my attention.  Greetings are so important here as a way of showing respect and acknowledging someone’s presence.  As I enter other villages or towns, people call out to greet me as well.  Sometimes they know me and call me by name (though they’re more likely to remember my name than I am to remember theirs) and sometimes they just call me “Toubab,” the name for foreigner or white person.  I always answer their greetings as I ride.  If they ask me for money or say they love me (which often happens when I pass people I don’t know), I try to make a joke and keep riding until I reach my destination.

Often, I don’t return until around 1.  Senegalese always want to share their lunches, and I have to carefully and respectfully decline in order to arrive back home for lunch.  I know that my host mom will always save me lunch if I miss it (even if I eat elsewhere), she’s a good cook, and I often have an afternoon activity that I want to return home for which ideally involves leaving before the mid-day heat sets in, so I prefer to be home for the meal.  Once again, as soon as I open my door, I can guarantee that the toddlers will come running to my door to be allowed in.  At this time of day, sometimes I let them stay in my room for a bit, laughing as they shake the bottles, roll around on my bed, or dance for me.  The three of them really are my favorite.  But I also like to go sit outside under the big neem tree in my compound where there’s a nice breeze, and I can talk with some of the adults.  So after a little, I suggest a move outside.  The older two (3 and 4 years olds) are very responsive to this, and immediately jump up, say that we’re going out, and put their bottles away.  The youngest one (2 ½ years old), however, prefers to remain on my bed, and I often have to tickle and tease her to get her outside.  She can’t talk yet, so she gurgles statements at me and points, signs that I can generally interpret; her remarks reminds me of a combination of Boo from Monsters Inc. and a bird.  Since lunch isn’t served usually until around 2:30, I grab my chair and sit outside with my host family, chatting with the adults, playing with the kids who now jump on my lap (sometimes all 3 at the same time), or just sitting lost in my thoughts.

I still eat at least two meals in my village with my host grandma, host parents, and sometimes another family in my village who sends a child over to bring me for the meal.  Usually my host grandma’s meal is done first, and I join the other 13 people around the bowl.  Then I return to sitting outside until my host parents’ meal is done, joining 7 others for that meal.  The toddlers often appear for a second meal as well, one-by-one showing up at the door and waiting to be called to the bowl to join (reminding me of the storm scene in The Sound of Music).  We eat, and then I return to sitting outside with people while afternoon tea is prepared.  People are usually still sitting as I leave for my afternoon activity around 3:30 or 4 among protests that it’s too hot, and I should wait until later to depart.

I return around 7, join the women in the garden for afternoon watering and offering advice on their vegetable beds, carry more water as drinking water, and prepare dinner.  Then, I join my family sitting outside on their cement slab.  This is my favorite time of day; the kids are very chatty and enjoy telling me stories or joking with me.  I discuss some of my village projects with my host parents or talk about some of their hardships.  I talk with my oldest host brother about school, encouraging him in his studies and sometimes helping him with his exercises.  I watch my host sisters dance to the music playing on the radio.  I trade American and Senegalese riddles with my host parents and oldest sister.  I tell fairy tales to the children, often repeating their favorite ones (The 3 Little Pigs and Little Red Riding Hood) several times.  Or I simply lay back and enjoy gazing at the clear skies searching for shooting stars.

Finally, I return to my room around 9:30, fighting back their insistence that I am leaving earlier than usual and that I should stay and talk.  Instead, I lie in bed reading and then listening to the voices floating in from outside, music blasting on the radio, and children reciting Arabic verses at the Koranic school in the compound next to me (which most of the children in my village attend every night, 3 afternoons a week, every Sunday, and every morning the French school is closed – though some children do attend the Koranic school every day instead of attending French school at all).

Every day is long and packed with activities, but each day also gives me time to socialize with people in my village or in the other towns I visit.  And, though I do have a general routine, it often changes if an activity requires an entire day or if I decide to engage in village activities instead.  And, of course, Sunday is the weekly market day, and I find myself walking to Farfenni to buy fresh vegetables instead.  But life here is gaining a rhythm, and I’m growing very comfortable in my general schedule.