Monday, August 31, 2009
Crash Landing
So I'm here...Africa...the motherland...how exciting!!!! How nerve-wracking! How incredibly HOT!!! As soon as I stepped off the plane into the virtually pitch dark world (it was early morning), I was smacked right in the face by the thick formidable Senegalese air. With my light jacket on it was unbearable. Nevertheless I loaded on the bus with everyone else and took the five second ride to the airport. Once off the bus I figured out which line was for international passengers (the one with the sign in English above it) and filled out the necessary paperwork to enter the country. Eight or ten men greeted me at baggage claim and offered to take my bags and take me to their taxi, all things I had no money or need for. One did help me however; I only understood "cart" and "no pay" but shortly after he came back with a car for my luggage. "Merci," I said with a smile and continued on my way. The airport is very small; I found the exit and Masake (my fellow HU bison and the daughter of Madame Kane whose school I will be working with) came shortly after. Now I'm here with the Kanes ( the family over the school) safe and alone because I overslept.
Monday, August 10, 2009
My Journey to Africa Begins
Africa used to call me. She used to invite me to sit at the steps of her kingdoms and sleep safe in the comfort of her arms with her children.
Yes, she used to call me incessantly. I drove myself mad in my attempts to answer her call believing that Africa was the gateway to wholeness in self.
It seems I had become one of those Black Americans. But before you place me in the sterotypical box of Black Americans who are pro-black and want nothing more than to embrace the Motherland and their roots, let me tell you--I never claimed Africa.
I shunned the racial label "African American" because my roots are in South Carolina. That is where they start and that is what I claim. But I found that the more I disassociated myself with the continent, the more I yearned to create a connection. What I understand is that I cannot claim a connection that existed over 250 years ago to a place that I have never visited.
My task was then to build a new bridge to Africa, one that I could claim personally. I set out by applying to various volunteer programs that spanned from a few months to two years. I received rejection after no response and became discontent with America. Instead I went to Eastern Europe--three countries over ten days and found the international world lacked the luster I had imagined in my mind...
New York became my next move. This city, so alive so fast and crowded with its bright lights, angry drivers and relaxing green parks was what I wanted. I wanted to live in this vibrant busy city. As I made my decision, I got my acceptance as a teaching fellow to the Senegalese-American Bilingual School (SABS). This was my opportunity to teach English and video to school children in the capital city of Dakar.
At first my answer was no, why would I want to leave this crazy city or America, for a 10-month assignment in Dakar that would set me back financially? Long ago were the days when I had dreamt of traveling to the continent to find acceptance from her people, which is what I had wanted all along. No, I just wanted to be accepted to an entry-level communications position in the city.
But even as I shook my head in firm rejection of this position, there were whispers of concerning questions. What had happened to the passion? When would this chance come again? If I didn't take it, would I always be wondering what if?
Here was my chance to explore the education profession and become an international journalist, something I claimed I wanted. Should I really turn this down?
It was a hard decision to make; the very heavy airplane ticket price made it even harder as did the fact that I had only had my Blackberry Curve for a few months, and I'd have to deactivate my plan.
The more I thought about it, the more clarity and peace I got about going. It had to be the way to go. It was as if everything had been building to this decision...my years of French, my interest in education and the doors at CBS that opened for freelancing, and so I am going...
Mach'Allah. (May God maintain it).
Yes, she used to call me incessantly. I drove myself mad in my attempts to answer her call believing that Africa was the gateway to wholeness in self.
It seems I had become one of those Black Americans. But before you place me in the sterotypical box of Black Americans who are pro-black and want nothing more than to embrace the Motherland and their roots, let me tell you--I never claimed Africa.
I shunned the racial label "African American" because my roots are in South Carolina. That is where they start and that is what I claim. But I found that the more I disassociated myself with the continent, the more I yearned to create a connection. What I understand is that I cannot claim a connection that existed over 250 years ago to a place that I have never visited.
My task was then to build a new bridge to Africa, one that I could claim personally. I set out by applying to various volunteer programs that spanned from a few months to two years. I received rejection after no response and became discontent with America. Instead I went to Eastern Europe--three countries over ten days and found the international world lacked the luster I had imagined in my mind...
New York became my next move. This city, so alive so fast and crowded with its bright lights, angry drivers and relaxing green parks was what I wanted. I wanted to live in this vibrant busy city. As I made my decision, I got my acceptance as a teaching fellow to the Senegalese-American Bilingual School (SABS). This was my opportunity to teach English and video to school children in the capital city of Dakar.
At first my answer was no, why would I want to leave this crazy city or America, for a 10-month assignment in Dakar that would set me back financially? Long ago were the days when I had dreamt of traveling to the continent to find acceptance from her people, which is what I had wanted all along. No, I just wanted to be accepted to an entry-level communications position in the city.
But even as I shook my head in firm rejection of this position, there were whispers of concerning questions. What had happened to the passion? When would this chance come again? If I didn't take it, would I always be wondering what if?
Here was my chance to explore the education profession and become an international journalist, something I claimed I wanted. Should I really turn this down?
It was a hard decision to make; the very heavy airplane ticket price made it even harder as did the fact that I had only had my Blackberry Curve for a few months, and I'd have to deactivate my plan.
The more I thought about it, the more clarity and peace I got about going. It had to be the way to go. It was as if everything had been building to this decision...my years of French, my interest in education and the doors at CBS that opened for freelancing, and so I am going...
Mach'Allah. (May God maintain it).
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