Closure

I haven’t written on this blog in a long time and it’s because life is real. It’s not always easily captured on a blog. Teaching was hard; probably one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life and that’s because success doesn’t rely 100% on my progress so much so as it relies on the progress of the kids. I may be very good at and know alot about journalism, English and history, but if I cannot effectively relay that to my students then what good is my knowledge? So, I found myself struggling to engage students, create effective and interesting lesson plans and to stay in control of the classroom which is the most difficult part. I have the utmost respect for teaching and for learning how to become a teacher in the traditional sense instead of through these alternative teacher programs.

Then there was my personal story. My reasons behind my desire and determination to immerse myself in an African culture centered around my quest to bridge the gap between Africa and I. I was searching for my “true identity.” Quite often I found I was spurned by people who rejected me because I was American while others jokingly called me, “Charlotte American” or introduced me as their American friend before I even had a chance to speak.

The people at Goree Island will never know how hurtful it is to demand I pay more than double to take the ferry to the island than the Senegalese because I am a foreigner and not African. (Sidenote: I’ve never actually paid the expensive rate because I can “pass” for Senegalese if I keep my mouth shut, but it still hurts!) The vendors will never understand how unkind it is to call after me, “my sister, my sister,” beckoning me to come to their stand with the intention to cheat me while I stand on the very island from which they may have packed and shipped away my ancestors.

Then there were the good moments; times when people affirmed that I looked just like their sister or cousin. They say I look like a Tukulor. There were instances when I somehow managed to get the real price of an item with my limited Wolof. Vendors never forget your face and some are nice. I saw a guy I had bought jewelry from five months ago recently and he smiled and said hello. He greeted me in English and when I replied that his English was improving he told me that he was taking classes and then handed me a cowshell bracelet for free.



It took me awhile to realize that it’s neither group, not the people that deny nor the people that affirm my “Africanness” that should have power over my true identity. It’s all about how I perceive myself. Yes, I am American. Yes I am also African. But I cannot be limited to a title or a label; I am Charlotte Young, free of what you say I am because I am so much more than what you think! And many of the same people that declare I am not African would reject me regardless if I did not fit their ideal social standing or was of another African nationality.

I still live in Dakar. Just last weekend I was out with friends at my favorite night spot watching Senegalese, Cape Verdeans, Cameroonians, Ghanaians, Canadians and who knows what other nationalities dance to Congolese music. You see this mixture of nationalities and culture, this is Africa.

I was shy of dancing until one guy pulled me up.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“America.” I replied.

“No, you are from Africa!”

He proceeded to dance around, bouncing his shoulders and shuffling his feet to the music. Another guy hopped in front of me.

“Do like this,” he said.

Moving his feet and hips in a dance similar to that I’d seen in the states. So I copied him.

“Well look you can move!” someone teased.

I looked at them and smiled. “Merci.”

So that is it. I am Charlotte—lover of self, lover of people and culture and lover of assisting in youth development—just not as a teacher.

Mach’Allah.

Peace

Dinner with Ahmat

Friday all of the teaching fellows had dinner at Ahmat's house.

Ahmat works in administration at SABS and is also a relative of the Kanes. When the Kanes had their large Ndougou and invited several friends and families, the other teacher fellows and I sat listening to Ahmat as he detailed how we are all "persons" no matter what our color or religion or origin. It was a very interesting and passionate discussion.

Afterwards he told us that we must come to his house and have dinner before Ramadan was over. As Saturday marked the last day of Ramadan, our time to come over was running up.

Camille and I went to Amadou's house to break fast first and meet up with the boys. CP time prevailed and we unfortunately arrived after the sun went down.

Then Amadou accompanied us to Ahmat's house which was only about five minutes away.

We found Ahmat in the open outside speace of the front of house next to his little baby girl. A mat and a mattress sit invitingly on the floor and that's where we spent the next hours of our time. It was very comfortable. In the distance we could hear chanting and goats bleeting.

"You must only speak in French," Ahmat told us. "You know English very well already so you must speak French."

He was right. So I spoke my next sentence in very broken but understandable French.

"Je veux trouve un homme de Senegal et parle Francais toujours!" I announced. (I want to find a Senegalese man and speak French always.)

"Oh," Ahmat said. "You want to marry a Senegalese man?"

"Peut-etre." I replied.

"Do you want to be the first or the second or third wife? he asked me."

I frowned. "Le premier et le finalement!!!!"

"Well you know here in Senegal a man can have more than one wife."

"One, two, three, four wives." Amadou added.

"But not five." Ahmat finished. "If I make more money I may take a second wife. And have more babies. I may take an English wife."

"Why would you take an English wife when you have a wife that can speak English?" Ahmat's wife questioned coming up behind him. She sat in the chair across from him and positioned the baby in her lap so that they both were staring at him.

"Ahhh...."

We continued talking for several hours before the food finally came. And when it came, it was quite a feast. Beef and theib with onions and olives. As usual it was served in a large silver dish that we all ate from either with our hands or spoons. We dug in.

"Please, eat." Ahmat said. "You are not guests here. You must eat more."

Amadou and Ahmat kept dropping beef in front of us despite our protests that we were full. When we truly could eat no more Ahmat's brother served us small glasses of very strong tea.

Then we laid out on the mattresses and struggled not to fall asleep. I informed Ahmat about "the itis," much to the disapproval of my colleagues but it was clearly what was steadily overtaking us.

But finally, we were able to stand and leave the house. We went straight to sleep as soon as our heads hit the pillows.

Journey to the Light House

Saturday afternoon the other fellows and I took a journey to the top of the light house. Under the hot Senegalese sun during Ramadan this is no easy task.

But we walked...then we climbed and we made it! You could see all of Dakar or so it seemed from the top...perhaps even beyond. I looked over this city which is now my place of residence and couldn't help but acknowledge the easy peace and calm that has washed over me ever since I stepped foot into Africa. Mach'Allah, may God maintain it.

(we turned out a bit dark in this pic. Can't be helped.)

Chivalry Lives in Senegal

So, I found chivalry in the kind and gracious person of Amadou. Amadou is the man that "the boys" (the 2 male teaching fellows) are staying with. He is the nicest person one can meet and has a true heart for service. One can learn alot from him besides Wolof, just by watching his actions.

Take Sunday afternoon for example. Amadou came over to the Kanes' residence for a quick visit. Because Camille and I had heard the wonderful tales the boys have of hanging out with Amadou, we decided we wanted to come along with him back to his home. So we set out on a very hot walk to Ouakam which is probably about a 15-20 min walk from Almadies. At first it was pleasant and carefree. Amadou offered to carry Camille's purse if it got to heavy for her shoulder. Then he proceeded to teach us Wolof words.

(Excuse the Spelling) "Nan ga tu do" means "What is your name?" "Fungajugi-" "Where do you come from?" "Howma-" "I don't know." "Sawaju" is "Family."

As we walked we came across a very intense argument across the street. They were speaking Wolof quickly and angrily so I didn't understand the conversation, but the body language gave the scene away. Two women--one older and one younger were arguing with a man and an empty taxi cab was parked nearby. The man had the younger woman's purple scarf and refused to give it back to her, keeping her at arm's length.

"Hold on," Amadou said and quickly crossed the street.

He approached the angry group and separated the younger woman from the man. He then began to talk to both of them and after a moment took out his wallet and handed the man some money. The man then obligingly gave the scarf back to the woman. But almost as soon as he did he reached a hand and looked as if he were about to hit the older woman. Amadou pulled him back again and the angry women walked away and called another cab. Amadou then opened the doors to the cab and made sure the women got in safely and watched as they pulled away.

He had completely diffused the situation. But what I didn't understand was that at no point during the altercation did I sense a "thank you." I can't speak Wolof but there did not seem to be any gratitude in their appearance.

To me that was one of the most amazing and kindest things I've ever seen. When Camille and I were walking down the same street with the boys two days before, they laughed when a car almost hit me. Here was Amadou, walking on the outside of the sidewalk to protect us from cars and fixing the problems of strangers. It makes me smile even now.

We had Ndougou at his house with one of the boys. He made us feel extra special and bought a watermelon. The he fried fish and made sure we had as much fruit and Bissap as we could possibly want.

--Just a quick FYI, mangos in Senegal are extra delicious and Bissap is a drink made with the flowers of some plant. It's GREAT!--

It was a memorable Ndougu and a happy day to say the least.