The last three weeks in Senegal have gone by in a blur. We left for our journey to our village stay hurriedly in a goofy touristy bus – all 26 of us! We stopped on the way to visit the pink lake, which was actually pink because of the specific type of salt hidden at the bottom of the lake. Over the years the lake has become less pink due to the salt extraction business picking up over the last several decades. This trip has made it more apparent than ever how nature is altered by human presence, there is definitely a problem with trash here – people just let it “go into the wind.”
We stopped in Theis on the way out to our village stay in Keur sa Daro (7 km outside of Theis) to have lunch and then meet our home stay families. We were greeted with a huge group of mainly women and children drumming, dancing and excited to see us. My name was first on the list so I left with my home stay mom, Fatou, right away. It was a totally interesting cultural experience because it turns out, not anyone in my family spoke French, only Wolof! I had only had two classes in Wolof and learned primarily just the introductory phrases so as you can imagine, it was a very funny four days.
In the morning on the second day I woke up and decided to go for a run after breakfast. I put on my running clothes and came outside to find Fatou at the well with all of the other women in my small quartier which consisted of about six other houses. I gathered up all of my courage to approach her to explain that I was going for a run (meaning I motioned with my arms vigorously while hopefully saying it in French.) She looked very pensively at me for a while until finally I just took off running – a roar of laughter followed. It must have been so funny having their crazy toubab (white person) guest just take off running. On my run I acquired little kids following me, some even were on their way to school and decided to take a little detour. They never said a word, just laughed and joined in. By the end of my short 30 minute run I had accumulated about 12-14 children! Quite a crowd, seemed a lot like the running scene in Forest Gump.
I realized the next day what the strange life of being illiterate must be like. I never realized how much I read and wrote every day, lists, signs, maps etc. This time I just wanted to learn a few wolof words and tried to write them down on paper to read and remember them. I asked my home stay mom and brother to help me with the spelling and they asked me to wait. Moments later a twelve year old girl came running to help me spell, turns out my family didn’t know how to read or write at all. This little girl was the only one in the quartier (neighborhood) that could read or write. Some people could write their name in Arabic or sound out some Arabic letters but not easily. My little brother used to go to school but he broke his leg so he is not able to get there, my little sister goes to school but only brings a little chalkboard to write on. I don’t think that they can afford books, notebooks, pens or paper so the only things that learn in school is by memorization. I have never been so thankful for books.
The last three weeks in Senegal have gone by in a blur. We left for our journey to our village stay hurriedly in a goofy touristy bus – all 26 of us! We stopped on the way to visit the pink lake, which was actually pink because of the specific type of salt hidden at the bottom of the lake. Over the years the lake has become less pink due to the salt extraction business picking up over the last several decades. This trip has made it more apparent than ever how nature is altered by human presence, there is definitely a problem with trash here – people just let it “go into the wind.” 
We stopped in Theis on the way out to our village stay in Keur sa Daro (7 km outside of Theis) to have lunch and then meet our home stay families. We were greeted with a huge group of mainly women and children drumming, dancing and excited to see us. My name was first on the list so I left with my home stay mom, Fatou, right away. It was a totally interesting cultural experience because it turns out, not anyone in my family spoke French, only Wolof! I had only had two classes in Wolof and learned primarily just the introductory phrases so as you can imagine, it was a very funny four days.
In the morning on the second day I woke up and decided to go for a run after breakfast. I put on my running clothes and came outside to find Fatou at the well with all of the other women in my small quartier which consisted of about six other houses. I gathered up all of my courage to approach her to explain that I was going for a run (meaning I motioned with my arms vigorously while hopefully saying it in French.) She looked very pensively at me for a while until finally I just took off running – a roar of laughter followed. It must have been so funny having their crazy toubab (white person) guest just take off running. On my run I acquired little kids following me, some even were on their way to school and decided to take a little detour. They never said a word, just laughed and joined in. By the end of my short 30 minute run I had accumulated about 12-14 children! Quite a crowd, seemed a lot like the running scene in Forest Gump.
I realized the next day what the strange life of being illiterate must be like. I never realized how much I read and wrote every day, lists, signs, maps etc. This time I just wanted to learn a few wolof words and tried to write them down on paper to read and remember them. I asked my home stay mom and brother to help me with the spelling and they asked me to wait. Moments later a twelve year old girl came running to help me spell, turns out my family didn’t know how to read or write at all. This little girl was the only one in the quartier (neighborhood) that could read or write. Some people could write their name in Arabic or sound out some Arabic letters but not easily. My little brother used to go to school but he broke his leg so he is not able to get there, my little sister goes to school but only brings a little chalkboard to write on. I don’t think that they can afford books, notebooks, pens or paper so the only things that learn in school is by memorization. I have never been so thankful for books.
Abby,
ReplyDeleteWhen you described the running with the kids behind you I pictured more of Rocky Balboa and his running through the streets of Philly! So happy that you are enjoying yourself and that you have the wonderful opportunity to experience other cultures and people. My thoughts and prayers are with you. See you in July!
Love, Aunt Stephy