5 Week Challenge Part 1: Initiation

I made my first village friend today.  She lives in my compound and is always the very first to greet me whenever I return home. Always on her face she wears the biggest of grins which somehow manages to grow even larger than its limits whenever I start dancing to her clapping and rhythmic clicks (#saylafreak) – like the Grinch’s heart when the Whos of Whoville start Christmas caroling despite the fact that all their presents have been taken.  And although she is incessantly covered in dirt, with sticky mango hands and trains of snot pouring out of her nose like melting silly putty, she is, nonetheless, unimaginably beautiful.  Her name is Allahmuta and she is 5 years old.

Allahmuta and I officially became friends (at least in my mind), the day we invented the “car game”. This is a game in which she climbs onto my lap, takes one of each of my hands in hers, and then pushes left or right as if she is driving a car and turning the steering wheel. I, being the car, respond swiftly by leaning ferociously into the turn so that we both go almost entirely horizontal while simultaneously making the associated vroom, screetch, reving, acceleration, and bumbling motor sounds with my mouth as I see fit.

I can’t say she is someone I will confide in ever, or whose shoulder I will cry on in my darkest of days, but I know I can depend on her.  As soon as I get home she is at my side. And as soon as I sit down she climbs onto my lap and turns her gaze to me, enticing me with her big black eyes to play the car game or toto-toto-ta (like duck-duck-goose) or something else. She is a wonderful face to look forward to seeing every day.

In my first days in village it is these simple human-to-human connections that I cling to.  After initial installation into their village, Peace Corps Senegal volunteers are challenged to stay in their village every day for 5 straight weeks to fosters language learning and relationship building that will be a crucial foundation for the two years of service.  Five weeks may not sound like very long in the scheme of things but it is a long time to relinquish all activities you are used to doing that are not culturally relevant here.  Once volunteers have been serving for a few months it is not uncommon for them to go escape to the Peace Corps house in their regional capital for a pause every couple weeks in order to take a day to eat whatever they want, speak whatever language they want, use the internet, spend time alone (which is otherwise not culturally appropriate), etc. for the sake of preserving mental sanity and physical health over the long term.  Staying in village every night for 5 weeks is truly a challenge.  Less than a week in I am already growing tired of the rice and leaf sauce, devoid of any real taste or nutritional value, that we eat every day for lunch.  So in these 5 weeks, I have to concentrate on the positives. And these most basic moments of true understanding and connection – linguistic or otherwise – give worth to my whole day and my presence here in this new and exciting but strange and confusing place.

Another one of these moments came my first day at the hospital. My anciens spent much of their time there and I was advised to do the same in order to make connections for future projects. Therefore, after a few days of setting up my hut and sitting with my new family, I decided to wander over.  I wasn't exactly sure what to expect since I had not yet met my official Peace Corps work counterpart, a midwife who works at the hospital.  I knew that most people who work there only speak French and Wolof so communication would be an issue. Before even arriving to the hospital however, I ran into Dr. Ba, one of three doctors staffing the hospital on rotation, who offered me a ride in the hospital car.

Upon arrival he showed me around and introduced me to some of the people that, I’m sure, will become very familiar faces.  He then offered me a white coat and invited me to sit in on patient consultations. After having worked in a hospital in the US and having had extensive training on the American philosophy of medical privacy, I was a little hesitant to accept his offer on the basis that I do believe these patients, regardless of their geographic location, deserve privacy, dignity and respect.  However, I also knew that having a general understanding of the types of health issues prevalent in this region would be crucial for my work, so I begrudgingly accepted.

All of this, mind you, took place somewhere linguistically between French and miming. I have almost no faith in my ability to speak French given that I have never in my life taken a French class and my usual methodology for speaking French is to speak Spanish with what I believe is a French accent and hope that it is understood.  I didn't say much all morning because of that, and because I didn't want to get in the way of patient care.  But when all the patients had been seen, Dr. Ba then turned to me and began to ask me questions about myself.

He started with, “What state are you from?”

I answered that I am from California.

His face illuminated with recognition and he said, “Like Tupac?”

“Yes,” I said. “We are from the same village.” (Tupac also grew up in Marin County).

Very bemused he said, “Really?!? So tell me, is he actually dead?”

We then proceeded to have a conversation for a good ten minutes, in French, about the fate of Tupac, the whereabouts of his body, and the type of people that might initiate such a conspiracy theory about whether or not he faked his own death.  In the end we agreed to disagree. He believes that Tupac is still alive. While I would not be disappointed to discover that is the truth, I myself am a little skeptical.

I went home for lunch that day though, reflecting on my conversation, riding a whole new high from this moment of understanding. If three days into village life I am having debates about the mortal fate of famous rappers in French, I can’t wait to see what my French becomes after two years here.  And I can’t wait for more moments of connection.

Dr. Ba also asked me at one point what I wanted Senegalese people to know about Americans and I told him that we are more alike than we are different.  He provided several points to the contrary regarding our government, the structure of our families, our language, our skin color, etc. but I believe these moments prove otherwise.

Maybe he doesn't like American politics regarding the utter disregard of the United Nations processes or the growing acceptance of gay marriage. Maybe he grew up in a family with a father that had two wives and 15 children.  Maybe he speaks Pulaar at home, Wolof in his community and French in schooling and business.  But we can both get in on a conversation about Tupac.

And somehow I think that speaks to more significant things we have in common as humans, as music-lovers, and as citizens of this world.