In any case, last week was my highly anticipated "rural visit." For many in my program, these visits were actually semi-urban or even completely urban visits outside of Dakar. I was lucky - or unlucky, depending on your perspective - to snag one of the actually rural placements. The majority of students were placed with a Peace Corps member and another student, something I anticipated for myself as well. However, I didn't receive any of my preferences, and soon found out that I was placed with a host family in the village of Simal in the Sine Saloum delta, located about four hours south of Dakar. Although a group of students and I would travel together, we would ultimately be alone in the village that we were assigned.
This journey into the unknown, I realized, would have completely freaked out pre-Senegal Abbey. But Abybatou was surprisingly unconcerned...perhaps a little disturbingly unconcerned. It had all the appropriate elements of concern: taking a five hour 'bus' ride wedged between a breastfeeding mother and our unreliable guide (appropriately named Ass)? Check. Being dropped in an unknown town in the middle of nowhere? Check. Being taken by an unknown man via horse cart to an unknown village to an unknown family? Check. Not knowing the last name of the unknown family? Check. Not knowing Serer to tell the driver I didn't know the last name of the unknown family? Check. (luckily, I'm pretty sure he knew I was clueless. People have a way of picking up that the blonde girl wandering aimlessly with her backpack in the middle of a tiny rural Senegalese town probably has no idea what she's doing.) But oddly, I was not really that uncomfortable...I had a strong - maybe naive - sense that I'd make it there eventually, and I did, with a little help from some village children.
The trip to Simal by horsecart has to probably be one of the coolest things I've done since I've been in Senegal. The village is inaccessible by car, so the only way people get from the main road in Fimela is by horsecart, foot, or moped. The reason for this is the amazingly long stretch of sand flats and shallow ocean that separates the villages, and I traveled on the back of this cart through this odd environment - it was kind of otherworldly. This twenty minute journey was also characterized by a lot of children running along the wagon shouting "toubab!" which was kind of cute and kind of scary at the same time.
This was the first of many "is this really my life?" moments I had during the week. Being the only foreigner living in a rural West African fishing village was absolutely surreal. I was treated with such kindness and generosity during my time in Simal that convinced me that teranga was really still an applicable Senegalese word. My entire family, and the village itself, were so welcoming and open and happy to have me there for a short period of time where I felt like I was gained so much but was able to give very little.
I lived with a large family; there were at least 12 people who lived in the house, perhaps more, but as always in Senegal, it's unclear who is actually part of the home. Notice that I say house - I did not live in a hut. The place where I lived was more of a compound of sorts, comprised of a walled-in sand yard where the main house and its various outbuildings (kitchen, "bathroom", sheds, etc) were located, and a garden where the well and animals were kept. The father in the family was the director of the primary school in the village and was an important leader of the village, so he had a rather large compound with electricity and even television, but no running water. This was one of the many ironies of village life: having satellite television and designer cell phones but also fetching water from the well everyday.
Great post. You really can handle anything now. :) Mom
ReplyDeleteAre you going to make us couscous over a fire outdoors over Christmas?
ReplyDelete