Diversity

Like a conscious dinner host, I hesitate to present my words for the feast, because they remain in such unrefined state. Nevertheless, all too often we are not fortunate to have the luxury of time to ruminate and synthesize, so I share with you the ingredients of today that will hopefully entice and whet the appetite for what I hope will be something even greater in the future.

How many of us revel in the aroma of garlic or onions sauteing in olive oil? The scent of freshly baked bread or an autumn apple pie coming from the oven? What these smells tell us is that life is lived through the senses. We cannot live through others, nor through their stories. Each of us needs to experience life so that it has meaning for us. Although we know this intellectually, we instinctively fight it. How many of us, as teachers or parents or older siblings, point to books, articles, websites, or our own life stories to teach a lesson to the other? The intention is admirable, but often the result is incomplete. Why? Because that person has not lived it. I believe that the lessons of life are best learned and internalized when they are our lessons. So, that brings me to my observations here. I cannot pretend to tell you what is right and wrong here, what are the challenges and solutions, what we back home should be thinking and doing. I’m not equipped. No one is. All I can share is how I feel from my experiences.

Senegal is a place of scents and smells. Senegal forces you to LIVE. There is no passivity, no just “being”. I just finished three books I have been reading; that makes seven total in just over seven weeks! One of the books is entitled, “The Poisonwood Bible” by Barbara Kingsolver. The storyline revolves around the experiences of an American missionary family in the Congo at the end of the 1950s/beginning of the 1960s. The book is powerful and humbling; I definitely recommend it. But, here is the catch: I would have put the book down after the first couple chapters had I started it in the United States. It is the context, the setting of being in Africa that gave the book so much meaning and made it relevant to me. Almost every reference made was one I understood, yet equally was ignorant of just two months ago. In the book, Anatole, a Congolese who married Leah, one of the Americans, traveled to Georgia, and shared with her the following observation: scents and smells were missing from America, it was antiseptic and only hinted at disinfectant. How true in so many ways.

Dakar is full of scents, full of diversity, in the fullest meaning of the word. People--races, ethnic groups, languages, facial features, skin tones, religions; socioeconomic status--ultra-rich, middle class, poor, destitute; architecture--cutting-edge, colonial, bland, tin shacks, tarp tents; and education--intellectuals, educated, uneducated, illiterate--but all so much more informed than their equivalents in the west. What can I say? I’m living an experiential inundation here.

Last week I was invited for dinner at my colleague’s home. She was born here, but her family is originally from Cap Verde. That’s a country made up of a series of islands in the Atlantic Ocean not far from Senegal. It is a former Portuguese colony and almost all its inhabitants call themselves Catholic. Their skin tone is similar to a light skinned mulatto or Puerto Rican. They are a significant community here in Senegal, and they view the African reality quite differently from the black Senegalese. Among the black, the Wolof are the largest ethnic group whose language has become the de facto national language. There are also the Serere, the Pulaar, and many others. They all speak of the national values of tolerance, peace, and teasing each other. There is no ethnic strife here, they have always had peaceful elections and transitions of power, they practice democracy, and are a secular state. One of the ways they keep peace is with a great sense of humor, constantly teasing each other and making light of any differences. With more than ninety percent of the population being Muslim, one would assume a religious state, but Catholic holidays receive as much fanfare as Muslim ones: November 1, All Saints Day, is a national holiday here. They are Muslims, they believe and practice peace--as promoted by their religion, and they cannot understand why the U.S. and the West paint Islam to be such a violent religion. What am I saying? Diversity. What we think is one way is so multi-faceted. The diversity is humbling. I am learning so much from living here. Yet it’s so difficult for someone else to grow and change in the same way when he/she is not living the same reality.

I have experienced the hospitality of the Serere, and although hospitality is a professed national value, I have heard the sincere, unselfish form really doesn’t exist among the Wolof. Again, diversity. Then, of course, there’s the Lebanese here. They defy every definition of Lebanese that I personally possess in my head; they’re a different breed, to which I don’t feel a strong affinity.

School. Maybe tomorrow, the third Monday thus far, will be the first day I actually teach students; we’ll see. As for Ousmane and his exams at the university, the written exams have been taken, but the orals have yet to be administered. If the academic year starts in December, that’ll be great, but January is more likely. Yesterday, I visited the University campus. It felt like a ghost of itself, hollow from the absence of student life, and hollow from the absence of physical maintenance. I may write more on this trip; it is very difficult to process...

We lost our softball game on Saturday against a team of Senegalese who just started playing baseball two seasons ago. Imagine our shock and embarrassment. Proprietors of the national past time mercied by foreigners who didn’t know what a baseball glove looked like three years ago. Again, diversity.

Today, on the BBC and RFI(Radio France International), profiles on race and racism in America on the eve of the election. The honesty of the reporting--diversity. Interviews on the radio, television, magazines, and by me with people in the street, all reflect how important TO THE WORLD is the U.S. presidential election. The hope is unanimous for Barack Obama. The people here are suffering too much, and he provides so much hope for THEM. Once more, diversity.

School

Creeping around the corner is the source of life, that African sun that invigorates and fatigues. The ocean lazily soaks up the rays and reflects them like sparkling diamonds. I vacillate in my chair on the balcony between profiting from the sun and hiding in the shadows to relieve myself from the heat. In the distance to the north is the hill with the Mamelle lighthouse that sleeps now during the day, but will awake when the sun decides to take its siesta. The setting is predictable here; almost everyday is identical. Recently the nights have been breezy, taking the edge off the humid heat. The humidity is supposed to diminish in November, and the heat toward the end of December, when the locals say it begins to gets cold for a couple months (75F and sunny during the day, and 60F at night). This afternoon is certainly a lazy one for me, as I have chosen to slow down the pace. A couple nights ago I believe I did not sufficiently bleach the lettuce for my salad, so I fell sick yesterday. Microbes abound, and my stomach is so sensitive...
I’m feeling better now, after having taken the morning off of work and going out for a few groceries. Speaking of work, let me tell you what this week has been like. I am working at a middle school in the middle of the city. I have been assigned to teach English to one class of 6th graders and two classes of 8 graders. This past Monday was the first day back, but of no surprise to the locals, classes were not held. Here, families have financial difficulties of such magnitude that putting food on the table can be an accomplishment. Recently the country celebrated “La Korite”, the end of Ramadan. The holiday is as big as Christmas in the west. Therefore, all the families spent any money they had on the holiday expenses, and as a consequence, money is scarce. In order for classes to begin in school, each family has to pay a registration fee of about $30-$60 per student. Without payment, we have no official list of students registered. Without an official list, we can’t start teaching! So, this whole week I went to work, and spent the time chatting with my colleagues (we are only about 20), while the secretaries registered students who did have the means to come by the school and pay their fees. As of Thursday morning about 100 of about 350-400 students had registered. The principal said we’ll start teaching classes this next Monday even if all haven’t registered. What that means in practical terms, is that I may not have full classes until the beginning or mid-November! I am supposed to teach, yet be resourceful enough to revisit material when large numbers of students show up to the class a week or two late.
Now, if you’re thinking about alternative, more efficient ways of starting school over here, don’t think you’re the first. Even some on the staff feel things can and need to be changed, but that means demanding not that you change, but that OTHERS change; which is difficult anywhere, but acutely so here!

That’s one part of the education story. Let’s move to the university level. Abdoulaye’s brother, Ousmane, is studying Portuguese at the university here in Dakar. Last year the students went on strike several times because the university did not provide enough classrooms or chairs or even space within a classroom for all the enrolled students. Needless to say, it’s difficult to learn any subject if you can’t find any place in the room where the teaching is supposedly taking place. So, the university response? They kept classes in session into the summer, but delayed exams until the first week of October. That meant that the start of the fall semester would be delayed. Well Ousmane went to take his Portuguese finals last week, and the teachers did not have enough copies of the exams for the students scheduled to take it, including him, nor--again--were there enough spots in the room. Ousmane did not take the final, doesn’t know if or when he will take it, does not know when classes for the new semester will start, because the obvious shortage of teachers relative to the number of students means the teachers will need weeks to correct all the exams...IT’S A DISASTER!!

Is it any wonder that young people drop out of school here? One, it’s nearly impossible to learn. Two, if you make it through, there are no jobs. Third, being in school without the possibility of leaving for a developed country, is a waste of your time and potential to contribute income to your family through menial jobs. That’s why we hear about boat people, those who risk their lives and sometimes lose them, in canoe-like fishing boats on the unforgiving Atlantic Ocean in pursuit of Spain. And so many of them are university graduates!

Takin' It To The Streets

So going to a soccer game in any country outside of the U.S. is supposed to be an unforgettable experience. Well, they sure did not disappoint here! I already mentioned that Senegal was disqualified from 2010 World Cup possibilities by not winning last Saturday against The Gambia. Now, the rest of the story. A few days prior, the proverbial straw indeed broke the camel’s back. After weeks, or perhaps months, of electricity outages, at what appeared like deliberate times of the day, the citizens had enough. The explanation of gasoline for the power plants being too expensive to purchase in sufficient quantities (and you thought George Bush and his oil friends wreaked havoc only in the U.S.), the explanation that there was just too much demand for the capacity, and the explanation that the government was blocking Senelec (the national electricity company) from acquiring fuel, clearly did not suffice. The citizens, especially those in the poorer districts, set up road blocks around the city with tires and lit them on fire. The city streets were in chaos and the national guard was called in to restore order. Remember the black out of 2003 in the U.S.--imagine that daily! No need nor ability to buy food for more than one day; it WILL spoil. (Perhaps that’s what got me sick yesterday...) Have you ever showered and shaved by flashlight?
Anyway, the next day the power was back on all over the country and did not go off for even 5 minutes for 2 1/2 days straight. That brings us back to the weekend and the soccer match. Friday saw a power outage, yet it was on all day Saturday leading up to and during the game. After Senegal tied and was disqualified, pandemonium began. Fans started throwing whatever they had at the Senegalese players on the field. Riot police were brought in with shields to hurriedly rush the players into the tunnel and clubhouse amidst a downpour of garbage. We decided to leave the stadium as quickly as possible. It took us a while to weave through the crowds, and when leaving the grounds, we saw masses of humanity rushing out of other gates as if they were being chased by the police. We picked up our pace, made it outside, reached a hill and turned around for a glance backward. I saw people running in all directions--out of the stadium, into the stadium; it was utter chaos. Then in the distance you saw smoke billowing from inside and around the far end of the stadium. Was it tear gas or fire or both? We didn’t know, we just headed toward the main road and an empty taxi. The police were rushing traffic and did not want any cars to stop. We managed to run after a taxi, jumped in--against his wishes--and started our escape. Within fifty meters we came to a halt on the freeway, because yet again, upset, unemployed, hopeless youth started blocking the road with tires and were ready to set them alight. Out of nowhere came the siren of an ambulance, and for some reason, the youth picked up the tires off the road, our taximan hauled out of there, and we were free! I never saw the ambulance, nor saw fire on the road, but when I reached home, that’s all everyone was talking about. The streets were on fire and the people had had enough. The national guard again came in, and it took several hours to restore a semblance of order. When I went out dancing with Zacheria later that night, all the major intersections were manned by army personnel. Needless to say, the electricity did not go out that night, nor at all on Sunday. The next outage was Tuesday. Since then, the outages have been less frequent and of shorter durations--although I’m writing this entry on the computer’s battery because of the latest one. So, what’s going on here? Who’s at fault? It doesn’t help that yesterday I received an electricity bill for one month usage in the amount of $1,875.00! Who’s behind this madness?! Are we nearing a breaking point? How much longer will the otherwise patient, tolerant, forgiving Senegalese put up with thess crimes? It’s hard to say; but again, those who exploit will continue to do so, until revolution occurs. And the people here are getting really, really tired.

Pictures Fit To Be Framed

When I first arrived here, I had ideas of romantic images that would frame the experience. Although this country has shocked me visually with all its contrasts, there are so many grains of beauty and awe. In the midst of the dirt and debris of the middle school where I will teach, lives a family with a little girl who can’t be more than 2 years old. Everyday she comes running through the field with her stained clothes, but with the most beautiful smile and eyelashes. I don’t know her name, but she makes me smile everyday.


Last Sunday at Ibou’s house, his brother Pap was playing with his 8 month old daughter, and the beauty of life, children, and family was so alive at that moment.

Two nights ago, I caught my first perfect sunset here in Senegal. While playing softball, one of my teammates told us to stop play and look to the ocean, as he said it was the first clear sunset he had seen here in his five years in Dakar. It was absolutely magical.

The smile of my principal as we greet each morning at work; priceless!

Last Saturday, I went dancing with Zacheria. We left his home around 12:30, arrived at the club around 1 a.m. and danced until 4 a.m. What struck me most, was the love for life, the totality of the person and his/her spontaneity in becoming one with the music and the moment. The fact that Zach has lost both his parents, is 30 years old and has to share a bed with his childhood friend because he can’t afford to rent a bedroom for himself, and the fact that he works 12 hour days for less than $6/day or less than $.50/hour, these realities do not stop him from making the most of what he does have. Friendship, a job, life. His energy and dancing were contagious, and replicated by everyone in the club, most of whom I assume, have similar stories. We worry so much about THINGS back home, when it’s US that count. That night at the club was full of images that will inspire me, for I hope, years to come.

The other images that I haven’t spoken about are the American ones. My program is administered by the U.S. Embassy, so I’m in touch with much of the personnel there. A couple weeks ago I met the Ambassador; and I continue to meet and converse with diplomats from all ranks, bankgrounds, and responsibilities. This aspect of the experience is equally invigorating. When you walk into the main building, the walls on either side are adorned with photos of each U.S. president from Kennedy to the present meeting with the President of Senegal at the time of our president’s mandate. I often visit the Public Affairs Section and meet with the PA Officer Chad Cummins in his office on the 8th floor. One of my first visits was the day after Obama’s acceptance speech in Denver. Chad had the speech streaming from a news website that we watched intently. At times I would look up at the rooftops of Dakar while Obama was speaking of redeeming America’s image in the world, and I couldn’t help but feel so proud to be American. Yesterday, I went to the Embassy and had the opportunity, priviliege, and joy of casting my absentee ballot vote for the next president of the United States. In that room were Americans of all colors and creed doing the same thing. You could not ask for a more beautiful picture to frame. I proceeded to have a fascinating conversation with a diplomatic courrier (the guys who deliver all the confidential documents of our gov’t to different places around the world), and a consular officer who has served in Mexico and now Senegal. What we spoke about was the diversity in the State Department. In Dakar, there were Americans of Chinese, African-American, Lebanese, Turkish, Irish, Italian, and Senegalese background. About 40% of the current Ambassadors around the world for the United States are women. And there is no office of the government that more needs to reflect and use such diveristy for effective cross-cultural communication than the State Department. So, after much reflection, you and I both know, our government has many faults; but there are many things that we don’t see daily that they do get right. On the other side of the ocean, living in Africa thousands of miles from home, I feel really proud to be American.

Pluggin In!

Life, anywhere, is worth living, when it's fun! I'm starting to make those connections that give life so much meaning, and make it enjoyable. Of course, for me, that means spending a lot of time with others. So, a bird's eye view into the last few days: Wednesday early evening I went to softball practice at Ebbet's Field, which is where the U.S. Embassy team practices, of which I am a member. Our first game is Saturday, October 18. I joined with Tom, one of the other Fulbright teachers, and invited my friend Abdoulaye to come, learn the great American pastime and play with us. That night, Johanna and Mariah, two American students from Suffolk University, came over with some of their Senegalese friends and we all hung out until about 1 a.m. Thursday and Friday were workdays, but I stopped by the Elton shop across the street for my daily visit with my friend Ibou (short for Ibrahim) who works security there. Friday night I went with Abdoulaye and Mariah to the French Cultural Center for a concert by Wasis Diop, a famous Senegalese acoustic/world music musician. It was amazing!!! The setting was intimate and his sounds were so authentic and warm. Check him out on YouTube! After the concert, we went to Al-Andalus Cafe to have Lebanese ice cream and smoke the argelah. What a great night! Saturday I went with the Suffolk crowd and my friend Eliman to the National Stadium for the Africa Cup and World Cup qualifying game between Senegal and The Gambia (a neighboring country). The game was not that exciting, for it ended in a 1-1 tie, but there was so much action...Throughout the game was the continuous sound of the African drum, as it reverberated from groups of drummers in several sections around the stadium; it was electric! A gigantic Senegalese flag was passed around the whole stadium in the stands, so everyone could touch it and display it pridefully for the masses watching on television. There had to be about 50,000 excited, screaming fans; it was a sight to see. More on the game in another posting... Saturday night I went out with Zacheria, another newer friend who is the security guard for my building. We went to his house first to meet his friends and family. We hung out there from about 11 p.m. until 12:30 a.m., then we headed out to the club. We were going out to dance "mbalakh" the dance of Senegal. It is a mixture of slow salsa/merengue with spontaneous free expression. There are definite steps and movements, but sometimes it's reminiscent of the Elaine dance from Seinfeld! It too, is a sight to behold. Anyway, we went in a group of five, and danced from 1 a.m. to 4 a.m. before calling it a night. What a blast! I felt badly for Zacheria though, because he had to work at 7 a.m., so he came back to the building with me, grabbed a foam mattress that the guards have in storage, and lay down in the hallway until his shift started. I offered him the couch in my apartment, but he declined. Needless to say, I did not delay in finding my way to my bed. Today, once I got up, I readied myself for lunch at Ibou's house at 1 p.m. Inge, the other Fulbright teacher, and I were picked up by Ibou at 1 p.m., and proceeded to spend the whole afternoon at his house with his family. Ibou is 23 years old and has many borthers and sisters. His father is in the Senegalese army, and is currently serving in the African Union mission in Darfur, Sudan. Ibou's family was wonderful, their hospitality so warm, the conversation stimulating, and the Ceebu Jen (Fish with Rice and Vegetables) exquisite!

There are so many stories embedded in this account that I hope to share soon. What I wanted to express here was that I am developing great relationships with real people who continue to teach me so much and have made my time here so wonderful.
Stay tuned for the black outs, the political crisis, the street riots that I survived, and the heart-wrencher from Zacheria's reality...

School is starting, I think!

Last Thursday was my first day of school. I took a taxi for 1300 CFA ($3) to the school, which is located across from the Main Mosque in Dakar. The Mosque, by the way, is impressive, and was a gift from King Hassan II of Morocco, replicating the one that adorns Rabat. The school consists of a small building with three rooms for administration, and another two story building that contains 10 classrooms, 5 on each level. The school holds about 400 students for grades 6-9, with two classrooms per grade, the other two rooms being used as a library and a computer room. There are no books in the library, just an empty room with some random tables and chairs. The computer lab has about 15 very old Dell computers, while each class of students has about 30-45 pupils. There is no gym, no cafeteria, no sidewalks, no entryway. There are not nearly enough tables or working chairs in any of the rooms for all the students. I only saw a couple rooms with a teacher desk; teachers each have a 2' x 2' locker in the administration building to keep their books, chalk, personal valuables, etc. The playground is a desolate, arid red dirt field with broken bricks and refuse strewn about. Next to the administration building are a couple tin shacks, which are called home by a couple families. There are random goats and chickens roaming about. And, this is downtown!
Well, back to school. On Thursday, all the faculty just checked in with the principal, sat around and chatted for a couple hours then went home. On Friday, we had a faculty meeting in which there was spirited debate over the attendance policy and criteria for admissions for students transferring from other schools. After the meeting, I valiantly tried to talk with the other English teacher, Khaly, to find out what was needed for Monday, the first day of school. Friday I went through the student book that I had received from him on Thursday, posed some questions, and found out that he used a different book than the one he gave me. A bit frustrated, I asked how to prepare to teach on Monday without a teacher guide or accompanying workbook. He said not to worry, because I wouldn't teach on Monday, the first day of school. What?! Well, you see, here in Senegal, the students have to register before starting school. Most students and their parents take their time registering, so I probably won't have enough students to conduct a meaningful class for at least a week to ten days. In the meantime, I was told to introduce myself to the kids, take attendance for those who have showed up, ask them to buy any books that I might require, and then dismiss them! I'm to do the same thing everyday with any new students until it is determined that classes can begin. Lesson number 1...again: T.I.A. !

Awa, Titina, Ndongo, & Abdoulaye

And we think we know so much...

Awa and Titina are 24 and 22 years old respectively. They work in banks and insurance agencies, while working on further graduate degrees. Ndongo is in his twenties, one of ten children with both parents deceased, and works in a call center. Abdoulaye, my first and closest Senegalese friend, is 31 years old, with a college degree, and works in the warehouse of a supermarket unloading produce 50 hours a week. Abdoulaye is one of six children who migrated to the city from a small village in order to help support his family. His father is disabled and no longer works, he has one brother trying to make it through university, and the rest of his siblings survive in the village with no real work available to them. Abdoulaye makes about $200/month.

What each of these four young people have imparted upon me is their thirst for knowledge. Each has already acquired and cultivated an intellect that would embarass most Americans of a similar age and university experience. Yet, they want more. These four want to work, want to study, want to change their environment and society. They believe in themselves, are proud of their African identity. They want to show that, when given the tools, they can realize the same dreams and aspirations that we in the west or “developed” world have. What they do not want is our pity, our charity, our culture, our food, our language. They have a proud history in which they are well-versed; they already know our language and culture better than most of us. My conversations with them on American politics have been humbling for me. What they want, and what they deserve, is a level playing field. They do not want to be denied opportunities to learn (rejected student visas to the west) because they are black or muslim. They want companies that provide them with job opportunities that recognize their educational preparation and achievement. They want jobs that pay them a decent wage and do not exploit their labor, so that foreign entrepreneurs and corporations can increase their bottom line and pay higher stock dividends to their shareholders. They want trade policies that allow African farmers to sell their products to western markets, instead of blocking them while forcing the countries to accept western products. They’re not asking for the extraordinary, just the ordinary. Who among us, doesn’t want our children to have a fair chance to prove themselves?

Yes, they are just some of the voices I have heard, and they may not reflect the reality of all here. But I quote one of many favorite songs, “The more I learn, the more I realize the less I know.” The time is at hand where we need to appreciate that learning never ends, and if only we’d listen to the ones we so often dismiss, we’d find out that they too have much to teach us.

Life is Good!

Each day has its own gift. Yesterday was October 3, my birthday. In previous years I wondered how I would feel on that date; sometimes my expectations met, other times not. Recently I have not felt the urge to think about my birthday as a special day filled with certain activities and people. Yesterday, though, was different. Being away from home and in another country, you are acutely aware of your identity and the milestones that mark who you are. I woke up to a lesiurely breakfast then I went for my daily jog. My spirit was soaring even though the sky was overcast and the air heavy with the ocean humidity. After running, I wandered down through the wealthy residential area in front of my apartment headed for the beach. I ran into my friend, Ahmet, the security guard whom I mentioned previously. He came out from his station, greeted me warmly, and we began to converse. I was so touched by his faith in God and his internal contentment. He spoke of the importance of being happy with what we have been given, not to complain nor aspire for money if we don’t have health. He mentioned Stevie Wonder and how difficult it must be for him to have all the money in the world and not be able to see his wife and children. Ahmed kept repeating “Al Hum Dillah” which is Arabic for Thank God. He had so much wisdom in his simple words.

He invited me to come one day, when I’m free, to his home so he could show me around, and show me the beauty of communal life. He is definitely poor, but thankful to have a job. He works guarding the entrance of a mansion that belongs to a Lebanese baron. Ahmed lives in what we would call the slums back home, but he prefers it to the wealthy area because of the open, communal living. In his neighborhood, all doors are always open, people share tea together and talk for hours, no child is in danger and thus can go anywhere because everyone knows each other and looks out for each other. He and others may be materialistically poor, but poverty carries no badge of shame here. It reminds me of the village life of our parents back in Lebanon, in contrast to the hurried, private, gated, individual-oriented life of the modern, western urban/suburban citizen.

Two side notes to add to this message of life as a gift: My aunt, Khaltu Hasna, just called me while composing this message to wish me a happy birthday. It was wonderful to hear her voice which was full of so much love and concern for me. It was a beautiful, thoughtful act that reminds me of how blessed I am. Secondly, another call just came in from the security guard at the Elton gas station/convenience store across the street. He called just to wish me a happy birthday again and to ask if I had a nice time last night ( I invited some of my new friends over).

Life is about people, not the place. That’s why I love Detroit, my home, so much. In my neighborhood I am surrounded by good people and friends. Here, in Senegal, I am starting to make those connections, and I am beginning to love being here because of the people.

When we’re able to look beyond the environment, (which for me here, has admittedly taken a long time and considerable effort), we see the beauty of humanity. And if people are beautiful, is there really anything else we can ask for?!