Reflecting on the Year

Yet again, sensory inundation. In the quest to see, smell, breathe, and taste life, I find myself short on words and overflowing with wonder. Not even 10 days prior I was exploring the verdant region of the Casamance; Senegal's closest version of tropical Africa: the endless beaches, the countless palm and mango trees, the laid-back worry-free air, and the welcoming smiles. There I met a smile and beauty thus far elusive in Senegal; her name is Armanda DaSilva. Born in Guinea-Bissau and having grown up in Casamance, she embodies so many of the reasons why people who come here often never leave. Our encounter, as so many good things in life, came on the eve of my departure. Helas, life is full of beautiful fleeting experiences.
Presently I sit in a travertine arched space waiting on my wood-fired pizza in La Scaletta in Trastevere, Rome. Sipping on a cool Peroni I marveled at the sites of this past week: Ancient Ostia with 2,000 year old streets, shops, and outdoor mosaics; the grandeur of the major basilicas here in the Holy City--Santa Maria Maggiore, San Giovanni, San Paolo, San Croce, and of course San Piedro. The odd and eccentric sites like the cemetary that houses John Keats with an Egyptian style pyramid in the background. The fountains in the Piazzas Repubblica and Barberini--sites I last saw and reveled over 18 years ago. Adding to that, the fun from living with a couple of young Romans in their apartment over a piazza, hanging out with their friends, and eating heavenly banquets in the homes of their families and friends.
Seven days ago I had a farewell open house in Dakar. Saying goodbye was surreal yet undeniably painful. To have been touched by so many in such meaningful, authentic ways. To be humbled by their humility, simplicity, and generosity. I believe my two closest friends there--Zacheria and Abdoulaye--are on much more optimistic life paths than where they were last year; for that I am grateful. With the generosity of all my wonderful friends, family and acquaintances back home, we were able to fulfill Zach's dream of buying cattle to raise as supplemental income and possibly a new way to make a living.



Zach and I on the boat heading to the Casamance in Southern Senegal

Abdoulaye landed a job in a bank and now is a commercial loan officer, leaving behind the horribly exploitative work as a warehouse hand in a supermarket. With the money raised we bought him an appropriate business wardrobe, put him through driving school--as we also did with Zacheria--bought him a motorbike for transportation, and were able to help create a new source of income for his brother Alioune back in the home village of Palmarin by buying him a horse and cart. They will serve as a sort of village taxi/transport. But above and beyond what we gave them, they gave me so much more: unconditional friendship, a perpetually attentive ear, a patient and forgiving spirit during some of my outbursts of impatience and anger, and a genuine concern for my piece of mind. Qualities that are rare to begin with, and even more so when they endure. I'm starting to understand the meaning of friendship through them. It is not about dependence, but independence through interdependence. Like Gibran said, the pillars of the temple must stand alone, yet the temple cannot stand unless they work together. Friendship is about bringing out the best in the other. Not imitating him, not fashioning him in your image, but opening yourself up to receive his giving and to inspire in him a quest to fulfill his own potential. In this process are good times and bad, laughter and tears, fear and courage, and through this friendship comfort is found.

So many subjects to broach. The social scientific yet deeply personal reality of material poverty, poor physical health, and lack of upward economic mobility. The issues of economic exploitation, injustice, pay and gender equity, respect for law and order. Anecdotes that tell so much yet are only a drop in the ocean. Lives of people, lives of my friends, helped or destroyed by the maladies found in society. There are others like Sambe and Sara, both security guards married with children, constantly trying to secure and stabilize their housing and food situations with monthly salaries that barely reach 150 USD. There's my beloved friend Ismaila from Mali who works as gardener, cook, housecleaner, and security guard 14 hours a day, 7 days a week, for a mere 100 USD a month. He is a stranger in a strange land, and has no foreseeable time off from his ridiculously wealthy Christian Lebanese bosses, to go visit his mother, father, sisters or brothers back home.

There is so much to share. There is so much upon which to reflect. I have changed beyond my own recognition, yet I am still me. I don't ever want to forget the lessons of life that Senegal has taught me. I want to internalize them and find a new inner peace upon my return to the States. I know life and realities there are different, but now so too am I. I look forward to reconnecting with you all, deepening our friendships, and continuing with you this beautiful journey of learning we call life.

Putting It In Context

The imposing and powerful presence of the Renaissance Center stares at me as my current desktop image. Millions of thoughts rush to mind: the pride it brings as a world corporation from Detroit, seeings its products on the streets of Senegal, China, and Australia; the angst it brings that it hasn’t been able to change quickly enough to stay on top and continue to provide a good living for thousands in Michigan and all over the U.S.; both the creative and stubborn nature of man that it reflects in its glass and steel as it tries to defy nature and the changing times; the oh so important role it gives us as individuals and societies to express our intellectual, creative, and professional potential as its employees, giving our working life a clear mission in the world of work and commerce; the futility of it all when other, more imposing and powerful forces like economic recessions, global warming, family illnesses and stresses, faith, and self-realization dominate in influencing our daily and longterm peace of mind and survival.

Going to sleep troubled, tossing and turning because of disturbing thoughts, trying to suppress the forces that rob us of restful hours. And then, all of a sudden, opening your eyes to the morning sunshine. A clear, blue sky, a cleansing breeze, a feeling of new found energy and optimism. Everything comes into clearer view and makes more sense. Yes, we establish routines to give life stability. We follow social norms and respect traditions to be a member of that circle of people in the world in which we live. Routines, traditions, established cycles of life--childhood, adolescence, coming of age through education, jobs, relationships often through marriage, children, financial independence and planning, self-actualization, concern for the greater good when the self is secured, grandchildren perhaps, retirement, rediscovery of life through newfound time for travel and friends, perhaps wisdom and serenity sometimes amidst physical ailments, and maybe faith that the end of this road is not the definitive end. It all seems to be reasonable. As I travel the world, the routines resemble each other yet vary in order and flavor. The commonality of humanity is indisputable. And behind it all, is the craving to belong, to love, and to be loved.

In many ways our traditions and routines cultivate those ambitions; in other ways they impede them. In fact, today’s environment seems to make it difficult for us to concentrate on those values which we honor, and which upon death’s approach, matter so much more than all the others.

What this all means for me as I sit here in the morning beauty is that everything MUST count. The greetings, the work, the freetime, the education, the application of our acquired experience, it all has to be focused on making the most of that moment. Tomorrow may or may not come with more hopes or worries. What matters is today, how I will interact with others. Every action provokes a reaction. Can I put it all in context and just find within me the dormant inner peace and spread the love? Living in a place where all the other worries are present in greater degrees than at home, and seeing, despite all of it, a sincere smile spread across the face of the person with whom I am interacting, I find that all my questions have been answered.

Updates on Abdoulaye and Zacheria

It’s been quite a while since I gave an update on Abdoulaye and Zacheria, my two closest Senegalese friends, and the two men that I am trying to help. So, let’s get started.

Abdoulaye quit his job in the supermarket warehouse after having been offered an internship at a bank as a teller. Certainly I encouraged him to go after it, as did others, and fortunately he landed the position. With a 70% unemployment rate in the country, landing any job is a feat, so we are very excited that he went from one official job to another. Of those employed in this country (the 30%), the majority work as peddlars or maids and are not in officially recognized positions. The internship is two months long, and Ablaye began in February; so he will finish at the beginning of April. Unfortunately, he had to move to the north of the country to a small town about 6 hours away from Dakar. He knew no one when he moved, but has since met some other young, educated contemporaries. We text or call about twice a week, and he is thinking about coming to Dakar this weekend. The internship, however, does NOT guarantee a position afterwards; his fate will be determined by the bank’s demand. Moreover, he could be placed anywhere in the country. We are crossing our fingers he lands a position after the internship, and if the stars align, it’ll be here in Dakar. He gets paid about half of what he made at the supermarket warehouse for the internship, and will not receive any money until the end of February. As one can imagine, relocating to an unknown city, finding lodging and furnishing, and forced to buy new clothes (he only owned jeans and sneakers previously), was an impossible task for him; and that was just to have the opportunity! Needless to say, some of the money collected went to help him with those costs. After all, it’s all designed to help him become self sufficient, and is an investment in his future. Meanwhile, he is trying to continue to offer moral if not financial support to his siblings and parents, as he is the eldest child.

His brother Ousmane and their childhood village friend Malick still live in the bedroom here in Dakar that they were renting. Malick contributes about a third to the rent and fees, and Abdoulaye was and continues to contribute the remainder, as Ousmane does not have a job and is a full-time student at the university. Ousmane has been hanging out with me since his brother left, and when possible, I make him dinner or give him bus fare--things Ablaye would normally do. Finally, they are being forced out of the room they rent because the landlord will use it for her family. Ousmane has been looking for three weeks now and has been unsuccessful at finding a room with electricity (but of course without water or their own bathroom) within their budget of 30,000CFA ($60/month). Yesterday I saw an ad for a room in a decent area for 55,000CFA ($110) and that is just for one room, no private bathroom. Yet the extra 25,000CFA ($50/month) is well beyond their reach. And landlords here are exploiting the overcrowded market which forces people to go hungry in order to pay rent or drives them into the outlying slums, which makes it all the more difficult for them to commute back to the city daily for job or school opportunities. I must note though, that not once, has either brother asked for anything; they accept their situation yet are grateful when aid is extended.

Our original goal was to raise money for transport--a taxi or minivan. If Abdoulaye lands a permanent bank position, the transport idea can still function as a second income since he supports around 10 people in the family. The first step is for him to get a driver’s license, which with driving school, fees, and necessary bribes to government officials to actually procure the documents, is about $300. A permit to be a chauffeur/taxi driver is another $100, but that comes about 6 months after having the driver’s license. We have decided to wait until he returns after the internship or settles in a new city with a permanent position before he starts driving school. So far, we have collected about $1800 for Abdoulaye, with about $200 spent on the above mentioned relocation/job costs. That leaves us with about $1600, with an original goal of $6300. If you can help at any level, please send a check payable to me with Ablaye’s name in the memo space, and send the check to: Elias J. Khalil, Fulbright Teacher / 2130 Dakar Place / Dulles, VA 20189-2130. If you can, email me at eliasjkhalil@yahoo.com to let me know you put something in the mail so I can look for it at the Embassy.


As for Zacheria, he is still diligently working here at the building as a security guard, still making only $150/month, or about $.65/hour. He is doing well, and we are hanging out alot as well.

Today he and I put a deposit down for driving school for him. He will start this week and it will take about a month to get his license. His goal was either a taxi or cattle. Unfortunately, we have not raised much for him; about $400. The bulk of that will go towards his license. I believe having your driver’s and chauffeur’s license opens up otherwise closed doors here in Senegal, so the money is well spent. Nonetheless, a taxi for him will be difficult to procure at the current rate of money collection. He would be very content though retruning to the village to raise cattle and live off the land. That again, would cost around $1500, a sum that seems realistic.
As an alternative, I have thought about trying to take the money raised, use it as a down payment on a vehicle, and have the two guys go into business together. I have mentioned the idea to Ablaye; he is open to it. I have yet to say anything to Zacheria. I want to see how the fundraising turns out by May/June. As with Abalye, if you can help Zacheria at any level, please send a check payable to me with Zach’s name in the memo space, and send the check to: Elias J. Khalil, Fulbright Teacher / 2130 Dakar Place / Dulles, VA 20189-2130. If you can, email me at eliasjkhalil@yahoo.com to let me know you put something in the mail so I can look for it at the Embassy.

Thanks again for your attention and generosity.

Life is Good

So maybe I was wrong. The chilly, windy air returned immediately following my last blog entry. It’s been here since, though moderating ever so slightly with each passing day.

Last weekend was surreal. In ways it was just like a summer weekend back home, people getting together to play some baseball. In other ways, the scene was stupefying, with the setting of West Africa. Eight hundred participants descended upon Dakar, the majority of whom are Peace Corps Volunteers from Senegal and surrounding countries. The private American swim club adjacent to the International High School opened their doors to the participants. With a bar, pool, palm trees, second story terrace with an ocean view, and hundreds of Americans in their twenties who haven’t seen their own people nor indulged in alcohol in months, it was Spring Break in Senegal. For three days we played a lot of softball, some teams making valiant efforts (like ours), others too drunk to even care. Out of twenty teams in the social league, we reached the semifinals and ended fourth. Ironically, the garderner of the American baseball field introduced the sport to the local Senegalese three years ago, and ever since, they have made it to the finals. This year one of their teams beat us and finished second in the social league, while one of their competitive league counterparts won the championship. During the finals, by that time I was no longer a competitor but a simple spectator, I joined some of my teammates, who are in the military on assignment to the Embassy, atop a shipping container in deep center field. We watched the game with the ocean as a backdrop and imbibed in the game’s most popular adult drink. What can I say, this year has proven to be nothing short of amazing...


And then there was the Saturday night bash at the Marine House, Ousmane’s-- (Abdoulaye’s brother)--fascination with the scene all weekend, and the old man aches and pains that followed me the whole next week.

This week was a great one at school. The students are now taking class and me more seriously. They are paying attention, taking notes, and seeming to want to really learn English. I have proposed the idea of an English club, and many seem interested. It’s a good feeling leaving work knowing that something you’re doing is working. Yes, the holidays and teacher strikes continue, but I have to focus on the time I do have--the cup is half full.

I had a visit from a former student from North, Ilana Kresch, this past week. She came in to visit a friend who is doing a study abroad program, and we had the pleasure of dining together at my favorite Ethiopian restaurant. She amazed me in her growth and worldly view. She maintains a humble and sincere concern in making the difference she can, while not trying to impose her views or judge others for theirs...extraordinary. She spent time studying in Chile, Ecuador, and most recently Spain. If every young American could have a similar experience in their education, we would have an amazing future in front of us.


Today is Sunday and I am coming back from a run. I’m trying to resume the routine of jogging regularly, yet like in the States, nothing works as planned. However, there is no doubt that the physical activity renews my energy and reanchors me into the optimistic spirit I so love. Last night, Carolyn, an Embassy employee and dear friend, threw a bash. I helped her put together the music mix, and oh what a night! We had about 35 people--Americans, Senegalese, Cap Verdians---throwin down. We had three African drummers do two sets that launched everyone out of their seats and into hynoptic, primordial rythyms. The otherwise sleepy bourgeois neighborhood was rockin.

Aissatou and the beat!

So, among the hardship here is a joie de vivre that is unknown back home. If you can swing it, come visit; Senegal is food for the soul.

Warming Up

There’s a welcome crispness to the air when the temperature and humidity drop after heavy heat. That freshness though, can be a prelude to cooler, cold air. A cold breeze that penetrates your clothes and renders you perpetually chilly. The winter of Dakar is nothing like that of Detroit, but January was a windy, chilly month. At night I felt like the thin bed sheet and bedspread were not enough. The wind would howl through the balconies and doorwalls on this top floor, obliging you wear a sweater and to lift your feet off the cold tile. Down below at ground level, the hallways are perfect wind tunnels, bringing in the cold air of the ocean that literally slaps you in the face with its chilling power. Three days ago though, something funny happened. The cold disappeared. Sunday was less windy and chilly, yet still a Dakar winter day. Monday morning came and winter was nowhere to be found. Today, Wednesday, the novelty of the heat after cold is already gone, and the intensity of the African sun has returned. Last night, the balcony was comfortably warm. This afternoon, I had to cut my walk home short, because the heat was threatening to rob me of my remaining daily allowance of energy. It’s funny how it’s happened. I wrote on my calendar on Monday “Spring has sprung,” but now I’m more apt to write, “The heat is on.”

Just as a footnote: Since my return in January, at least one day a week of school has been cancelled because of random teacher strikes. We had one day off for the Muslim holiday of Ashura, and the next two days of classes have been cancelled because of the annual pilgrimmage of the Mouride brotherhood to their holy city of Touba. (I wrote of Touba in an earlier entry). Everything shuts down here in Dakar, because all the busses and taxis are booked for trips to Touba, as 2 million pilgrims are expected to attend the holiday--Magal--this weekend. Without transport, people cannot get to school or work, so they just shut down the capital city for a few days. This weekend, however, is the big West Africa International Softball Tournament that the U.S. Embassy hosts here in Dakar. We’ll have Peace Corps Volunteers’ Teams from other countries come in for a 3 day sportsfest. Right now I am scheduled to be playing in three games, maybe more. So, summer’s return, unexpected days off, and the emptying of the city, have coincided nicely with the pursuit of America’s national pasttime on the shores of the African Atlantic. Our team is called the Sand Sharks. Play ball!

Inner peace

Upon entering the church, all existing guards went down. I felt so fragile. On the threshold of tears. The church was laid out like Gesu back in Detroit, but on a much simpler level. A few flourescent lights strategically placed in the ceiling and on the sanctuary walls, which incidentally, were covered with an earthtone mural of Christ. When I found my space in a pew about half way up, stage left center section, the church was sparsely populated. I took advantage of that fact to soak in the scene and quickly was feeling connected. It’s funny how primordial values play on the heart and soul. Despite my distance from the church and my openness to other faiths and practices, the intensity of spirituality that I feel in a Catholic church has no equal.

At the moment the music began, the tears began to form. Feeling the levy breaking, I could not contain my emotion. Being the only white in a sea of black Catholics was one emotion. The faith and hope from and for so many, in a country--to this outside observer at least--that feels inundated with pain and challenges, was another emotion. Hearing the strength and tight nature of the choir eloquently sing a classical piece in French--powerful. Then ten eucharistic ministers, all pious looking men in white robes, followed by an equal number of alter servers. Their presence alone was testament to their free will of faith. Hearing prayers and readings in heavily accented French, and then some of them read again in Wolof. I don’t know, but the universality of faith, with all its breadth, and yet with all its depth which can only be defined by INDIVIDUAL faith; it’s remarkable. Then the choir singing in Latin, followed by spirited hymns in Wolof or Serrer with drum and flute accompaniment. After communion, watching the whole congregation turn their bodies and eyes toward the chalice as it was being moved from the altar back to the tabernacle. Finally, the crowd after mass, gathering at the side altar near a statue of Mary and the tabernacle, each silently submitting his/her prayer of petition. I mentioned Gesu at the onset, not only because of its physical beauty but also because of its spiritual power, emanating from the music of those voices. There is so much in lyricism, prose or poetry; when put to music, it becomes the window to the soul.

Life is so full of experiences--comfortable or not, yet some we choose not to process. We can be robots when we train ourselves, yet in the end, there will always seem to be some primordial tug that gets to our heart. I can’t help tearing up right now remembering my dad tearing up every once and awhile while watching something on t.v. Behind his fortress of a temper, he was so full of kindness and sensibility. That better side within me calls out so often, yet refining it so that I live it with inner peace is the elusive ingredient. I can be nice to friends, I can fight for justice through advocacy, I can give money; and I may be making someone’s life a little better, but am I bringing about peace--within me or among others. I guess that’s what spirituality helps me discern. How I can fight for all that is good with genuine kindness and without revenge. Gosh, to be known as an anchor of peace, that would be life’s accomplishment.

And, the beauty I see in the eyes of a husband and wife as they dance and embrace. The joy of a parent reveling in the presence and growth of their child. The innonence of children in general, really, seeing the core of another and not getting hung up on any of our adult prejudices. Sharing the passion for life. Opposites may attract, but a soulmate is what I’ll need. I guess this is a bit of an enlightenment. It’s not just the intellect, the cultural openness, the spontaneity, the physical beauty, the physical health and wellness; it’s having something tug at your soul and being comfortable with its power and expression. After all, why else are we here if not to be kind in our heart and in our actions. That inner peace truly can be our guiding light. Without the lighthouse that I see when I look out the window, the sailor would not know where the sea stops and the land begins. Perhaps force of will and luck will lead to a safe landing, but not without a troubled heart or mind. I need that inner peace. I may find it in spirtuality and church. I may find it and cultivate it in a soulmate. If the two came together, life would be even closer to perfect than I’ve previously thought. Inshallah kheyr.

Nirvana...well, not yet

The light bulb goes on. Enlightenment. Comprehension. Assimilation. But then, as if it never flickered, you’re in the dark again. Where it went you can’t know, but you put yourself to the task of understanding, again. The process of constant rediscovery is at the core of what makes us resilient. The humility of the reality reminds us that we can relearn. Much is possible if we find the will. Nothing is really gone, it just needs to be dusted off and refreshed. Ultimately, we accept that we are not perfect, no superhuman, no god. We are in a perpetual cycle of learning and relearning.

Such a truth could not be more applicable to my reality here. Everyday I live a little more and read a little more, and then understand a little more...about Senegalese perspectives, life for the poor, African politics, Islam, postcolonial challenges in education, the search for identity and self-confidence, and economic growth. Yet for every truism, the next day brings an experience that can distort or completely contradict that accumulated understanding. I start over. Yet just like the ebb and flow of the tide, is not understanding meant to be fleeting and not permanent? How else would we find the motivation to learn?

A couple examples...
I have bought little household items for my closest friends, things that were absent and would be put to immediate use: mattresses, sheets, end tables and chairs. These friends cannot feed themselves daily, so the only possibility of procuring these items would be through giving by others. I have read, many times now, how African culture is strongly rooted in communalism and solidarity. What little you have, you share. Especially if family is in need. I have seen it among the guards and the Senegalese residents of the building. For if it weren’t for the latter, the former would not eat lunch or dinner daily. Most days one or a handful of residents will bring down a bowl of fish and rice for the guards to eat. The guards graciously accept, and if others are around, they insist that they share the bowl with them, often resulting in each guard having only four or five spoonfuls of food. No premeditation nor afterthought, just communalism. It’s beautiful. It’s humbling. Recently upon visiting my friends in their one-room homes, I found that the sheets and even the mattress seem to be gone. Then, almost embarassed, I realize that the older sister or brother with a family live in the next room, and something so relatively nice was given up for those older or in greater need.

So much to remember Elias, and most importantly, you will not change Africa. Africa will change you.


In anticipation of teaching Arabic next year at North Farmington High School, I have decided to take a refresher course in the language. How exciting the feeling of discovery associated with being a student, and the reawakening of a long dormant passion! After the first class I was giddy. Oh, how being a student is more exciting than being the teacher! When I sat down at my dining room table a couple days later, to review the content of the book just finished by my colleagues, I was stupefied. Ooooh, it’s been a long time. What did that word mean? And that word? And when do you write the “wasla?” What about accusative versus genitive case, and how that affects writing accent marks and their commensurate pronunciation? Wait, I learned this already. The bulb already had gone on: enlightenment, comprehension, even assimilation. Yet now, today, the relearning begins...

Will you dream?

What do you believe in? The possible? The impossible?

To achieve what is possible, we must attempt the impossible.
To be as much as we can be, we must dream of being more.

Such simple sentences with so much insight.

In Barack Obama I see a man with tremendous vision. A man who will try to do things differently to achieve different results. Someone willing to take a risk, someone willing to attempt the impossible. Someone, too, who refuses to believe that the current reality is the forever reality.

This type of mindset is revolutionary, and truly is not common in our world today. So many of us like to diagnose problems, but so few are willing to try something new. Cynicism, resignation, low self-esteem characterize most of us in worlds and situations where we are not happy. Is it really just the way it is? Is it really just like that because that’s how God ordained it? Do we really believe we have some power over our own lives? Do we believe through our words and actions we can influence others? Of course we do! Those are character traits of Americans. We are the “can do” people. The world over admires us because we never let an obstacle stop us. We refuse to say no or just okay. We demand action, we invent our way out of deadends.

The same sense and sentiments of crisis, hard times, depression, helplessness, useless and corrupt politics that pervade the U.S. at this time, are prevalent here in Senegal. A big difference is that they have few identified, public leaders who speak differently, who are presenting a different reality. I believe we were in a similar situation in the U.S. until Obama’s ascent. I pronounce these words not as a blind supporter, but someone who has read his political philosophy and now is reading his autobiography written about ten years ago. The man is willing to do, and has done, extensive academic and real-life street research to get into the minds of people to understand both their frustrations and their ambitions, their limitations and their potential. In Senegal, I have the good fortune of sharing with you that I believe my Wolof teacher, Nene Gueye from Thies, is cut from the same cloth. Yesterday, I made my first trip to her home, about two hours outside of Dakar, and was struck by her sincerity in wanting to change Senegal for the better. Realistic, not naive, she wants to form a new political movement where truth, transperency, and accountability reign. She believes it will take the whole population to affect such change, so she’s on a mission to change fixed, outdated, unproductive mindsets in Thies. It is a mammoth mission. I applaud her for her dedication. Nene is running for the equivalent of County Commissioner and City Council President.

In true Senegalese hospitable form, she welcomed me and the other two Fulbright teachers into her home and made us a phenomenal meal, before having to leave for Dakar for a meeting with the president of her political party. We, people in her life, came first. Sincerity and hospitality, no strings attached, define her. She may even have been late to the meeting which may not have bode well, but in the end, as she said, it’s not how high you go, it’s how you treat your fellow human being. Nene is on the eve of elections, Obama is preparing to take over the reigns in the U.S., I am reading his life and philosophy.
The convergence of powerful ideas and people.
The timing of timing.
It's our turn, move outside the box!

Charles Schulz's PigPen

Coal Miner’s Son, that’s who I am. Yesterday I went on an excursion to Thies and Tivavouane. It was the first trip thus far in my time in Senegal where the elements got the best of me. It was like cleaning out my basement right after I bought my house. Or washing the windows that first time after 25 years of neglect. The Harmaton is the name of the wind that blows the desert sands south to our wonderful home of Senegal. That with the local dirt and sand that are not held down by trees or other vegetation, it’s a recipe for disaster. I showered and left my house with a beautifully bright, light blue linen shirt with cotton beige pants. After just two hours on the road, my fingernails were black with soot that I could not sratch off. After lunch and another hour drive to the next destination, my hands were soiled and my shirt took on a dark blue hue. There was no electricity in the hotel where we arrived, the sun had set, so finding a sink was an impossibility, let alone any soap. After about an 11 hour day, I returned home and rushed to the kitchen sink. I literally scrubbed my hands 5 separate times. I took off my clothes and went to the shower. I stuck my brushcut head under the shower nozzle and watched the black water rush down for 45 seconds nonstop. What is amazing is that you will never hear a local person complain about it. They will shower for the day, put on their best clothes, and go about their business. Senegal: Adapt and March On!

Touba and Tivavouane

The last two weekends I visited two holy cities here in Senegal: Touba and Tivavouane. The first is home to the Mourides, a sect/fraternity of Senegalese Islam, which is defined by their allegiance to the Mouride Marabout (Spiritual Guide/Leader). Many Senegalese Muslims adhere to a fraternity, so such membership plays a large role in self-identification. In Touba the Marabout heralds from a lineage of the Mbake family. The family solicits funds which they have used to build up the city and the mammoth Mosque and religious shrine. Tivavouane, a smaller city and mosque, is home to the Tijanes, the second largest fraternity.

While in Tivavouane for an English Language Teacher conference, I thought for a minute I was in the Middle East. We were taken to a home to relax before the start of the conference. The home belonged to the Imam (Muslim cleric), and in the courtyard, Quranic school was being held for about 40 youngsters who ranged from 6 to 12 years old. The boys were being led by two other teenage boys in reading, reciting, and committing to memory verses of the Holy Book. It really was not much different than Orthodox Jewish youngsters learning the Torah, or Christian youngsters learning the Bible in VBS or Catechism. The image though, seemed so foreign to western eyes. The boys were adorable and wanted us to take their picture, but as the Imam was not home, we did not have his permission so were advised not to do so. We went inside and sat in the living room that had ornate furniture typical of Arab households, framed Arabic verses on the walls, and Arabic music sifting through the windows from another courtyard. What a setting! Then, we exchanged pleasantries in English and Wolof before resorting to French.


Moustapha is the teacher who was supposed to be my Fulbright Exchange Partner...what a pity that did not happen!

The conference was held at the abandoned hotel in the town, and began with much fanfare two hours after the scheduled start. I attended with my two Fulbright colleagues, and we were received like dignitaries. Native English speakers all the way from the United States coming to this English language colloquium in the interior of the country, what an honor for them! I was asked to say a few words at the start and again when we departed. We three ate it up, and the formalities were quite entertaining. The whole conference was conducted in English as teachers from that city and rural villages discussed the benefits and challenges of Cooperative Learning and Needs Analysis in the English language classroom. I was so humbled by their commitment to and command of the English language. In the States, French teachers or Spanish teachers would NEVER conduct their professional development seminars in that language; we do not have such ability.

So much to learn, every single day.

Experiences

The experiences happen too fast to even process them. Life here in Senegal is a continuous lesson. There’s no denying that I love to learn, and therein may lie the blessing and the curse. I have such a hard time reducing encounters to vignettes. Every story needs to be processed and told; but again, life doesn’t grant us the luxury of endless time. So much is temporal, and the force lies within the moment, not necessarily afterwards during the reflection.
So, I am both invigorated and exhausted. Does the student who never takes a break really learn?? Everyday I listen to world news in French as I prepare my coffee and breakfast. Paying close attention to what is said and how it is said, before I even interact with anyone else for the day. Greeting the guards in Wolof, trying to understand the new utterance they seem to throw at me every day, in a language whose sounds have proven to be so challenging to internalize. Then there’s the nonverbal communication that might come in the form of a guttural click, a slight groan, a hand on the heart or on the forehead. There’s the expressions and the delivery style. There are topics, as a westerner with financial means and life experiences, that have no meaning if shared with many of the locals. I had to be equally entertained and frustrated the other night when one of my colleagues who is in her early sixties was talking to a group of young Senegalese men in their twenties about Tchiakovsky’s 1812 Overture and Ravel’s Bolero, and how difficult the violin and clarinet pieces are to play. Imagine a group of black men being lectured by an elderly white woman about classical music in the U.S.? Even that image is out of the ordinary. Now imagine that lady gesticulating and miming actions with great passion in front of men who don’t have running water in their dwellings and most likely have never seen ANY musical instrument other than drums?! And she comments that of course these are pieces that EVERYONE knows!

Everyday I get to play teacher to her and other colleagues while trying to learn myself. It is amazing how little we know and how much there is to know. This fact is exciting, yet demanding. So Senegal continues to teach me so much. There is so much I want to share in a certain moment, and then I have another amazing, eye-opening experience. I play teacher and student from sunrise to sunset. I am being changed in ways unbeknownst to me. The sensory deluge is in such contrast to my recollections of daily life back home. What follows then, may be a full recounting or a vignette; I will let my fingers decide.

Life's Ups and Downs

Well, as I seem to be saying repeatedly, what a difference 24 hours can make. Yesterday was an emotional roller coaster. Too many people said to me in person or sent me email messages that began with, “As I’m sure you already know...I’m sorry. I wish you the best.” The problem was that I DID NOT KNOW.

My exchange partner could not overcome his challenges in Farmington Hills both in his home and school settings. As a result, the school principal recommended immediate termination of the exchange. That request resulted in the U.S. State Department putting my exchange partner back on a plane to Senegal within 24 hours. He is now back here in Senegal. That left me in an undefined position, suggesting an immediate return for me as well, for exchanges are defined as two-way. If one side doesn’t work, the other is obliged to terminate as well. All day, I waited for a phone call from the States for some clarification on what exactly was happening, had happened, and would happen. I cancelled appointments here that I had in anticipation of more pressing news.

After morning classes, then lunch at an Indian restaurant and a walk around the Colobane Market** with Abdoulaye, we returned home. The irony was that he had an interview with a bank that morning that went very well, and he may be landing a new job which will finally deliver him from the horrible supermarket warehouse. I was sincerely happy, actually overjoyed, for him. But I could not stop my restlessness. We walked across the street to the U.S. baseball field/park and listlessly threw around the frisbee and swung on the swings. The sun was setting, a truly beautiful sight; yet I was not at peace. We went back across the street with Tom, one of the other Fulbright teachers, and grabbed a drink as a potential distraction. It didn’t work. Ahmed, one of my first friends here, stopped by to see me for the first time since my return from vacation. As I explained the situation to him as I understood it at that point, he insisted that I must put all my concerns and worries in God’s hands. Last night around 9 p.m., while he was with me, I received a call from my principal back home who explained what had happened. He then proceeded to offer to do his utmost so that I could delay my return to the states, if that in fact was my wish, which it is. To bring a somewhat comforting ending to a tumultous 36 hours, he said he already had identified long-term substitutes who could fill in through Spring Break; after that was still undetermined, but he would work on it. Sooo, I’m here to stay until mid-April at least, maybe even until the end of the school year in June.
I’m exhausted yet elated. Anxiety transformed into relief. As my friend Ousmane says daily, “God is great.”

**Immense market with used clothes--among the tens of thousands of items, a UofM Hockey Jersey. Vendors young and old, male and female, forlorn and haggard sleeping on top of their piles of clothes. The attention to folding, cleaning the clothes by other merchants. Using a toothbrush to clean soles of shoes. Such dignity and resignation in the same space. The beautiful Indian restaurant, French pastry shop, European villas in Les Almadies, but not forgetting that that was Abdoulaye’s first time there, and 10 year old boys walking barefoot with empty coffee cans begging for spare change. Layers of contrast. Everyday reality. Such reality layered on my layers of contrast from the latest drama. The words are not here to describe the sentiment, because what can capture that which is incomplete, in opposition, and defies logic? Life here sometimes is about just adjusting to the pain.

Change

Sometimes I just don’t know how to process my feelings. As I sit here I am purposely listening to a hauntingly beautiful violin piece played by Farid Farjad. The song was on a disc that a former student, Ida Tajalli, gave me years ago. I remember her having difficulties finding her place in the world as a shy, nice young lady who is of Iranian Muslim descent. Being of such a minority in Farmington Hills, Michigan, and in many places around the United States, must be very challenging. I am here in Senegal as a minority trying to understand and assimilate into a society full of would-be minorities in the United States. It’s a humbling experience. I have learned so much from those whom we typically marginalize back home.
I am planting my feet and feeling anchored here. Yet life seems to remind us, so often, that that which we think is stable is in the process of change. Every day, week, month, even year, can be so ephemeral, so fleeting. What lasts? Very little. This dynamism is what gives life so much vitality, while also breeding a sense of insecurity. The past couple days I have felt that it’s time to start some other activities and rountines here to make me feel even more anchored. I have interviewed U.S. personnel at the Embassy and at the USAID (Agency for International Development) complex in the hopes of possibly finding a volunteer opportunity. I have talked to some at the International School of Dakar about teaching supplemental U.S. History to the American students. I am also in the process of having my level in Arabic assessed so I can register for a course to refresh and deepen my knowledge of the language. This week everyone who sees me has remarked that I have fully integrated and now am Senegalese. It’s a good, anchoring feeling.
So why the melancholy? I’m not sure. Maybe it’s the malaise in the lives of my loved ones. Perhaps it’s foreshadowing for my own changes. I am believing our spirits are more interconnected than we admit, and our inner peace comes not only from our own volition but also from the totality of all those in the world with whom we come in contact. Contact being not exclusively physical, but encompassing common thoughts, feelings, and experiences with those next door and literally on the other side of the globe.
While leaving the Embassy today, the cultural affairs officer who is responsible for my program asked me if I had called my U.S. principal. I said no and asked why such a call would be in order. He informed me that my exchange partner is ultimately failing and sending him back here to Senegal is imminent. The news was both unexpected and destabilizing. Ultimately that could lead to an abrupt end to my year here with my return in the days or weeks ahead. I cannot even begin to process what such news will mean for me emotionally, physically, intellectually, socially, and professionally. I just hope more communication is forthcoming and clarity is within reach. Inshallah.

Thanks for being You

The authenticity of each other is our most redeeming trait. No airs, just who we are. When at home, I had the pleasure of attending my friend Rodney’s wedding. At the reception I met up with John Francis, the father of my childhood friend Phillip. I always remembered Mr. Francis/Uncle John as a no-nonsense fella. He was of the working-class, and always had a natural ability to make you feel completely comfortable in his presence. He did not have an easy life, working long, hard hours with health complications, in order to support his family. Nonetheless, he, and his wife, Aunt Nora, for that matter, loved to laugh and truly sucked the nectar out of life. At the wedding reception, John welcomed me warmly and engaged me in extended conversation about my experiences here in Senegal. He was attentive and full of curiosity. He was eager to learn not only what I was living, but to learn as well what lessons I was acquiring from my time here. We laughed, moved on to join the rest of the group, and shared drinks. What strikes me about Mr. Francis is how real he is. Like one of my best students, he is still impassioned to learn about life. He will never grow old in my eyes. Moreover, his warmth was like that of a loving uncle, while his respect for me and my knowledge, being someone who has lived so many fewer years than he, really humbled me.

This beauty of humanity, reflected by Uncle John, is the blessing that I am living so often here in Senegal. Early on in these entries I said I would profile some of these special people in my life. I have talked to you about a few, including Abdoulaye and Zacheria. There are so many more, some regulars, others chance acquaintances. Let me share with you.

Khady and Ouzou. Ousmane is another security guard here at the building, who has an infectious smile and an even greater laugh. He actually was one of the first guards I met, but then was on a month leave shortly after I arrived, so he was not in my first accounts. He had gone back to the village to work the fields and harvest the millet. He came back to work here with even more enthusiasm to get know me. We talked about me tutoring him in English, but to date, we still haven’t had a lesson. We have, though, become great friends. He is friends with Zacheria, and they live right around the corner from each other. Ousmane started talking to Khadija (Khady) and could not wait to tell me how excited he was about her. He is the classic romantic and blushes (in a Senegalese way) every time he mentions her name. Ousmane is a villager living in the city who has noteworthy ambition. He is 31 years old, like the other guys, but did not pass his high school exit exam, the Bac. One of the reasons he wants to be tutored in English is so he can pass the Bac. He has gone to the Ministry of Education on several occasions to navigate the bureaucracy so that he can pursue and attain his goal of a diploma. He shares his room and bed with two other guys, just like Abdoulaye and Zacheria do, for lack of financial resources. He has welcomed me into his life, introduced me to his friends, takes me to his barber, and teaches me how to laugh more. Every time we meet he greets me with a big hug and that million dollar smile. Upon my return this week, he could hardly contain his excitement in telling me that he and Khadija are now engaged; as by Senegalese village custom, their parents met, and kola nuts were distributed to signal a joining of the two families. A ceremony at the mosque will follow, but for all intents and purposes, the marriage has already begun. He told me how much he missed having me here when it happened and had invited his friends over for a dinner to celebrate his joy. So, this past Wednesday night, which was another Muslim holiday here, he invited me to go with him to meet his eldest brother and family and share dinner at their home. I gladly accepted and was very warmly received. They live modestly, like most of my friends, but bent over backwards to make me feel comfortable. After a wonderful visit, during which his four year old niece took a liking to me, we headed over to Khady’s home so I could see her for the first time as his “wife.” He took her a number of gifts, which is such a beautiful part of this story...He was so tongue-tied when we arrived, that I had to do most of the talking! Then he started to mumble as he gave her the first gift: a flashlight for reading and walking when the power goes out. He then gave her the second gift: a radio walkman with headphones, yes just a radio, no cassette or cd player. He was quick to tell her though that it was not from China, and so was of a good quality! Thirdly, and perhaps most striking, was that he bought her a Kaplan-like SAT or MCAT prep study book, but for the exam given at the end of middle school in order for one to move onto high school. So, the most important and valuable gift, was one of learning, a book. Although she is in her twenties, the reality here for females is that very few have been given the opportunity to go to school through high school. His future, and hers, are inextricably linked to his belief that education is the necessary missing ingredient. She was touched, and spent a lot of time looking at each and every page. The beauty in the simplicity manifested continues to touch me.


I am blessed to have many persons in my life like Uncle John and Ousmane. Many of you who read this entry are those for whom I am so grateful. Tonight I thank God for my time here; the world is full of beautiful people.

Time

Some images evoke emotions that bring inner peace. I just walked past a photo of oak leaves scattered over a snow-covered forest floor. The singular beauty of the white blanket highlighted by remnants of a past season. This harmony is what I often seek, a feeling of fulfillment; nothing lacking.
Life can be full of such moments, be they images or interactions. Life is also full of opposite experiences, feelings of longing, frustration, and incompleteness. Yet, what is life if not the ebb and flow of the tide...
What a week can bring to your senses. I am humbled by the privilege of having this experience in Senegal. An opportunity to stop, smell the flower, and savor its beauty in that moment and later on. What I lack in the U.S. in time, I am finding here in Senegal. Yet time is not all we need, we also need experiences to make the time rich. Some of those experiences are in the company of others, while others are defined by solitude. To choose to be alone with my own thoughts now appears to have been a rare luxury in the U.S.; here it can be a daily, cherished reality. Let me quote some lines from a vignette that I recently read from an anthology entitled, Dream Me Home Safely: Writers on Growing Up in America, edited by Marian Wright Edelman. The book is my current nightstand occupant, and the piece is called Summer Coming by Anna Quindlen.
“Summer is coming soon. I can feel it in the softening of the air...Open windows. Day trips to the beach. Pickup games. Hanging out.
How boring it was.
Of course, it was the making of me, as a human being and a writer. Downtime is where we become ourselves, looking into the middle distance, kicking at the curb, lying on the grass or sitting on the stoop and staring at the tedious blue of the summer sky. I don’t believe you can write poetry or compose music or become an actor without downtime, and plenty of it, a hiatus that passes for boredom but is really the quiet moving of the wheels inside that fuel creativity.
And that, to me, is one of the saddest things about the lives of American children today. Soccer leagues, acting classes, tutors--Our children are as overscheduled as we are, and that is saying something.
This has become so bad that parents have arranged to schedule times for unscheduled time.
...There is ample psychological research suggesting that what we might call “doing nothing” is when human beings actually do their best thinking, and when creativity comes to call. Perhaps we are creating an entire generation of people whose ability to think outside the box, as the current parlance of business has it, is being systematically stunted by scheduling.
Perhaps it is not too late for American kids to be given the gift of enforced boredom for at least a week or two, staring into space, bored out of their gourds, exploring the inside of their own heads. “To contemplate is to toil, to think is to do,” said Victor Hugo. “Go outside and play,” said Prudence Quindlen. Both of them were right.”
I am happy to say that Senegal is helping me be that kid of a lost era in the U.S. May we all as adults make a conscious effort to carve out “nothing time.” It is making me the person I am becoming, and I am ever so grateful.

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year! A time where the feeling of anything possible reigns; a time to change for the better, a time to think differently about many situations, a time to give a little more, listen more attentively, take better care of oneself. The new year brings hope for many of us. In the midst of our routines and sometimes undesirable environments (physical, metereological, emotional), we push ourselves to blaze a new path. The ultimate traits of human resiliency and inventiveness. What we realize as we start a new year, is the potential for happiness when we take advantage of these voluntary changes of heart and mind. May we each find the sources to re-energize for the great experiences, adventures, and challenges that lie ahead.

In this country of seemingly perpetual sunshine, it’s a blessing to wake up daily to the blue sky and fresh morning air. By afternoon the temperature rises as the heat strikes you; but if lucky enough, a refreshing breeze passes through, and while seeing the sun’s rays reflect off the ocean waves, you know you are a fortunate one. It is in this setting that I am communicating with you.

I have lived through innumerable experiences since my fingers last touched this keyboard; so many of them significant in the depth at which they touched me. Sometimes however, I live through them, enjoying the fleeting nature of excitement that they bring; other times, I allow them to linger as I ponder their impact. After all, as my friend Steven reminds me, we are the sum total of every experience that we have lived, and we are different today than who we were yesterday as a result of living. In the entries that follow, I hope to share some of the fleeting and lasting experiences of the past few weeks that are giving voice to the Elias of 2009. Que Dieu est grand!