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!