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...