Okay, now I’m really in Senegal!
I have a new family. I have a new name. I have eaten from the communal bowl. Goats live on my roof. This is real. THIS IS REAL.
So I just got back from my first week with my Senegalese host family – it was a whirlwind, but I feel super lucky and fortunate. My family is great in every sense of the word: welcoming, huge, hospitable, and the fact that I have my very own bathroom and eat a variety of vegetables with meals is pretty awesome. We had French fries the first night? YES WE DID. A lot of volunteers in other houses eat with entire families out of one bowl for meals, but for most of my meals, I eat with my just parents. Basically that means that I get a lot more food and a lot less chance of getting sick. So that’s a super lucky break too, for the moment. In fact, I’m almost worried that I’m going to be spoiled and not ready for my impending village life, where I could end up in a mudhut without a latrine in the middle of Senegal. Right now, things are cushy.
My new name is Khadi, which sounds like Haddi, or maybe HOTTIE, which I’ve been trying to have catch on (it hasn't.) I’m super jealous of another volunteer who got renamed Fatou and has the Senegalese nickname of FATTIE. It seems that every volunteer is named after another name of the family, and I am no exception: I’m named after one of my host sisters. I really love this host sister and I love sharing my name with her – but then again, she is also the person who does the majority of the housework, cooking, breaking up children’s fights, etc. As a result, people are screaming her name constantly all around the house. Add to that fact that the second most popular person that people yell for is my host brother, HADIM… and it’s just like a Haddi party in the house, all the time. It’s all you hear. Haddi! Haddim! Haddi! Haddim!
I have about 15 people in my house, of varying ages and speaking abilities. I spend the morning talking to my 18 year old host sister, mixing French with Wolof and feeling pretty good about myself. Then I go talk to the 6 year olds and they just stare at me. You know you’re not saying anything right if a 6 year old stares at you. But then I’ll finally pronounce something correctly and the 6 year old will respond! And then I’ll go upstairs and listen to my host mom and dad speak and again feel like I UNDERSTAND NOTHING BECAUSE MY LANGUAGE SKILLS ARE THE EQUIVALENT OF A 10 MONTH OLD. In other family news, I have a 1 year old sister who screams bloody murder every time she sees my deathly white face. Apparently, Senegalese children grow up being told that the evil spirits of the world are white. But sometimes I dance with the baby and instead of crying, she just crawls away and makes frightened noises. I call this progress.
Speaking of the language I’m learning, Wolof has provided some pretty hilarious moments. For example, the fact that the word for ‘yes’ sounds like ‘WOW!’ consistently brings me joy. It just makes everyone sound excited and positive all the time! And sometimes I forget that it means yes and just think I’m really speaking awesome Wolof because my teacher will listen to me, smile really big, and then exclaim, “WOW!” Someone in my class was trying to say that someone threw up on her foot the other day and accidentally said she threw up on an ethnic group from Mali. But slowly, slowly, my little group and I are starting to mumble through communicating in WOLOF! WOW!
I have run into my fair share of cultural misunderstandings as well. On my first day, my family asked me if I wanted white bread with butter or chocolate. I didn’t want to be picky and annoying, so I tried to say either. I was given an entire baguette slathered in butter and chocolate, as well as a cup of milk with NOT EVEN JOKING AN ENTIRE 2 CUPS OF SUGAR in it (oh, how I laugh at the days when I used to worry how I would handle my sugar addiction in the Peace Corps...) But yeah, fatty mcfat sugar cup was assumed to be my natural breakfast, so I got it again the next day. And the next day. It took my speaking skills awhile to reach the point where I could express that I needed a different breakfast or I WOULD DIE SOON. But things are cool now. Also, one night, I got invited to a party at another family’s house. I was all excited, talking about it all day, inviting other volunteers. I don’t have a lot of vocabulary, so since I knew how to say, “We’re going to Mbaccho’s house tonight!”, I said it about every 5 minutes, rephrasing it as a question and then as a statement repeatedly. So after all that anticipation, the party finally happens… and it turns out this isn’t even a party, my family just wanted me and another volunteer to have a dance-off in a circle while everyone else watched. THAT IS NOT A PARTY, THAT IS A CIRCUS! The scheduled dance-off didn’t happen, but my family has enjoyed me teaching them ballet, “American dance” aka my moves from the club aka my hips, and Ugandan dance.
We’ve had a few days back in Senegalese paradise now, and I took advantage by attempting to play soccer with some locals and other volunteers. At one point the ball was coming toward me and I got kind of freaked out and just fell over backwards. I don’t know, I don’t think soccer is really going to be my "thing." But yes, tomorrow, I return to my village and my family, hopefully to become incredibly fluent in Wolof and become an expert through experience on Senegalese culture! Or you know, just be able to say something like, “I am not your dancing monkey!”
Love,
Lisa
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