I wrote once before that the hardest part of being a volunteer is not having your friends around the corner to make those bad days look a little brighter. I think in general this still holds true and is a universal volunteer challenge. On a more personal level though, I think my greatest challenge is the constant, 24/7, political campaign trail-esq socialization required of living in a 500 person village and even more the challenge of making real cross-cultural friends. Generally speaking, I think I’m fairly sociable. In America I have friends, I’m confident in my ability to make new friends and I think people who meet me, on average, think I’m alright.
In village though, it’s a little more difficult. It is practically required by law that everyone greets everyone every day. Did I just greet you? No problem, let’s do it again just to be sure. I like being friendly, but my friendly is more of a New Yorker’s “brief wave, half smile, minimal touching and no more conversation than absolutely necessary” rather than the Senegalese “let’s drag this out while shaking hands for the fifth time even though I saw you 30 seconds ago.” I just don’t have the friendly reserves to be that friendly all day. By the time I make it to my breakfast bean sandwich I need a nap just to be able to smile again. This is how I know I will never run for public office.
This leads me to the second challenge – making friends. It’s harder than you think! It’s actually something I’ve spent quite a bit of time pondering with my friends, how does one go about making friends in village? Sure, everyone is really friendly. But many times they’re also asking me for 1) money 2) medicine 3) my bike 4) to take them to America 5) to marry me. How do you know who’s really your friend? Since sarcasm doesn’t really translate (trust me, I’ve tried and met many blank stares in return), I am left with little in my humor arsenal and, as we’ve already covered, I’m just not that friendly.
My lack of village friends was made abundantly clear to me last week when a young guy (who I had never met prior) took it upon himself to berate me in front of my entire town for having no friends. Really, guy? Really?!? As if is wasn’t something I didn’t know already but to have Mr. Stranger announce it to everyone I know was not particularly encouraging for my sense of integration. I meekly refuted his claims (and a few people half-heartedly rose to my defense) but it was an effort not to burst into tears on the spot, and you can imagine the shade of red I must have turned. His barrage of questions and insults included: Issa (my annciene) had friends, Issa was nice, Issa gave out medicine, why don’t you give out medicine, Issa was better than you, you should give out medicine. Awesome. As you can imagine, I really wanted to be in village after that gem of a conversation.
Although I was tempted to leave Sare Sara and hole up in Kolda for the rest of Ramadan, I’ve made an effort this past week to really step up my friend game. One of my initial reservations has been making friends with men. Generally, the guys in my age group (15-25) are the easiest to talk to, most outgoing, funniest and most interested in talking to me. As I’ve mentioned, the women in that same group are more difficult to relate to because they’re usually much shier, are married and have 1-3 small children. My concerns about making friends with the male demographic is mostly an issue of reputation – I’m worried about what people will say if I’m always hanging around with the guys. I’m very careful never to have guys alone in my hut (for both safety and appearances) but I didn’t know if hanging out with them in town would send the wrong message. This week I’ve let go of those reservations and thrown myself in with the guys, trying to learn their (incredibly confusing) card games and helping out with their English practice. My new strategy seems to be working, and I’m actually much happier to go sit around and shoot the shit with my new gang (ok we’re not quite there yet, but it’s getting better!). I’m hoping I’ll get in with the guys first, the moms with my baby weighing and everyone else little by little.
As for Mr. Stranger, he’s taken to following me around everywhere – spending 2 hours watching me paint my mural, trying (unsuccessfully) to teach me cards, demanding English lessons. I think he wants an American wife. No thanks, jerk.
Hello Katie, m ba da i ligge? Tana aala? (I don't know how to alphabetize Peulaar.)
ReplyDeleteI have some personal experience in making friends in a village in Senegal. I served in the Peace Corps in a Mandinka village of 500 people called Daoudi that is located 35km north of Koussanar. It's about 60km northwest of Tambacounda.
As you have found, most of the people that you meet at first want something from you because you are a rich toubabo.
I actually saw a stereotypical, rich toubabo in Banjul, The Gambia. I was there for 2 week Mandinka training course because we had had 8 weeks of good Wolof training and 2 weeks of poor Mandinka training before going to our Mandinka villages. I could say many things in Wolof and nothing in Mandinka. Very few people in my village spoke Wolof.
Anyway, I was at a bar with a friend in Banjul and this rich toubabo was buying drinks. Every time he paid the server, he pulled out this big roll of Gambian money and gave some of it to the server. Everyone's eyes opened wide as the moon each time he did this. He was rude, drunk, and disrespectful to me and all the people there. I blame him and his like for all the hundreds of people who came up to me and asked me for money.
Back to the village, high school was a useful analogy for me. My high class was about 500 people. Many of them came from my junior high school. So, essentially, I spent 4 to 6 years with about 500 of the same people. Imagine spending your whole life from waking to sleeping, from birth to death, every day with the same 500 people. You get to know most of them very well. I know that after spending 3 years in my village(Daoudi) I knew all the men by name and most of the women and children.
Of course, language and culture are huge problems. Once you learn to speak Peulaar with some fluency you will be able to communicate with real friends from your village. It may be that the true, honest people in your village are waiting to see what you are made of before trying to make friends with you. These people have been cheated, killed and enslaved by both white and black people. It is still going on today.
One example, from about 1980, is when the chef d'equipe of the Promotion Humaine of a Peace Corps volunteer in the Casamance went to all the villages that had gathered money to buy medicines for their village health clinics and stole this money.
I understand the headaches and mental exhaustion from trying to learn a foreign language.
I wish you Jom ton joni joni (peace only right away)
Katie
ReplyDeleteI admire your courage and strength facing all the challenges living and working in Senegal and, on top of that, being a white woman in Senegal. I thank you for trying to help these people.
Allah ma ila silo diala. Make Allah make your road sweet.
ill be your frienddd!!!
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