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| Ndeye, Ibrahima, Fama, Ngon, xale yi |
I have now logged one year in Peace Corps Senegal and what do I get for my troubles? A visit from my American dad! What a wonderful experience! He spent just over a week in sandy Senegal reveling in the first dry winds of hot season. And what a trooper he was despite all that Senegal had to throw at him: car breakdowns, lost hotel reservations, and temperatures over 100 degrees in a small hut - no fan, no air conditioning, no ice, no shade.
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| geography lesson at school |
We spent our first two days together in Dakar, where I introduced my father to his new name: Ibrahima Ndiaye. It only took him about a week to start turning his head when he was called! In Dakar Baay Ibra was lulled into a false sense of security about the food and climate of Senegal, so I quickly hustled us along to Kaolack - city of dreams! We toured the legendary market, saw the lights on the Kaolack river, and ate our first traditional Senegalese meal together.
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| a master at work |
After minor car trouble, we finally arrived in Ngar Gueye laden with gifts and half-memorized Wolof greeting phrases. To start things off with a bang, we attended a baptism, a wedding, a baby weighing, and a school function within the first 36 hours in village. Whew! Then came the village tour, social calls, field tour, cat bathing, and mural work. Ibrahima stuck it out for 4.5 days in village learning Wolof and charming everyone with his charades when that didn't cut it. By the time we got on the horse-drawn cart back to the city, he could almost correctly identify all of my family members by name! Joking aside, I was very impressed by the effort, the time, the money, everything that my dad invested in this trip. One of the greatest challenges of my Peace Corps service has been isolation. It's not the geographic isolation that really gets me, but rather the distance between the actuality of my life here and what can be understood by my American friends and family.
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| child photographers: perspective problems |
Before I came to Senegal a woman warned me that life here and at home are as different as night and day. I relish that fact but hate knowing that I can't really share my experiences with people from the states, that you have to live it to truly understand. My dad now
knows what it's like here - in my hut, with my family, in the heat, at the garage, etc.
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| neighbors at the window |
He knows the rustle of wearing Senegalese clothing, the rush of dancing in front of a crowd of 100 women, and the bitterness of village coffee. I can tell the story of the birth I attended last month knowing that he has a clear picture of the facilities at hand and I can complain about public transportation in Senegal and get a real empathetic response. I am so grateful for the opportunity to share my life here with those I care about back home. And it meant
the world to my host family and my friends in village to shake hands with someone from my American life. On our last night in village, my Senegalese dad called me to sit between him and my American dad and translate his gratitude. It was a pretty cool moment for me to bridge the language gap between my two dads and bask in their respective happiness. I am proud to have two incredibly wonderful sets of family members on either side of the Atlantic and was so glad to have them in the same home for a few days. So, thanks for visiting dad! And my hut is always open for anyone willing to learn a little Wolof and have an adventure.
