Senegal: Pays de la teranga

"Pays de la teranga" is sort of Senegal's slogan. It means "country of hospitality," and they are definitely not kidding. I moved in with my host family last Friday and began my life as a member of the fam and a resident of Ouakam. I was immediately accepted as a member of the family--I'm supposed to call my host parents maman and papa, and the family who lives next door is my host mom's mother, so I'm related to all of them too. Their American host student is my "tante." I have a brother named Christian who's my age, a 17-year old sister Amelie, and 2 adorable little brothers, Papi, age 11, and le petit Benoit (a.k.a. Chris Brown. that was the first thing they told me about him), age 3. They're all terrific. My family is Catholic, which is unusual because Sengal is 90 to 95% Muslim; only 6 or 7 out of 45 of us are in Catholic families. It's pretty interesting to see my family's perspective on life here, and their reactions to certain aspects of the culture. Another student who lives across the street is with a family whose mother is one of three wives. The father maintains 3 households and only stays at her house a few days a week.

One of the main difficulties I've had so far, besides adjusting to things like bucket showers and the lack of soap, is trying to assure my family that I did, in fact, have enough for dinner. We eat around a communal bowl (I was happy to find out that my family uses forks and spoons. Eating with your hands is pretty common here), and you can't really tell how much any one person has eaten, but I think I'm watched pretty closely. If I show any signs of slowing down too soon, I'm sure to get a "LB, mange, mange!" ("eat, eat!") They always give me a hard time about it. I've thought about bringing up the fact that they don't say a word when Amelie decides she's done, says thank you, and leaves the table. They never really believe me when I tell them I've had enough.



Teranga means more than just hospitality to your host student. Almost every day, I've gone to visit other families in Ouakam that are hosting students, often with Amelie. We show up un-invited, and even if we're only there to pick someone up to go somewhere, we're ushered into the house and told to sit down after going through the customary greetings and shaking every single person's hand. Sometimes we're offered some tea, around which the adults might sit all evening, brewing, pouring and drinking. Even if you're only there for 5 minutes, you have to sit down, and you have to try whatever they offer you. I visted my friend Kate on Sunday afternoon and we drank tea with a few of her adult host brothers (she thinks her household has around 15 people in it, but she's not always sure how everyone is related or who actually lives there). When we asked them why they were sitting inside instead of out enjoying the sun, they said, because of the tea. Children play outside in the sun, but adults have their tea. We said ok, and just left it at that.



The communal bowl that everyone eats meals from is very much a part of teranga. Families traditionally leave some extra food in the bowl to save for an unexpected guest or to give to beggars. Senegal's reputation for teranga is such that many beggars in Senegal actually come from neighboring African countries just to beg on the streets. Street beggars are a huge problem here. I was prepared for it beforehand, but you can't really understand it until you've experienced for yourself what it's like to have a group of little boys following you, tugging on your arm, pointing at your purse and holding out their little buckets as you walk down the street.



A lot of the things I see are oxymorons--my family insists I eat as much as possible, but there are hungry little kids all over the streets. Some of the families close by have extravagant houses with flagstone floors, chandeliers, an open-air courtyard full of plants, a goat living on the roof, and wireless internet, but no hot water, and piles of rubble everywhere from unfinished building projects. I mentioned the time I spent in Mexico last summer to my host mom, and she said, oh, I've heard that's a really poor country, it must have been sad. I was kind of taken aback. After having spent a week overwhelmed by beggars on the streets and a hundred people throwing themselves at me to try to sell me things, I was at a loss for words.

I'm not sure if I'll ever get used to the experiences I have every day. Sometimes they make me excited and in love with Senegal, but sometimes the effect of them hits me all at once, and I feel completely exhausted. The other day when I was riding a car rapide to school, a women sat down with a baby on her back and a little girl standing in front of her. The girl, who had some sores on her hands and face, grabbed onto me for balance on the bumpy ride, and the guy sitting next to me, who a minute earlier had leaned over me to spit out the window, started lecturing the woman about the little girl's sores and what she should do about it (I think. He was speaking Wolof). While he was talking, the woman's baby started crying, so, as the man went on, she pulled the baby off her back and started to nurse him, making no attempt to hide anything and still listening politely. I was suddenly struck by the fact that the little 5-minute episode was a crazy experience for me and a story I would tell later, but completely normal to them, and something they would probably never think about again. I'm already starting to realize that there are certain things that blew me away when I first saw them, but now that I see them every day, they're no big deal, not even worth mentioning. I suppose this means that gradually, the effects of culture shock will start to lessen. But something tells me that for the next 4 months, there will be plenty of crazy things happening to keep me on my toes.