My First Days at Site

Lu bees?

Hey y’all. At this point my English is rapidly disintegrating so bear with me. I have safely arrived at site! I am not supposed to post my exact location on this blog, but I will email the name if you ask me to. Just know that I am about an hour and a half from my previous home, Thies, in a town of about 18,000 folks.

My three weeks at site have been a prototypical Peace Corps Volunteer roller coaster ride. The highs are incredible, the lows make me question my being here, and the rest of my time is spent in constant social awkwardness. The one word that describes myself at this time is infant. Most of the time I have trouble saying anything more than ‘hello, how are you’ in my language (Wolof), and my family and friends lead me around by the hand, rarely leaving me alone outside of the house. This experience is incredibly humbling; I am at the feet of my family to feed me, to introduce me to the neighborhood. I am at the feet of my counterpart and supervisor (co-workers more or less) to introduce me to the important people of the town, explain my goals/role here, and to beat the fact that I am not a walking check waiting to be cashed into everyone’s heads. That being said, both my family, as well as my supervisor, have been incredibly helpful taking me all over town every day.

After resetting expectations of myself, every small victory gets me so stoked. Every person I trick into thinking I speak Wolof (I wish you could see how funny they think it is, it gets me every time), every potentially valuable contact I make, every new work idea that I have gives me so much hope, and so my cup runneth over. For me, the key is to forget trying to fit in and I only begin to understand the meaning of 'show no shame'. Good thing I like to laugh because it is my strategy for survival.

It is difficult trying to communicate with people here not only because of the language, but perhaps more importantly, because of the social norms and subtle social cues that differ from society to society. Here, in the Pays du Taranga (Country of Hospitality), I am treated like a king in other peoples’ homes. I must sit in the best chair, I must always have meat in front of me during each meal, etc. As I am here to give to the Senegalese, it is difficult for me to accept this ridiculously excessive generosity. I tried to fight them at first, refusing things until my hosts would shove the thing into my hand. After more than likely offending a few people and wasting energy arguing, I have decided to accept all these offerings for what they are. It is a social requirement that guests are well taken care of in Senegal. By accepting these offerings, I am showing my appreciation. I also must show my own generosity back in other ways. The last few days have been a bit easier in this regard, but I still feel heavily indebted, especially to my family. They feed and house me, while refusing a financial contribution. I make as big of an idiot of myself (here I talk as if I do it on purpose) to entertain them, as I think of ways to contribute a bit here and a bit there.

OK, I feel sort of ridiculous trying to explain everything all at the same time. My town doesn’t have internet, but I am doing my best. Ndonk-ndonk mooy japp golo ci naay. (Little by little you catch the monkey in the grass.) That’s my word! I incite this proverb at least 7 times a day.

Email me your cell phone numbers when you have the chance so I can text you.

Ba ci kanam!

Pete aka Mustafaa Niang