Hmm..

The Peace Corps. says this is the toughest job I’ll ever love; I wonder if when it’s all over I’ll feel that way. I often find myself thinking about my life after Peace Corps. and how what seem like hard times now will shape the person I am when I get home. Maybe I am changing more than I realize.

I woke up yesterday, ate breakfast, and prepared to go about my day as scheduled. I have a routine and, with the exception of having to introduce a new volunteer to Tamba, everything was business as usual. I met up with Matt, the new volunteer, to go to the market and buy everything he will need for his hut. Everyday I go to the market, and every day I run into the Baayfalls (adult Talibes[1]) that follow people around shaking their bowls of change and harassing you to give them money. They are known to grab you or your clothes if you try to just walk by and I generally scream at them and/or cop an attitude if they touch me. I don’t have a problem if they choose to spend their days begging for money, but putting their hands on me because I don’t want to give them anything is crossing the line.

Naturally, walking around with a big white guy attracted a lot of attention from the Baayfalls. Matt is new and can’t really communicate, so I took it upon myself to tell them to go away and leave us alone. Unfortunately, one very persistent “gentleman” would not cease and desist, causing me a great deal of agitation. I began to voice this agitation when he put his hand in my face and told me he wouldn’t talk to me because I’m a woman and he only talks to men. Apparently, my “ignorance” was comical to him and he proceeded to laugh in my face while telling Matt that he doesn’t talk to women because “they are too stupid.” Did I want to hurt him? Yes, but I decided to just ignore him and walk away.

Later in the day, I had my second class at the Center for Handicap students in Tamba. There are about 10 illiterate, female students of varying ages attending the class and yesterday I had planned to get into the meat and potatoes of marketing the things they make at the Center. Not being a teacher, not having any experience teaching, and having a great deal of anxiety about speaking in front of people led me to believe this would be a very stressful experience. I told my Supervisor about these reservations and he assured me that I’d be fine with prepping and teaching in French, which is much easier for me when dealing with business related matters. The Peace Corps. gives us a lot of teaching materials and suggestions for how to structure our classes; unfortunately, everything is centered around hand-outs, reading, and other strategies unemployable when working with illiterate people. All I could do was take my French notes, walk to the Center, and hope for the best.

After about two minutes of notes I could see they were uninterested and/or confused. Finally, one of the most dynamic girls said, “We don’t understand French! Speak in Wolof.” Long story short, I totally choked. I was scheduled to teach for two hours, which is a ridiculously long time even if I am a fluent Wolof speaker and not deathly afraid of speaking in front of people. After about three minutes of silently reading my French notes and translating them aloud into Wolof while trying to stay on topic and make even the slightest bit of sense, I gave up. I told them that I hadn’t been prepared to teach in Wolof and would have to start next week. It was a pretty horrible feeling. For the next two hours I had to sit there in front of them chatting about boys and clothes and arguing that in fact I don’t have a Senegalese boyfriend and right now I don’t want to be married with tons of babies; of course, while trying not to cry.

If this wasn’t enough, at one point during our two hour hang out/ chat session one of the girls said that the Peace Corps is in Senegal trying to help now because our country used to come and steal Senegalese people to make them slaves. I don’t agree with that assessment of why we are here, that is certainly not why I am here, but many early Americans did have slaves, many of which were probably Senegalese, and I’m sure enslaving a great deal of Senegalese people didn’t support their early development; needless to say, it was a very awkward couple of minutes. Finally, one girl said that she knew it wasn’t me and another said, “No it was her grandfather that had Senegalese people as slaves.” I stopped arguing because I could see it was going no where, but it makes me sad to think that people here have to feel that way. I can’t imagine meeting someone and feeling like their ancestors thought they were so much better than me that they would come to my country to steal people and make them slaves (although I know many cultures have those feelings towards one another).

At the end of the “class” we all left together. It didn’t really seem like the girls minded that they hadn’t learned anything, but I still felt horrible. As I was walking home, the director (a darling handicapped Senegalese woman that will sit in on all the classes) drove by on her motorized wheel chair. I told her how sorry I was and how I promised that I’d try to do better next week. She just smiled, said there is nothing to be sorry about, and thanked me for even wanting to come spend time with the girls and try to teach them something that can help them in the future.

When I finally got home, I cleaned up, ate, finished some work and called it a night. It wasn’t until this morning that I realized how crappy yesterday actually was and how well I handled it. Before coming here, if I had a day like that I would have gone home and cried. Making friends with the girls in my class and seeing how genuinely appreciative the director was for me being there made my day. I came home with a smile and had forgotten all the upsetting things that had happened.

I’ve found that this experience teaches you to appreciate the small things. I guess I’m starting to realize how strong being here has made me. This may just be the toughest job I’ll ever love.
[1] Reference my entry about street children to learn more. In my understanding of the system, the only difference is that the Baayfalls are men who make the choice to continue to beg for the Marabou.