But I don't want to sit down...

It’s funny how so often, the situation that you know would scare you the most is usually the one in which you eventually find yourself. Through my study abroad program, students are given the opportunity to spend one week in a rural village to experience daily life, tasks, and interactions and to just be a part of a community that is different from the ones we left. Going into the week, I had no idea what to expect. We were told to prepare for two things specifically: extreme heat and a whole lot of sitting around doing nothing.
Because we were not given much of a choice as to where we were placed, I chose to work with an organization named APROFES, which is an organization for the promotion of women’s rights in Senegal. I thought that maybe, in working with an organization like this, I would spend my week surrounded by other students and stay active with a clear goal for the week.

Evidently, I still had yet to realize that this is Senegal, which means things rarely go as planned.
After spending the night in individual host families in Kaolack, we were sent off individually to separate villages in the area. As we were driving away from the city to be dropped off in our villages for the week, a few of us students were beginning to freak out. Not only were we going to be completely alone in our villages, but we also had no idea of what kind of tasks we would be given to be productive for the organization. As we sat there in the back of the truck, we contemplated ways to get the driver to just turn around and head back to the city. There was no way that I was going to be able to spend a whole week alone in a village.

Eventually it was my turn to get out and greet my new host family, who promptly renamed me “Oumy Saho” because I was officially a part of the village family. While everyone in the village was extremely welcoming and generous, I immediately realized that I was in a very frightening situation. I was alone in a village where the people spoke Wolof exclusively. No French at all- and definitely no English. Thankfully I have learned enough in my Wolof classes to be able to express basic phrases and just decided to play charades for the rest of the time. Even so, it became frustrating at times when the girls of the village would try to ask a question that I didn’t understand and, after responding “dëguma” (I don’t understand), they would just repeat it louder and then laugh when that wasn’t enough to make me immediately know what they were saying.

After the initial shock wore off, I began to understand that if I wanted to get anything out of this experience, I was going to need to be extremely proactive about being a part of the community. I lost count the first day of how many times I heard in Wolof, “Oumy, come sit.” Yes, I needed to realize that it is very much a part of the culture to sit in the shade, braid hair, drink Ataaya, and chat, but I knew that I could not spend my whole week being treated like a tourist, sitting on my own special chair watching everyone else do work.

Eventually, when I was told to “come sit”, I found the energy to say “deedeet, bëgg naa liggeey” (No, I want to work). Once I had repeated that a few times, I was finally able to actually help with washing clothes and ironing (which shocked them to find out that yes, I do both of those things myself back in the United States). These moments when I was working alongside the other girls of the village made me feel productive and included and I was finally able to feel like I could overcome this challenge of being by myself. I found it so fascinating to watch the girls in their work and in their interactions with others. I loved going to the well with them in the evenings and seeing the beautiful rhythm of bringing up the water and their grace as they carried the buckets back to the village on their heads (which was a task that I didn’t bother try because I knew I would just spill all the water on the ground and have to start again...)

Spending that week alone in the village really changed the way I see my comfort zone. For the first time, I was aching to just be able to relax and speak French and I began to really miss my second home and family in Dakar. With less than a month left here in Senegal (what?!), I'm trying to keep up this attitude and be as much a part of my family, neighborhood, and community as possible- even if it means being teased for saying "dëguma" a few more times!