Dear Senegalese People

This letter does not reflect the opinions of Peace Corps Senegal, the US Peace Corps or the US Government

I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while. The past few months have been very busy. But as the year is coming to a close, I thought I should get this to you right away. Next year will be even busier, and I doubt I will write at all.

Thank you for a great 2015. Thank you for the tiny cups of café touba, the 346 kilos of rice, the peanut sauce, the fresh vegetables and soft baguettes. Thank you for getting us where I need to be. Even though you did this painfully, and made us cry in your garages over the course of the year, you still got us where we wanted alive. Thank you for the greetings and the kind words. Thank you for the songs and dances; for explaining and sharing your culture; for inviting us to your weddings and naming ceremonies. Thank you for the hospitality; whether or not you wanted to show it, we could not tell. Thank you for working with us, answering our many survey questions, making an effort to understand our local language. And to those of you who have stopped laughing at us, thank you. Thank you for always answering your phone when we call you. We know that it is economically advantageous to you when we call you and we do notice that you keep us on the phone longer because it’s on our dime, but thank you. Because when we need answers quick, you give them. Thank you for being a walking Rolodex, a breathing calculator, and for being able to recall conversations from months ago on demand. Thank you for welcoming us into your families. While not all situations are amicable, you have not kicked us out, beat us or hazed us. Thank you. Thank you for letting us call your children our brothers and sisters, for standing up for us, for listening to us.

We are grateful we made it through the year with you but let’s revisit some things for 2016.

To the people who work in public transportation, sometimes you’re very mean to us for reasons we don’t understand. We literally don’t understand; because we’ve probably travelled to an area of the country where the local language we speak is not spoken. Or our language skills are just subpar. Please don’t yell at us, gesture angrily at us, grab us and pull us with force. This isn’t kind. We had a meeting last night and decided we weren’t going to take this next year.

To our host families, please still give us food during Ramadan. Some of us are very shy and won’t ask for food but please remember that not everyone is a Muslim or cares to fast for a whole month. When you feed the children in the morning and afternoons, just remember to feed us too. This is one of the few times we like to be treated like children.

Speaking of which, please control your children next year. We are at a loss of what to do when we see them eating sand, walking through animal poop without their shoes on, or intensely wrestling each other. Usually when these things happen you or any other adult is nowhere in the vicinity, leaving us with the awkward choices of walking away or scolding someone’s child. Many of chose the former, not because we’re evil, but because we just don’t know what to do.

Your children need to stop walking into our rooms with announcing themselves first. It is frustrating, annoying and honestly, just scary. You do it too sometimes, which is why many of us have taken to locking ourselves in our rooms in the middle of the day. Please knock or say “Konk konk”, wait for us to positively identify you (this may take a while because even though we’ve been here for a while, we probably still don’t know your name), then wait for us to grant you access or not. We are adults; many of us are closer to 30 than 20. Please respect this (see Ramadan exception above).

In 2016, when we say we’re full, we really mean it. When we say we’re tired (literally and figuratively), we really mean it. When we demand you lower the price, we really mean it (don’t just laugh at us). When we say we’re going to the regional house/office to work, we really mean it (well, most of us do). When we say we don’t have money, we really mean it.

To the people who cheat us out of what is rightfully ours, give us an attitude in restaurants, mess up our orders, destroy our fabric, steal our money or belongings; to those children who throw rocks at us, the women who raise their voices at us and the men who grab us; to the people who show up to our meetings late, pledge your support in front of our bosses but forget about us as soon as the PC car turns the corner; to the people who laugh at us, treat us differently because we look different or not as you expect us to look, treat us unjustly because we are women, or expect too much from us because we are men; to the people who make us cry or use choice words; to those of you who lie to us, mock us and tell us we don’t know anything; to those of you who have made work and life so difficult for us when you had everything in your power to make it bearable; we had a meeting last night, and decided we’re done.

In 2016, we are going to do the work you asked us to do in peace. Any attempt to belittle or disrespect us will be met with just as much ferocity.

I know I may sound angry but trust me, I am not. We are humbled that you have invited us into your communities and into your families. We made it through this year and we look forward to an even better one.

So, I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while. The past few months have been very busy. But as the year is coming to a close, I thought I should get this to you right away. Next year will be even busier, and I doubt I will write at all.

Taiwo

On 2014

I walked into something new.

I laughed uncontrollably and wept like a child.

I ran, I biked, I jumped and I jumped rope.

I sang poorly and wrote giftedly.

I said many goodbyes and even more hellos.

I made new contacts, lost some and just lost contact with others.

I blocked, avoided and moved on.

I fought with taxi drivers, argued with vendors and stormed out of restaurants.

I gave my money, my time and my attention.

I was shown mercy and I found favor.

I failed.

I lost.

I saw how easy hard things could be, and how hard easy things were.

I gave praise when it was due, and when it wasn’t.

I listened. I learned. I grew, and I grew older.

I changed perspective and gained perspective.

I lost weight, gained it and lost it again.

I packed and unpacked and packed again.

I flew.

I fell. I got pierced and was pierced. I bruised and got bruised.

I shook my head with disappointment and nodded it in approval.

I made lists.

I paid my loans, invested my money, and spent what was left unapologetically.

I journaled.

I got sick and got sick of this.

I doubted, I hesitated then I just did it.

I cowered back in fear and leapt out without boundaries.

I explored new lands, markets, concerts, foods and drinks.

I learned languages and dared to speak them.

I laughed with and was laughed at.

I tried new things and vowed to never again. I tried new things and wondered where I had been.

I prayed and hoped, and hoped and prayed.

I read and read and read and read.

I tried to explain and I tried to understand.

I led and I followed.

I pitched a tent. And even more ideas.

I threw myself into my work on many days and slept in with no shame on others.

I watched LOST for the 4th time.

I danced with my colleagues.

I played soccer in a sand field and ran from a sand storm.

I laughed.

I loved.

I forgave.

I lived.

 

“So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.”  Psalm 90:12

follow 2015 here.