Nostalgia: Glorifying the Past

In 19 short hours I will be arriving in the vibrant, bustling metropolitan of Dakar, Senegal.

Dakar, Senegal (Photo Credit: Harvard)

Ma ngiy dëm Senegal tey. Dinga jàng wolof ak francais. Dinga gëstu jigéén yu Senegalese ak dinga léégey ag NGO bë 2017, inshallah.  (I’m leaving for Senegal today. I will be studying Wolof and French. I will be researching Senegalese women and working for an NGO until 2017, god willing)

After 9 months in Vermont, I’ve been acclimating myself to the heat I will inevitably encounter in Dakar with my two month stay in Gainesville, Florida. However, I was spoiled with AC which I know I wont find often in Senegal. I am also arriving at the onset of rainy season which will last about two months, or so I’m told. On verra! (We'll see)

When I arrive in Dakar, we will have a two-day orientation with American Councils before we meet our host family. My family is massive and I cant wait to meeting them! In charge of the household are Yaay (mom) Fatou and Paapa Baidy. There are two sons in their 30’s and three sister-in-laws. Ranging from nursery school to college graduate, there are 7 grandkids as well. Yes – all under the same house.I will be living in a neighborhood called "mermoz" which is just a short walk to WARC, where I will be studying.

The last weeks in Gainesville came to an abrupt end with a closing ceremony that included short performances from each language group, certificates and a bit of dancing.  Our French/Wolof class read a French poem written by a man admired throughout the country, Léopold Sédar Senghor – a major historical figure, Senegal’s first president, a master poet and cultural theorist who helped to coin the ideologies of Négritude. The title of the poem we read is “Cher frère blanc” (Dear white brother).

Leopold Sedar Sanghor

 Quand je suis né, j'étais noir,

When I was born, I was black,

Quand j'ai grandi, j'étais noir,

When I grew up, I was black,

Quand je suis au soleil, je suis noir,

When I'm under the sun, I am black,

Quand je suis malade, je suis noir,

When I am sick, I am black,

Quand je mourrai, je serai noir.

When I die, I will be black.

Tandis que toi, homme blanc,

While you, white man,
Quand tu es né, tu étais rose,

When you were born, you were pink,

Quand tu as grandi, tu étais blanc,

When you grew up, you were white,

Quand tu vas au soleil, tu es rouge,

When you go under the sun, you are pink,

Quand tu as froid, tu es bleu,

When you are cold, you are blue,

Quand tu as peur, tu es vert,

When you are scared, you are green,

Quand tu es malade, tu es jaune,

When you are sick,, you are yellow,

Quand tu mourras, tu seras gris.

When you die, you will be grey.

Alors, de nous deux,

So, between you and me,

Qui est l'homme de couleur ? 

Who is the man of color?

The poem is up for individual interpretation, as some believe it is more of a satire and comical piece while others look deeper into the words and meaning/purpose behind them.

I also read a Wolof proverb and explained its significance:

Boo bëggee xam luy mun, amal jeker*.

(literal translation) If you want know what patience is, have a husband.

"A spouse will teach you patience."

*The original proverb ended with the word jabar, meaning wife in Wolof but I found it more appropriate to use the word husband.

Since I was accepted as a Boren Fellow mid-April of this year, I knew I was embarking on this next chapter and I felt confident and comfortable without a worry in the world: I’ve had malaria (twice); I navigated and organized a 10 months study abroad program in 13 countries, alone; I’ve lived in a village in Uganda; I’ve drank the tap water and survived; I’ve learned languages; I’m street smart; I'm culturally aware and competent; I’ve dealt with days upon days with no water or electricity…what else is there to worry about?

As the summer went on and the date of my departure became omnipresent, my friends and family engulfed me with questions and caused me to begin reflecting more upon my time in Cameroon. I became rather nostalgic and found myself reading old blog posts, looking at photos and even calling up a few Cameroonian friends. If there is one thing I’ve learned from traveling it’s that you must go with no expectations so that you have an open mind.

The challenge is taking your own advice.

My mulling over Cameroon was more toxic and less fruitful than I realized. When in a state of nostalgia – we tend to glorify our experiences by romanticizing the good times whilst (sometimes) omitting the challenges and difficulties we experienced during that period. This week, I realized that I was doing just this.

·      I remembered speaking Pidgin so well it came almost natural and forgot about my struggle of learning it.

·      I remembered the joy of going to the markets and my favorite mamis to buy my produce from and forgot about getting ripped off and feeling constantly harassed nearly every time I went. (I even had my hair pulled once)

·      I remembered being surrounded by my Cameroonian friends feelings so supported and integrated and forgot about the weeks maybe even months I spent with “volunteers”/”expats” and how hard it was to decipher if someone truly wanted to be my friend or if they had ulterior motives.

Life is dynamic and fluid -- nothing is static,

Therefore if we want to succeed, we must go with the flow.

So here starts my journey; I'm ready to go with the flow.

All the Boren people going to Senegal (minus Claire!) + our conversation partners + our instructor!

Ba ci Senegal!

(see you in Senegal)