Thoughts on integration

I recently read a book about Molly Melching, who is an American woman who came to Senegal in 1974 on a student exchange program. She ended up never leaving, and eventually founded an NGO that would go on to educate virtually all of Senegal about female genital cutting, which helped end the tradition in most Senegalese villages. One of the biggest keys to her success was how deeply she integrated herself into Senegalese culture. Like the Peace Corps, her NGO (which other than herself, is entirely Senegalese run) greatly values understanding the culture of a community, and what it’s people value most. It was an incredible, inspiring story, but I often think of one small part of it. Molly described her experience assimilating into Senegalese culture as “coming home.” The hospitable, kind, sharing, joking culture of Senegal made Molly feel like she fit right in.

For me (and most other foreigners visiting Senegal), this hasn’t been the case. I think that bothered me early on. I was putting pressure on myself to get so wrapped up in the Senegalese culture that I would feel like it’s my own. After all, if it worked so well for Molly, then that must be what I need to do to have a successful, meaningful service.

But I’m learning now to embrace my “otherness.”  Molly is a rare, lucky breed. I do not fit in this culture, and that is entirely OK because I recognize that while it isn’t mine, it’s still valuable and beautiful. I’ve sort of developed a mantra for whenever I get frustrated at site because somebody’s cut me in line, yelled at me because I forgot to greet them, or begged me to stay for a third cup of tea when all I wanted to do was go home. “I’m just a visitor.” I will never be Senegalese, but I’m looking at it like I have an extraordinary opportunity to get an in depth, real life tour through another culture. I have a responsibility to do my best to try to understand, and to participate to the best of my ability. But that doesn’t mean I have to convince myself that I’m one of them.

Once I started taking that weight off of my own shoulders, I’ve started to notice that I have a deeper appreciation for Fanaye and the people in it. The especially beautiful things about Fanaye (and most of Senegal) are below the surface.  It’s harder to notice until you’ve been here for a while, and I suspect I still have a lot to learn. But one thing I’ve seen so far is how tight knit this community is. Every day I find a reason to say “yimbe fof Fanaye ko koreji” (everybody in Fanaye is family). I mean this both literally (with such huge families, most people are literally related in some way), and figuratively. When something happens in Fanaye, it affects everyone.  Someone in your family got married? Expect everyone you talk to for the next 2 months to ask about the bride and how she’s doing. If someone passes away, all of the men in your family, neighbors, and friends all help with the blessing and burial process. Last week a major religious leader passed away and you couldn’t have a conversation without someone mentioning it. Not to mention how deep their relationships are with their immediate family. I’ve never seen somebody so happy to see their sister after only 5 days apart. And I think I mentioned this in my last post, but even when there’s nothing to talk about, everyone here always prefers being together to being alone. It’s something that’s culturally hard for me, but I think it’s absolutely beautiful – that image of 10 people lying on a matt together, saying nothing. Somebody’s making tea and passing it out, and they all seem completely in peace.