Senegal Adventures

 

Her eyes slowly crawled up my face in pleading desperation. I turned. Not to be deterred, her little fingers tugged at the heartstrings of my t-shirt in a methodical, persistent manner. I turned.  In a last ditch effort, her hands turned into a cracked vessel, looking to be filled with funds. Once again I turned. She cried out in a foreign tongue, and the words drifted over and around me. She turned away.

 

After spending over two weeks in Senegal as part of Teaching Global Classrooms, a federally funded program revolving around teaching and diplomacy, I learned that I had always been turning away from those that were out of sight and out of mind. My experience teaching in Senegal forced me to interact, educate, and connect with people coming from a vastly different cultural background.

 

After completing an intense application process and working through a demanding graduate class centered around global education, I was sent to Senegal to teach with nine other cohorts. I was beyond excited to check out a new part of the world, especially since I had never left North America before. Equipped with eight years of teaching experience, I took off on a trip to try and bring two worlds together.

 

Entering a concrete classroom, walls barren aside from the dirty chalkboard centered in front, students were eagerly awaiting our arrival. Upon entering, all students stood up and greeted us with a friendly “Good morning” in perfect English. Smiles, giggles, and whispering soon spread throughout the class; all eyes were on me, the American. I smiled back and proceeded to introduce myself. More giggles and whispering. Maybe it was my accent? Or maybe it was because I was the first American most of these students had ever met. As a teacher, I was thoroughly impressed.

 

 

 

Snap, snap, snap. Instead of raising hands in Senegal, students snap at the teacher while yelling “Sir, Sir, Sir.” When the entire class wants your attention, it sounds like a flock of seagulls squawking along food infested shore lines. While in the classrooms, I would teach reading comprehension, sentence structure, business (as best I could), and American culture, which was probably the most popular topic. Students wanted to know everything about my world. What do we eat? Are there jobs? Is there a lot of violence? Do blacks and whites get along? Do I listen to Drake? And probably the most frequently asked question… What do the American people think of Trump?

 

I would try to be as honest and as unbiased as possible, but truly these are difficult questions to explain to young kids from a developing nation. These conversations were always filled with smiles, laughs, and from time to time, I would rap a few Drake lines, just to make sure they knew I for real liked hip-hop. These conversations usually led to discussions about coming to America. So many of these students want the opportunity to visit and live in the United States of America. While teaching a business class at a university, a young lady excitedly exclaimed she was going to study in America and eventually start her own business. Naively beaming back, I began to tell her that this was a very good idea, but I was quickly cut off by her professor. He looked the girl in the eye and told her that this, in fact, was a great goal to have, but she needed to remember that everyone in the WORLD wants to be in America, and it is extremely difficult to obtain a travel VISA, let alone a permanent green card. The girl looked back with tears in her eyes. This sobering moment truly made me appreciate the mere fact that I was born American, born free, born with opportunity. The students I interacted with were bright, inquisitive, passionate, hard-working, and driven. Most of these kids were trilingual, and all they had was a notebook and a chalkboard. Simply amazing. Yet living in a country with a 70% unemployment rate is quite stifling for the future of these bright minds. Simply put, there is not a lot of light at the end of the tunnel. In the same class, we were talking about The Affordable Care Act, how it worked, and whether or not people supported it and so on. In the middle of the discussion, a student raised his hand and posed a question to me: “Do you know what happens to us when we get sick? We die.” Staring back blankly, I just nodded my head, not knowing how to respond.

 

Having an opportunity to visit Goree Island, a slaving port off the coast of Senegal that was active for over four centuries, reminded me that all people, races, and nationalities have different backgrounds that not only shape who they are, but also shape how they perceive this world and the people in it. Staring through “The Door of No Return” was eerie and uncomfortable, knowing that this crude door cut out of rock, which unveiled a beautiful sheet of blue that the Atlantic and the sky seemed to form, was the last moment that many African people had on their continent. Slave boats were waiting outside of this door, ready to ship and sell human beings. Shackled and starved in dreary slave houses for three months, and right before them is this exquisite natural setting sitting softly in the distance, inviting them into a world of servitude and slavery. Sometimes I forget that everyone has a story, and sometimes these stories are not always pleasant.

 

 

 

Stimulation. Throughout my whole trip, I was constantly aware; each turn of the corner presented something new and refreshing to my world. Whether it was eating a steaming plate of yassa on the ground with my new friends, chatting after meals with a warm glass of tea, sifting through crowded markets trying to evoke my true bartering skills, or swimming with locals in the salty ocean, I was constantly seeking out new opportunities. Playing soccer with kids in the street, discussing female gender mutilation with nonprofits, debating on polygamy, observing mosque, fending off street kids looking to grab a few extra CFAs are all fond memories that will help keep this experience alive forever.

 

On one of my last days in Senegal, I taught at an all-girls school in the morning. I was diagramming sentences and acting out the goofy scenarios I had presented with my piece of chalk. I was jumping off desks, falling, basically doing anything to connect with a group of kids who had just met me and were now supposed to learn from me. The lesson was a success. I left that class knowing that I could teach anywhere and to anyone, which was truly an empowering feeling. Later that day, I was zoning out on a street corner by myself. My hood was up, my hat was low, and my shades were on. This fashion style was my attempt to stay incognito because as a white American man, I stood out a bit on the streets and people were drawn to me like magnets. Trying to rid myself of magnetism for a while, I stood looking out, taking in the chaotic beauty of the streets. Light pastel colored buildings constructed in traditional French architecture stood strong. The cracks, holes, and decay of the buildings gave character to a place filled with old charm. Women dressed in bright reds, yellows and oranges hustled through the streets, hair wrapped up in head scarves which were adorned with wild, exotic patterns that your eyes could get lost in. Men moved around casually, laid-back, chewing sothiou, and greeting one another with casual high-five-like handshakes. Little kids swerved in and out of speeding cars and lethargic goats, all the while smiling and playing with whatever their surroundings afforded them. The smell of burnt rice and fresh fish filled the air, and I was content. Happy to be in a place that was vibrant, that was alive. After a few minutes of zoning out, a group of girls approached me, “Sir, sir,” they replied. This took me off guard, for I was accustomed to the kids calling me “toubab” (white guy) on the streets. The girls all looked at me and smiled. “Thank you so much for teaching us today. We loved your lesson. We really, really appreciated everything.” Hold on, what? I was supposed to be incognito, but these girls spotted me out in a huge city. Okay, maybe I did stick out a bit. Smiling back at the girls, I just nodded, knowing that this was a significant moment in my life, a moment that ensured my desire to educate, travel, and connect with all of the people of this world. No longer were the people of Senegal turning away from me. No longer was I an untrustworthy stranger. We were now facing each other eye to eye, staring back at one another, understanding and connecting.

 

-Matt Hoffman