The following is my second letter for the JYAN program in association with the Berkeley Center for Religion, Peace, and World Affairs. I hope you enjoy my work!
To read more from JYAN, click here: http://berkleycenter.georgetown.edu/projects/junior-year-abroad-network
After waiting almost an hour, having been twice boiled and endlessly poured through cups, the bitter foamy liquid touches my lips. Drinking attaya—the traditional Senegalese tea—is both a rewarding and frustrating activity, iconic of much of my experience here. It consumes an entire afternoon to complete the three shot-glass sized cup ritual, with each cup rewarding the wait as progressively sweeter. Though the result is delicious, attaya is much more about the process—making the foam by passing the liquid between cups, passing the time in discussions while waiting for the tea to boil and re-boil.
Efficiency is simply not a value here. For example, dishes are washed by using two large buckets on the ground—one for washing and the other for rinsing. Then, the dishes are placed on a table to dry. The Senegalese women boast that they can squat for hours washing the dishes; I am left wondering why not wash on the table, save yourself from future back problems, and dry them on the ground. Brooms here do not have handles, leading to a sweeping process involving crouching in a halfback stance. Meals take at least four hours to prepare.
Time is not a commodity, nor is it really a concept. It is rare for anyone to be less than twenty minutes late. If one asks for a meal to be prepared by one in the afternoon, one pm is when the gas burners are lit to reheat it.
On my spring break, I went to the coast for a week of vacation. During my time away, I imagined my American-style return home to Dakar—filled with hugs and laughs and requests to see pictures. Instead, I walked into my house, was warmly greeted, and then invited to unpack my belongings. It was like I had been at school for a few hours, not gone for ten days. People come and go here very frequently. Relatives live in Europe, are unseen for years, and then return for month-long visits. Houses are always open, leading to neighbors becoming pseudo-family members since they are constantly around. During my first few weeks here, I could not distinguish if my “uncle” was related to me or even lived in my house because he was always coming and going without any consistent schedule. Though family defines all facets of Senegalese life, the Senegalese family is hard to define; it includes neighbors, friends, extended family, and people abroad.
In my last letter, I wrote about the strong political influence held by religious leaders known as marabouts—who are also included as revered family members. There is no challenge to religion’s legitimacy in the political arena, even when the entire population admits that children are sent out as part of schooling to beg for their teachers’ personal financial benefit. Senegal has never had a coup d’état, a precedent set by Senegal’s first President after independence—Leopold Senghor, the only African leader up to this point to voluntarily step down. Though democratic stability is to be appreciated, the political climate remains rather stagnant, lacking in any real discourse or debate.
If there is one summarizing phrase of my conversations on life in Dakar, it is “C’est comme ca” – “That’s the way it is.”
Some scholars posit that the submissive nature defined by Islam cannot coincide with a functioning democracy. Others argue that years of colonial imperialism and repression have yielded a society devoid of open opposition. Some even consider the maintenance of tradition as a tool to keep women at home. Finally, there are those who consider “Africanism” a hindrance to modernity because of the communal nature of society, the aversion to consumerism, and the round instead of linear conception of time.
Certain facets of Senegalese life are simply inexplicable in the Occidental value set. I cannot judge the unemployed who take three hours to brew their tea because, frankly, what else should they be doing. I cannot judge the women for taking pride in their dishwashing stamina because they rarely leave the house and so have few other accomplishments in which to take pride. In my Africa, even the female students I know take more pride in their cooking than their studies—their entrepreneurial spirit is relegated to the home. I cannot compare my life in Senegal to my life at Georgetown simply because they have no comparisons.
Still, even without judgment, the ignorance of efficiency leads to some difficult conclusions surrounding development. Possessions, like food, are to be shared and not squandered—or saved. Giving the women a table to wash the dishes would not change their squatting ritual, because stopping the squatting has no real benefit in their minds. I doubt that any Western economist can successfully predict the decisions of African leaders because of their differences in priorities. Africa will not change unless its people want it. Until then, we will continue drinking attaya while discussing the power blackouts—simply because c’est comme ca.
