We are here; a month in. Another update, a new home, new family, new village, new responsibilities, new awkward moments. So many awkward, heartwarming, character building moments that I have already had and could share but we got plenty of time to comment on those. Instead I will share a moment that happened actually quite recently that kinda perfectly encapsulates this first month.
Prologue:
Every day I try and stop by my health post which where I will be working for the next two years. On my way there, I usually stop and talk with the women who have boutiques and stalls right next to the post. They are very kind and always express their excitement to see me. They are very sweet and joke with me, I tell them that they are my Wolof teachers here and they are entertained by my struggles. I tell them I will see them after I leave the post and sit with them like I usually do.
when I came out of my post, one of the women gave me a hammy down outfit. It was incredibly unexpected and generous, and this act of kindness made me feel welcomed and apart of the community. I was worth being given hammy downs in the hopes that I will become more a part of their group and thus the community. I wore them the next day and they were all excited and were saying “she is Senegalese!” repeatedly. Then after I left the post that day a different woman gave me her clothes. A wrap skirt, top, and a head wrap. I was very thankful again and I was also excited to have my first Senegalese staple of a wrap skirt. I told her I would wear it the next day.
The next morning, I knew the post would be closed so I did some chores. I was prepping to get my new shelves that afternoon. I wore my “toubab” clothes while doing it all, leggings and a white t-shirt. The day went by and I found myself to be really productive. When I had lunch with my aunt and grandma, my aunt said that my clothes that I was wearing were pretty, and then she and my grandma asked if I had Senegalese clothes with a head wrap. I tried to explain that I do have clothes and a matching headwrap I just hadn’t worn them yet. However, they either did not understand my accent or what on earth I was saying (oh language barriers).
Event:
After my beautiful afternoon nap (seriously loving that bit of the culture), I called my community partner, Ibra, to help me go pick up my shelves. It was easier to have him with me because he could talk with the carts that passed by and easily get them to pick up my shelves. He said he was on his way. I put on my new wrap skirt and got my shoes on and went outside to talk to my family while I waited for Ibra to arrive.
You cannot slip by my family unnoticed. When I got my bed for my room, they saw my excitement and basically started dancing at how happy I was to have my bed. If I wear something that I got made in Senegal, they do a little chant expressing how much I am accommodating to the culture. But this time, it was different.
I, for the first time, was stepping out of my house, into the backyard, in the wrap Senegalese skirt. Sound the blow horns! Start the marching band! Bring out the dancing lobsters! She is wearing a wrap skirt! Cheers, clapping, singing, and dancing, that were more exuberant than when I got my bed which I didn’t think possible. Mind you this is all from just two women, my aunt and grandma, and it was a celebration. I awkwardly smiled at the unwanted attention and did a little sway with their singing and clapping to show I appreciated it. I then sat down hoping that would cause an end to the loud commotion that was happening in my compound.
My grandam instantly told me to get up. Abrasively she pulled me up and started to untie my skirt. I was so confused as she was speaking so fast and one minute, she was celebrating my outfit choices and the next she was trying to take it off me. I tried to keep the skirt intact as she was pulling it away from me. I was so confused. And then my aunt chimed in and said something that made my grandma stop in her tracks.
I was almost half naked in my backyard (which the women of my household walk around shirtless in, but I was not quite ready to get that comfortable), and my grandma and my aunt were talking. I have no idea what they were saying because I was preoccupied with the thought of Ibra walking into my compound and myself being half naked.
What felt like forever of me just frozen in place while my grandma and I held my skirt, her halfway taking it off, me halfway keeping it on, she turned to me and pointed at my crotch area asking something. More confusion ensued. Then she asked something about pants. Then I realized she was asking if I was wearing the leggings that I had on earlier under my skirt, I said no, and she made a face of understanding my resistance to the entire situation.
My grandma was trying to show me how to properly tie this skirt because I apparently did it wrong. She thought I was wearing my leggings and that is why she didn’t understand my resistance to the situation. She still continued the redoing of the skirt but now more cautiously than her harsh movements before. She said it looked good, and then I sat down again thankful the spectacle was over.
Once again as I sat down, I was told to get back up and get the matching head wrap. I obeyed in fear of resisting. I came back and my grandma proceeded to tie it for me. This moment, as opposed to the earlier one, felt very sweet and caring. I felt like a granddaughter to this woman as she corrected my hair and the tie multiple times.
I asked if it all looked good, and they responded with glee, and then I jokingly asked if I could sit and they agreed to the idea. Then Ibra came. I got up to greet him he commented on the outfit and how my grandma did a good job and we were off to get my shelves, and out of the safety of my compound walls.
So being a Peace Corps Volunteer you have to accept that you will never be of the country. I will never be Senegalese, I will always be a foreigner and a “toubab”. It is a harsh reality, but I am just different, and nothing can change that, no matter how long I am here. Every day I kinda mentally prep for the many people to shout “toubab” or ask to greet me or ask if I have husband. So today I prepped to get my shelves in my wrap skirt and head wrap and head home.
However, I did not prep for the detours, Ibra wanted to go to the post to do something. The detours through the most populated area of the market, past all the women who ask me to marry their sons, past all the men who were laughing at the “toubab” in the head wrap, and the women expressing their glee to see the “toubab” in the complete outfit. I saw the woman who gave me the outfit and she said I looked beautiful, I thought I fulfilled my obligation of showing her I was in the outfit and tried to continue walking making Ibra move as well. We stopped by the health post, and I said hello as Ibra went in to do something. Witnessed more stares as I fiddled with my hands and reminded myself that my shelves are at the end of this. It is only a bit, I signed up for this.
We hurried our way making sure every person in Town saw me in my outfit. But we finally made it to the station where carpenter was. It is out of the market and I felt relieved to be away from the gawks and stares and I would receive my prize for enduring it shortly.
We turned into the station and the carpenter was not there. I did not see my shelves anywhere. Ibra tried to open the office door and it would not budge. Ibra said he must still be in the city.
I was defeated, I felt like my skirt just brought me unluckiness. My shoulders, that were hunched up from the stress of everyone staring at me and the excitement of getting my shelves, dropped. This skirt caused me to be so uncomfortable, in my house and in my town, and I didn’t even get what I wanted out of it. I think Ibra saw my disappointment, so I took a breath and through frustration, I put on a my smile that I showed to everyone in the market and said it was not a big deal, and started to walk in the direction of my house. Ibra expressed that the carpenter said he would be there, so he did not understand why he wasn’t. I said that because we have our bigger market tomorrow, he will be there so we can get them then, it was not a big deal. I think Ibra understood that I was just trying to go home, and we joked about how he will make sure the carpenter has the shelves, he will come at every hour to see when he gets there.
I came back shelfless and sat with my family and they saw my defeated face. I just zoned everything out to give myself space. Breathed again and said to myself that my day was over. I told myself positives; I did everything I wanted and people in Town know me a little better.
Epilogue:
I went inside to drop my bag down, and then I grabbed my book to read outside with my family. This was my end of the day ritual. I tried to get comfy on our mats, found a spot and opened my book. Then I realized that a wrap skirt is perfect for holding a book, so not a total loss wearing the skirt.
Comments