It’s been three and half months living here in The Gambia. It has not been easy. Maybe that’s why it’s been so difficult to write anything. No one likes to admit especially in public when things are not going well. There have been tears, anxiety, and a sense of depression at times. There was talk of going home.
I knew that it wasn’t going to be easy. The first few weeks of living in Ethiopia and Kenya were also a struggle, but the beginning here was definitely the worst.
I live in a small town, a very small town. I am the only foreigner that lives here, the only white person, which I get reminded of on a daily basis - “Toubab, toubab!” (White person). I know the kids don’t mean any harm by it and they shout it because I stand out, but it's hard to hear
day after day.
Having grown up and being taught that there is no difference in skin color, to treat everyone equally coupled with American history: civil rights, the slave trade… I try my best, but some days I do get rattled by it.
A friend in the Peace Corps here recommended a phrase for me to say which loosely translates to “I’m not a toubab. My name is Binta.” (Binta is the name I go by here). Then, the children proceed to yell “Binta!” at me and half the time don’t stop even after I’ve said hi, shaken hands, waved, etc. I’m still working on how not to let this get to me.
There was a poster going around on facebook that had the phrase “Move to a city where you don’t know anyone.” Check. Not quite as exciting as one may think. My coworkers are all great, very welcoming, but I still don't really know anyone well. I’d try to hang out but conversations were not in English. I’d sit there but after ten minutes of not understanding I felt better being alone in my office. To be honest, this still happens a lot and I’m not sure why but it doesn’t get to me as much now. I think because I’ve gotten to know these people better, more English is frequented. I sadly, have not learned much of the local language. Part of the volunteer program includes language lessons. It took a while to find a language teacher but we only ended up meeting a few times. There were many delayed and eventually canceled lessons, which finally resulted in the need to find a different teacher… that search has been going on for over a month and still continues.
Back to the small town… there is no escape. I can walk the main road through town in 25 minutes. That’s it. No fancy restaurants, in fact one may even struggle to call what I consider a restaurant here a restaurant. No nice air-conditioned places to go and relax in (No air-conditioning here really at all, minus the banks and on occasion our office which only works when the town has power which is maybe for an hour or two every other day). No Movie Theater, bowling alley, or recreational hang out spot. I got into a bad habit of coming home after work each evening to make dinner and watch a movie. I already sat starring at my computer screen all day (another struggle) and would end up hating myself for doing it.
My excitement to cheer myself up would be to go buy fabric. There is tons of beautiful and not so beautiful fabric here. Many women wear traditional African-wear while many men wear jeans and tee shirts, except on Friday when everyone dresses up in traditional African wear for Friday prayers. There are tailors everywhere who will turn these fabulous purchases into shiny new clothes that you get to design. This outlet did not prove as great as I’d hope and not for the reason you’re thinking…. an emptying wallet. Yes, I’m “white.” No, I’m not a tourist though. I actually live here and know the correct price, but the shopkeepers don’t know that and most of them quite frankly do not care. That’s what I hate the most… knowing a correct price, even a decent price range, and trying to level with the owner and he just looks at me like I’m the crazy one trying to rip him off, that I’m an awful person for suggesting such alow price.
Ah!
Needless to say it’s been a struggle. Many would say a learning experience. That phrase though, “learning experience,” kind of drives me crazy. As if only this incredible “learning experience” can be obtained out of struggle and discomfort in some foreign place where sometimes you’re more happy or sad, but you made it and survived and your life is now forever changed. This isn’t some experience. It’s my life. It’s how I choose to live. And it isn’t easy or something I honestly have woken up every day looking forward to. I’m not one to stay miserable though and definitely not someone to stay in a bad situation or a sad life when I know I can leave when I want to. Yes, I could quit this job and move home or look for another one. No, it wouldn’t be “quitting” as I’ve “done so much and had a learning experience.”
This is the life I choose to lead. The life I’ve always dreamed of living. All I’ve ever dreamed of doing when I grew up was to see the world and help people. It may not make sense why this is a life I’d want to live- always being foreigner, dealing with language barriers, new cultures, bucket baths, and sometimes a lack of A/C, TV, electricity, and running water- so let me try and explain... It doesn’t make sense to me to live in one place and wake up to the same 9-5 computer-desk job everyday. We were put on this amazing beautiful planet full of wonders, breathtaking sights and incredibly diverse people. Why wouldn’t you want to spend every minute of your time on earth exploring that?
So, I’m here, living “my dream”. It’s not exactly like I thought it would be, but I’m making do. I’m going to give it my best shot. And so maybe this place isn’t in the top ten wonders of the world, but it sure as heck is different and wondrous in it’s own way.
A Dream Deferred
By Langston Hughes
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore-- And then run? Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over-- like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
One things for sure… I never have to ask myself what happens to a dream deferred!
