The
travel bug. Something that seems more like a disease in the sense that you are
born with it and it never really goes away versus something temporary that you
catch. I have been infected with this disease, if you will, sine I can
remember. Moving every few years, visiting family that were spread across the
United States and continuing traveling though my studies and now through my
work has allowed me to visit and live in some of the most interesting, at the
very least, places in the world. At this stage of the game I want to believe
that when I find myself back in the states in four months or so that I will be
content with where I am geographically and not have the innermost feeling of
needing to get away. With that being said there are things that only seeing the
world can add to someone’s life and finding those cultural difference remind me
why I am always trying to immerse myself in a new culture.
While
I technically live abroad, my day-to-day life is such a routine at this point that
Senegal has almost lost its shiny new toy effect. I forget that the things that
seem so normal to me were once seen as new and exciting. It becomes more
apparent once I leave the comfort of my village and venture to the more
touristy sites of Senegal where I get to watch all these firsts in the eyes of
other people that treat Senegal as a tourist destination; it is the Mexico of
France.
The
first night at Blue Africa, a hotel on the beach in Mbour where Rachel and I
found ourselves for Christmas, we met an Italian man who was touring West
Africa on his motorbike. Granted he had seen much more of West Africa than I
have he was new to Senegal and seemed to be checking his first impressions for
accurateness with Rachel and myself. It was not only funny to hear his
impressions but it was also exciting to see some of his mannerisms that he had
brought from Italy. A prime example of this, which we ended up Googling later
to figure out the details of what we witnessed, was the act of him grabbing
himself, you know, down there, and saying “I touch it” after I asked him if he
had been in an accident yet. Rachel and I both just laughed it off and
continued on with conversation because we both knew it was a cultural ism that
we were clearly unaware of and didn’t feel the need to go into detail incase we
were getting into something that we would eventually regret. Apparently the act
of a man grabbing his crotch or a woman grabbing her left boob in Italy was the
equivalent to our knock on wood; t is interesting how the simple act of
knocking on wood differs so greatly amongst cultures. I also noticed how
seemingly passionate he was with everything. The food was great as he took in
every bite, the view breathtaking and the homeless dog that was never too far
away was even greeted with a “ciao bella” or hello beautiful in English; usually
the homeless animals get an “acha” or “shoo,” as we would say in America, since
they are at the bottom of the bottom of the totem poll in Senegal.
In
a not so smooth segue; dogs, cats and pigs are treated as though they don’t
exist in Senegal. Cows, goats and sheep are slightly higher up considering that
they at least provide food once someone determines that their life should come
to an end, with the human life, as similarly in most cultures, usually being
the reigning class. Not too long ago a few volunteers and myself were riding in
a car coming back from Kolda when we came across a troop of monkeys. While we
were all taken back by how magnificent they looked in their natural environment
and the natural way they acted towards each other we could not help but notice
the behavior of our driver. He repeatedly brought his fingertips up to his
forehead and out in the space between him and the windshield with an open palm
almost like he was telling them to stop. We had our assumptions of what exactly
he was doing but once asked he told us that he was showing them respect because
we were once exactly like them and even today we are not much different. This sign
of respect was interesting since it was coming from a cultural that normally
does not show much, if any, respect for animals.
How do you make Christmas on the beach better? Add some wine and cheese! |
While
rituals, little behaviors and the simple beauty that a country can offer us are
all searchable on your favorite search engines it will never be the same as
seeing it first hand. We tend to
speed through life and forget to take in all the little things that we take
advantage of once we get used to something. Whether you are one of 14 squeezed
in a car, waking up to the mosque speakers announcing prayer at 5:30am or
tasting that once exciting dish for the fifth time that week for dinner, life
is exciting, life is a gift and it is the little things that reminds me why I
like to travel. If you are ever missing home or family just blink a couple of
times because it will be over before you know it.