My first day - Katie

What’s more than the mental culture shock that can hit you when you are suddenly plunged headfirst into another culture is the physical shock of the air when you step off of the plane. I decided this today when I moved off of the South African Air Boeing I had been on for the previous 8 hours, a carefully tempered environment that was as cool and dry as the Colorado mountains I lived in for the three preceding months, and found myself suffocating within seconds in the one-hundred degree heat and one-hundred percent humidity that engulfed me.

MORE...

Although I could easily step into the airport and be once again cooled off, the moment only lasted briefly until the intense, moist heat engulfed me; air so thick you think you can grab it. Even as the taxi pulled away from the landing strip and I was confronted with a barrage of images only Africa is capable of revealing, it was the heat that pounded into my head that I was really here.
My living quarters were introduced to me by a kind 19-year old Senegalese man named Codé, who kindly carried my 94 lbs of luggage to my future family’s home. Honestly I didn’t quite understand him when he told the taxi driver to pull over and for me to get out. As we had been driving through the poverty stricken neighborhood I was silently comparing the area to the hills of Tijuana, although the land is quite flat, as the scrawny dogs jogged pass, vendors sold hundred of odds of ends they had scrounged up from quickly assembled stalls, and the happiness of the people although they have nothing by Western standards. However, I wasn’t expecting that I was to be living right there with them, in that exact area. I thought that perhaps the driver had pulled over because of the flock of chickens crossing the street. But alas no, it was to drop me off. Codé led me down a trodden dirt back alley where two girls were crouched in a doorway brushing their teeth with their fingers, and to the right where he pushed open a swinging wooden door and proceeded up the stairs to the apartment of Djibbi, Ouillie (like Willy), and their two children Avi and Aziz, a girl of 7 and a boy of 5.
My family is incredibly kind and made me feel at home at once, feeding me more than the Ranch did and always saying how their home is my home. After I woke up from sleeping a few hours in my new room (actually with more space than I had in my room in Santa Barbara), I was able to get to talk to Ouillie and give everyone their presents. Willie showed me the apartment which consists of a tiny kitchen, 2 bedrooms, a living room, and…the bathroom. Okay, I’m not that picky of a person when is comes down to the necessities, but the bathroom will take some getting used to. Consisting of a squat toilet, a shower, and a single faucet, the room in totality is about 5 x 5 sq. feet and is tied together by a lone drain in the corner. I understood through my mangled French that the bucket is for “bucket bathing” because there is usually no running water in the morning. There is also no such thing as hot water, but that I consider a blessing because the last thing they need in this country is more heat. I thought of my cleanly roommate Kim back home and how she loved to keep the bathroom clean…and how I was glad she wasn’t here.
Ouillie then took the kids and myself to see her family, a maze of a house packed with all 100 of her sisters and sisters-in-law, brothers and brothers-in-law, and tons of her nieces and nephews. Okay, maybe not 100 but at least 30, all of whom names I am embarrassed to say I could barely pronounce little yet remember. However, they were exceedingly nice talked about things as if I had been here forever.
The walk there and back is what really fascinated me though. Although it was only about a five minute walk, it was perhaps the most powerful 5 minutes of my life. Ouillie strolled languorously through the back-ways, all simple dusty paths, through throngs of vibrantly dressed ladies, men sitting under any shade they could find, and herds of 10-year-olds watching packs of toddling 3-year-olds. When we finally came out of the maze of alleys and onto the larger paved road (the streets have no names here because they must be named after someone deemed “worthy” by the government, and that takes years to agree upon), I was confronted by a herd of goats to my right and screaming construction equipment to my right. Talk about a conflict in interest.
Although there is so much more I want to write about, I am very tired and very hot, and since there is only one plug in my room I have a choice of computer or fan…and fan as definitely won. To sum up the rest of my day, I went to the Eco CRESP center at 3 for an orientation of the culture, program, and people. I am in a class with 9 Americans and 9 Senegalese students, nearly all of us with different majors but with the same goal: to make Senegal into a brighter, more sustainable place. I am excited for what lays ahead here, education and personal experience-wise, but also for sleep.