Aksilem ak Jamm: Welcome to West Africa
Aksilem ak Jamm: Welcome to West Africa.
The adventure continues: I am in the Land of the TERANGA! I am off by myself to Dakar, the bustling capital of Senegal, for a month to work in a micro-credit bank run by all women in La Cité des Nations Unies outside of Dakar.
Teranga, which means hospitality in Wolof (one of the many tribal languages of Senegal) is exactly what you’ll find in this West African coastal country. Everyone here is friendly and salute each other about 100 times a day because everyone says hi to...everyone. Elegant women pace along the sandy roads, clothed in colorful fabric that straps a baby to their back like duck tape, and repeating "Nga def?" or "Ca va?" left and right. Quite a change from my semester in Paris …
Magueye teaches me about how we drink mint tea here: the first cup represents the bitterness of life, the second cup to friendship and the third cup to love.
My African mum Yaye teaches me about how too much money can make people unhappy and complicated. You need a little for "alimentation et logement" but it’s friendship and family that really count.
I love Africa and the people here. They are very proud of their country. You see images of the African continent nearly everywhere you go. Islam has touched here in a way that makes nearly everyone respectful and gentle. Once in a while you'll have a big, tall crazy African come by but you learn how gentle he actually is - such warm gentle hearts.
Mustafa, the little monster of a two-year old in my host family, calls me toubab, which means white skin in Wolof. Even after two weeks of living with him, he still doesn’t remember my name is Lulu. He loves to run into my room and play with all of my cool stuff. He doesn’t speak a word of French, except for "Merci" and "Bijoux!" when I ask him for a kiss (pronounced bi-zou).
There are all these questions I ask myself the first week when things are still really unfamiliar and nothing has been explained to me - it's left for me to figure out. I will pick up later that nicknames here are used much more than the actual name, although Muslims have an elaborate naming ceremony whenever a child is born. I will learn later that my host sister's name is not Mémé but Mamy, and my host mum (the mother hen of the whole brood) is not Mami but Yaye, which means mother in Wolof. When I ask Magueye to clarify everyone's names in my house, he says that he actually doesn't know Yaye's real name and doesn’t have the courage to ask such a daunting and disrespectful question. The whole naming thing here could not be more different than back home.