Gorée Island// Limes// European Intervention
My favorite part of Senegalese cuisine is that they garnish each meal with lime. They really brighten a dish in many senses (taste, sight, etc.)! Limes originated in Southern Asia and were later brought to North and West Africa across Mediterranean trade routes in 1000 CE. Columbus later imported lime to the west indies, and they continued to be used by sailors to combat scurvy.
As humans, basic needs are the most universal human and tangible thread we share. As the ferry approaches the shore, I wonder what went wrong and why. Where did needs extend to wants. Is it even true that wants--land, wealth, power--like needs, are human? We all have wants. I wonder, then, how can wants be simultaneously so human yet so violent that they slaughtered humanity where it stood?
Cognitive Dissonance: Mental discomfort experienced by a person who simultaneously holds two or more contradictory beliefs, ideas, or values.
I came to Senegal for many reasons. To learn a language that is not offered at my school (Wolof), to practice my French, to be part of a small, intimate program that relates directly to my studies, to stay with a host family, to bask in the breezy beauty that is the West African coast. Among these, I must add: I came to Senegal intent on considering my whiteness. I believe that this consideration is essential. Here's why:
There were beaches flooded with happy families, cabanas, vendors, restaurants. The houses were dynamically red, yellow, green. The island has evolved into a near paradise, complete with commercialized flair.
Not far from the dock is the slave house, where we looked out through the door of no return. Despite the swimmers and boaters within eyesight, the moment was powerful. There fell a weight upon me that I knew I had to carry. Some students became visibly emotional. I was amazed by the fact that the historical, dismal energy persisted within those walls despite the paradoxical life that exists beyond them. I was moved by it, and almost grateful for it.
I felt pain, horror, fear. I felt empathy--and that's human. I think after generations of dehumanizing black people the only way to react is by taking steps to start humanizing their lives and experiences: both of today and of yesterday. Sometimes this process hurts. This is cognitive dissonance. When it's a little uncomfortable I think I'm probably doing it right. I feel it as hard as I think about it.
Thinking hard, I was disturbed after the tour, when our guide asked us to squeeze tight and smile for a photo. In a slave house. I think being able to smile in a slave house means you're letting yourself feel the magnitude of the place and its stories. I wanted to feel the magnitude of the place and its stories.
Do not numb it.
A few weeks ago we had a racial sensitivity conversation with the program. One of the young Senegalese students talked about how when he heard a black actress say she wanted to see more diversity in films at the Emmy's he thought, that's racist. If a white person said it, we would think it's racist. So, when a black person says it, it's not okay either.
Upon second thought, though, he realized there was more to it. There already are a lot of white people in movies, he said. It's different. It is an issue of representation and power. An imbalance of capital: both social and financial. Then he said, I don't know what it means to be black in America.
Neither do I, so I listen.
I listen and I read, because I'm not really sure what else to do. I know not to talk the most, and I know not to assume. I know not to take offense or be defensive. This is all I can know, because even here, where I am technically the minority: fair-skinned, flaxen-haired, blue-eyed and all that, I am able to stand tall, not forced to lay low. I hold an American passport. I am not disempowered. I will never know what it feels like to be disempowered based on my race or nationality. I think it's important to keep this in mind: my situationality when traveling, especially when entering spaces that are held sacred by communities I don't belong to.
Later on we went to an artist's tent for a demonstration. He created tablets with sand and glue. When the sand dries, he noted, it's so strong you could file your nail on it. As I grazed the paintings I cut my finger. We concluded the day with lunch on the water. I ordered fish. As I squeezed the lime to brighten the flavor, sour juice seeped into the cut on my right hand. Without defense, I let it sting. And I think:
Do not numb it.
Do not numb it.
Do not numb it.
Two days ago, a Senegalese slave trade history specialist, Mr. Abou Deme, came in for a pre-departure discussion on the historical significance of Gorée Island, the last stop before African slaves were uprooted from their lives and sold across the Atlantic. He described early communications between Europe and West Africa. Beyond curiosity, the initial interactions were based in something like practicality. Upon the Ottoman Empire's capture of Constantinople in 1453, European traders could no longer use the old Mediterranean path to Indian markets. There existed a need for a new trade route: along the West African coast and around the Cape of Good Hope. Along the way, Portuguese traders would stop in places like Gorée Island in search of basic needs. Water, food, and especially, Mr. Abou Deme noted: limes.
Cognitive Dissonance: Mental discomfort experienced by a person who simultaneously holds two or more contradictory beliefs, ideas, or values.
I came to Senegal for many reasons. To learn a language that is not offered at my school (Wolof), to practice my French, to be part of a small, intimate program that relates directly to my studies, to stay with a host family, to bask in the breezy beauty that is the West African coast. Among these, I must add: I came to Senegal intent on considering my whiteness. I believe that this consideration is essential. Here's why:
- If I do not want to consider my whiteness, I can go my entire life avoiding doing so. This is not true for any other race.
- Although I did not personally own slaves, I understand that there is generational privilege that has been passed down to me, just as there has been generational trauma passed down in the black community.
- In other words, each day, whether explicitly or implicitly, I benefit from the sins of my ancestors. Accepting this reaps mental discomfort. It is crucial to come to terms with this discomfort: acknowledge it, analyze it, learn from it. This is not the same as numbing it.
- Do not numb it.
By 1471 West African rulers had established diplomatic trade relations with Europe, mostly Portugal. Over the next 150 years, however, new European motivations developed: the West African coast seized to be viewed only as a trade route and in itself became a hub for gold and slave labor. As more European forces took interest, blood was shed on African soil. Notably, the Dutch conquered Portuguese trading stations in Gorée Island in 1621.
Mr. Abou Deme warned the black students in the program that they may be disappointed by Gorée Island upon arrival. He told us that many people living on the island are making a living off of its troubled past, that this economic atmosphere might seem to belittle the experience.
There were beaches flooded with happy families, cabanas, vendors, restaurants. The houses were dynamically red, yellow, green. The island has evolved into a near paradise, complete with commercialized flair.
Not far from the dock is the slave house, where we looked out through the door of no return. Despite the swimmers and boaters within eyesight, the moment was powerful. There fell a weight upon me that I knew I had to carry. Some students became visibly emotional. I was amazed by the fact that the historical, dismal energy persisted within those walls despite the paradoxical life that exists beyond them. I was moved by it, and almost grateful for it.
I felt pain, horror, fear. I felt empathy--and that's human. I think after generations of dehumanizing black people the only way to react is by taking steps to start humanizing their lives and experiences: both of today and of yesterday. Sometimes this process hurts. This is cognitive dissonance. When it's a little uncomfortable I think I'm probably doing it right. I feel it as hard as I think about it.
Thinking hard, I was disturbed after the tour, when our guide asked us to squeeze tight and smile for a photo. In a slave house. I think being able to smile in a slave house means you're letting yourself feel the magnitude of the place and its stories. I wanted to feel the magnitude of the place and its stories.
Do not numb it.
A few weeks ago we had a racial sensitivity conversation with the program. One of the young Senegalese students talked about how when he heard a black actress say she wanted to see more diversity in films at the Emmy's he thought, that's racist. If a white person said it, we would think it's racist. So, when a black person says it, it's not okay either.
Upon second thought, though, he realized there was more to it. There already are a lot of white people in movies, he said. It's different. It is an issue of representation and power. An imbalance of capital: both social and financial. Then he said, I don't know what it means to be black in America.
Neither do I, so I listen.
I listen and I read, because I'm not really sure what else to do. I know not to talk the most, and I know not to assume. I know not to take offense or be defensive. This is all I can know, because even here, where I am technically the minority: fair-skinned, flaxen-haired, blue-eyed and all that, I am able to stand tall, not forced to lay low. I hold an American passport. I am not disempowered. I will never know what it feels like to be disempowered based on my race or nationality. I think it's important to keep this in mind: my situationality when traveling, especially when entering spaces that are held sacred by communities I don't belong to.
Later on we went to an artist's tent for a demonstration. He created tablets with sand and glue. When the sand dries, he noted, it's so strong you could file your nail on it. As I grazed the paintings I cut my finger. We concluded the day with lunch on the water. I ordered fish. As I squeezed the lime to brighten the flavor, sour juice seeped into the cut on my right hand. Without defense, I let it sting. And I think:
Do not numb it.
Do not numb it.
Do not numb it.
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