Rural Visit Cultural Reflection

As I sat down for my first lunch with my host family in Theis, I was greeted by three adorable children—and also their tears. Slightly concerned, I asked my sister est-ce qu’ils ont peur de moi? To which she responded oui—they’d never seen a white person before.

Although my visit was beautiful: full of love and mutual cultural exchange, I must admit to feeling a bit otherized and uncomfortable at times. Despite being only 2 hours outside of Dakar, I found myself considering my positionality more than I ever had before. My identity was emphasized through three recurring motifs: my family’s romantic assumptions about American life, their relationship with the English language, and finally, as I mentioned before: complexion.

 I was immediately acquainted with a story I’d never heard before: the romanticized version of American life from the perspective of people who’ve never been there before nor met very many people who had. Although some of the assumptions they held about the United States sounded fantastical to me, I use the word perspective deliberately, because I wouldn’t call it imagination. My family derived their impression of the states based on media—and based on what they have been asked to believe by the creators of said media.

After smacking a fly off of my leg during attaya, my father asked if I’d known what a mosquito was before arriving in Senegal. When I said, oui, bien sûr, il y a beaucoup de mooches aux Êtats-Unis, he was not convinced. In fact, this conversation lasted for probably 30 minutes. A lot of our conversations went like that. Moments of silence were often filled with, oui, les états-unis, bonne vie, non? And, tu es riche, non? I found myself stunted when presented with these comments because I didn’t know the right answer. By American standards, I’m middle class. However, middle class is far more expensive in the states. So, yes, there is a lot of money involved with that status. My brother asked what I did for a living and I told him I was a student and a waitress. He then asked if I make a lot of money doing that. Again, I didn’t really know what to say. Waitressing is a service industry job. However, I do walk out of an 7 hour shift with at least $70. This sounds like a lot of money if you don’t know that a sandwich typically costs $12. I seriously didn’t know how to respond. I tried to explain American wealth, the existence of inequality and of poverty. Then I felt like I was trying to prove something, and that felt odd. Even more odd, though, was that it felt necessary. I think it felt necessary to explain the existence of strife in America because it’s extremely dangerous to have a skewed perspective on these things. Just as it is harmful for Americans to assume Africa at large can be represented by a single image of hungry child, it is dangerous for Africans to assume America at large can be represented by a single image of the New York skyline.

I guess I just think the way we perceive each other matters because it undoubtedly impacts the way we perceive ourselves.

I also noticed a fascination with English that I don’t see as much in Dakar. One time I misheard my mom in Dakar and thought she said she wanted to learn English. She found that laughable and retorted, je n’apprends pas l’anglais, tu apprends wolof! My oldest sister’s friend spent 7 years in the United States working and recently came back. I met her on Tabaski. She expressed relief upon her return, describing American life as cumbersome and unappealing. She spoke perfect English.  To the contrary, when my village family saw my Sereer worksheet, they were more interested in having me help them with their English pronunciation than actually teaching me Sereer, which is what I thought the visit would entail. As I met more people this became a pattern. My sister’s best friend, Mariama, insisted on only speaking English with me. When I asked why she wanted to learn it, she said it was just because it’s her favorite language. Nearly everyone else I met said they wanted to learn English and go somewhere. They spoke of English as a tool—a key to a door they can’t yet see. Although there was a tone of jest, I couldn’t help but consider where these sentiments came from.

I study linguistics and international development, so I’m very interested in linguistic colonialism. It’s disheartening for me to see the power English has over people’s lives in non-English speaking parts of the world. It makes me feel a little bit uneasy because these people know at least 3 languages, but because they aren’t valued by the rest of the world the same way English is, they feel obligated to learn a fourth. At least that’s how I perceived it, as I read my book out loud for my sister before bed each night (she said she just wanted to hear what it sounded like).

Then I considered Mariama’s reasoning. It’s easy for me to hear these sentiments and assume everyone’s interest in English stems from a desire to move to the states. It’s easy for me to express discomfort with that. However, it may not be fair to make that assumption. Although some people have explicitly said they wanted to learn English in order to go somewhere else, it’s possible that some people want to learn it because they like the language, in the same way I want to learn Wolof. But while I was in the village, I found myself jumping to arrogant conclusions in an effort to make sense of it. Moreover, I realize now that these accounts are not representative of Dakar at large nor Theis at large. It’s not appropriate to immediately credit the ambitions behind learning English to one’s income level. It could be many factors, like age, for example. This brings me to my next observation: complexion.

Within the first few hours of my arrival, I noticed my sisters using a lot of skin lightening cream. After hearing so many people say they wanted to move somewhere like the US and receiving a few harmless marriage proposals, it would make sense to assume they were using this lightening cream in an effort to achieve a European beauty standard. However, I’ve taken a classes on beauty politics, and we actually read an article about skin lightening cream use in Senegal. Although there is obviously some truth to this hypothesis, as beauty industries routinely showcase European features and white skin, it is a simple and problematic trope to assume each woman using skin lightening cream is doing so to look more like I do. There are many reasons. If I recall correctly, women use these creams often because they hope it will correct skin damage, even out skin tone, soften skin. Yes, there is an over-arching desire to achieve lighter skin, but this desire often exists separately from a European beauty ideal. In many cases, it is its own. Similar to how a lot of women in the states prefer having a tan, many women here prefer a lighter complexion.

My experience in Theis forced me to consider my positionality in many different ways. Overall, I observed a skewed perception of life in the United States, a desire to learn English, and heavy use of skin lightening cream. In an effort to continually consider my identity, I am proceeding with caution as I process these observations.