09/09/09

“I always hope that you remember
We'll never really learn the meaning of it all
What we have is strong and tender
So hold on”

“It’s about faith…” - Sade

Believing in something. Your work. Your family. Friends. Love. A greater power.
The promise of tomorrow.

Beliefs shape our world and keep us going, moving forward, looking ahead. Being here I have come to question myself over and over, what it is that I believe, my motives and my motivations, who this person really is who I call “me.” And usually a certain amount of introspection is a good thing, helpful growth. But the solitude and lack of structured work during these last few weeks has affected me negatively, with my perspective leaving me frustrated and angry, feeling that in this context of the holy Muslim month of Ramadan, where so many around me are searching for a closer connection to their spirituality, no one seemed to be respecting my right to believe what I believe, or valuing the individualism so sacred in my home country, itself founded under a creed of religious freedom.

The incessant questions of whether I was fasting and why not were wearing on me, and I felt myself under attack every hour of every day. I realized most Senegalese were just making conversation, pointing out one more difference that makes me stand out, not meaning to demean me or throw stones. But despite acknowledging the harmless nature of their questions, it just seemed too much to me, to add this to the already constant daily barrage of questions about where I’m going, what I’m doing, where my husband is, and when I will ever be able to cook fish and rice.

I thought the fact that I was white would be enough to excuse me from fasting, but even when I told people straight out that I was not Muslim, I was still pressured to fast “out of solidarity.” I decided to go ahead and fast for a few days, as I genuinely wanted to join in with my family and please them, but even then on days I was fasting I was ridiculed more often than not, only receiving nods from a few (my family, namely) for my willingness to want to share in one of their most important yearly rituals. Consequently after only a few days of Ramadan I started to become a much uglier person than I usually am, resentful of everyone who crossed my path. I began to wish that I could just spend every remaining day of the month holed up in my room in silence, lying on my bed in the fetal position, not having to go out and talk to anyone. I didn’t feel like writing emails or calling the States or writing on this blog. The effort to connect seemed too difficult.

The realization that I didn’t have the desire to get up and be a real person made me even angrier, angry at myself for my seeming inability to get over my issues and just keep moving. I lived through Ramadan in Senegal last year, after all. Why should this year be any different?

Maybe it's because I have been year a year and a half now, and the novelty has worn off. A year and a half of being under constant scrutiny has not been easy. Also it could be that I’m feeling more vulnerable and alone in my identity as an American, as my sitemate is COS’ing, (Close Of Service), leaving the country next week. The one other PCV living in my city, over the last year she was my closest American friend in country, my constant companion, my ear, my shoulder, my cards partner and go-to person for every small emergency, and now she’s finished her term, going back to the States, and I am left alone to face the last seven or so months of my service. Well technically, I will only be the only volunteer at my site just for the next six weeks, because in October a new SED (Small Enterprise Development) volunteer will be installing. I have no idea what kind of person this will be, or even if it’s a he or a she yet. I only hope we can get along half as well as I did with my COS’ing sitemate. I have to believe that we will. I have to believe that we will make it work.

“Gëm sa bopp.” That’s what my best Senegalese friend told me last night when I asked for advice about how to get out of my slump, how to face the never-ending questions, how to deal with my worry about an uncertain future, how to move forward. We talked for over two hours, as I recounted all my frustrations about dealing with Ramadan from a Western perspective, my unrelenting difficulties as an outsider, my crying need for simple acceptance as who I am. I let it all out, everything that had been weighing on me for weeks. We talked and talked, sharing truths and reasons; I stuttered along in my best Wolof, and the strain gradually lifted. And by the time we said goodnight at one a.m. I felt like I could breathe freely again. Drained but wiped clean, all that stinky funk aired out, I was ready to pick my moping self up and get on with life.

“Gëm sa bopp” means "believe in yourself."
Have faith in you. That’s where it has to start.