Evolution of A Failed-Peace Corps Volunteer's Thought Process

     i'm not exactly sure what i expected to find in africa in terms of development work, but i imagined something along the lines of orphans dying from AIDS in a hospital somewhere or starving children roaming aimlessly about the streets--or at least i expected to find a more urgent need than cashew adoption, live fencing, and the techniques of agroforestry.  perhaps accepting an agroforestry program assignment was my initial mistake, but then again, i was assured by peace corps administration that the glory of the peace corps is the degree of personal discretion, passion, and interests involved in a volunteer's individual assessment of a community.  i am uncertain how the absurdity of the peace corps managed to slip through my fingers before enrolling or why i failed to act upon doubts during the sub-par training in thies, but at the time i felt that my will was strong and my desire was great enough to accomplish something here.  the realization i have come to about grassroots development is:  how can any organization believe that throwing ONE individual from an entirely different culture and language into a remote location is a viable method for promoting development?  the senegalese would probably accomplish more if they took one of their own citizens, cut of his arms and legs and tongue, and plopped him in a village.  i realize, only now, that this experience and organization was never about need or development.  NEED is such a relative term and development has still yet to be defined by the peace corps or senegalese government.  that word, NEED, continues to plague me--i can still hear it resonating over the phone in my mother's voice, "but what should i send, honey?  what do they NEED?"  Of course senegalese NEED a lot when compared to the extravagant lifestyles and over-consumption of americans, but when the majority of a county (with the exception of Dakar...maybe) and a continent, for that matter, is living at poverty level (a hierarchical notion in itself constructed by the wealth and power of the western world), how can we even begin to apply our frameworks of development to something that exists in an entirely alternate realm.  people's priorities and cultural values here are CLEARLY not aligned with our western/american values, and I am not about to embark on the paternalistic task of telling host-country nationals how they should think.  for example: in my dirt-poor village, children ran around barefoot in unspeakably dirty clothing, fungus growing on their scalps, and the whites of their eyes discolored from bacteria or malnutrition or god knows what.  elders were also always missing several teeth, BUT at the same time people were quick to spend their few coins on a pack of cigarettes or some candy at the local boutique instead of buying soap or a toothbrush or saving up for a local doctor.  my village seemed to be more interested in planting additional cashews so that they could have more money for fancy clothing to wear to the mosque or a bigger and better baptism next year with huge speakers, generator, and a DJ from karang (a ludicrous event in the village indeed).  i was faced with absolutely no parameters for development, undefined objectives and goals, and cultural values/ideals inconsistent with my own.  the countryside of senegal has hundreds of THOUSANDS of villages like mine and impact of planting a few trees or teaching children in ONE VILLAGE to wash their hands with soap that they don't have is insignificant in the realm of development.  Was i to ensure that my villagers had two fish on top of their bowl of millet each night instead of one simply because they were lucky enough to have a "toubab" come and live with them?  And is that form of development sustainable since, once i leave, they could easily return to their habits of purchasing cigarettes, not food? 

     my neighboring village (samba guye) which is considerably more well off than mine (with three boutiques, a french school, and rice and chicken to eat instead of millet and fish water sauce) seemed to think my village was terribly poor because of our lack of material goods, meanwhile their kids were running around with the same problems, they're also living in thatched huts, and their wealth had come from mere chance that president Abdoulaye Wade happened to invest in cashew fields bordering their village.  in my other neighboring village (sirmang), home of one of senegal's big marabous (islamic religious leader), half the village lives in huts and the other half (the marabou's family) lives in cement compounds with mercedes and satellite dishes.  The contrast in wealth is overtly disgusting, yet somehow people don't mind...villagers still worship these bishop-esque marabous as celebrities by litering their huts and motos with stickers or photos of them.  Although the five pillars of islam and the koran explicitly condemn worshiping false idols, marabous (which are unique to senegal) have converted the religion of the masses into a business.  "Living at poverty level" sounds as if there's an element of tragedy here-- but even the marabou's dilapidating cement compound littered with trash around it would be considered poverty level by our standards.  The true tragedy lies in the notion that we think tragedy is rampant here.  Africa, or at least the notion of Africa, has been contorted in way similar to the way in which Asia was subjected to orientalism, only instead of seeming exotic and enticing, the "dark continent" has assumed a shroud of misfortune.  I know this may seem hard to grasp, but despite how backwards and bootleg senegal may seem from a westerner's perspective, despite how misaligned people's priorities may be, things strangely function.  Moreover, Africa is not unique, the majority of the world is living at "poverty level" (something like 80%)--certainly not living like people in the US.  In reading all of your emails, which I have appreciated greatly, I can't help but imagine what some of you think is occurring over here--as if the entire nation of senegal is the physical manifestation of our dinnertime fairy tales of starving children in Africa (I expect you all to lick your plates clean tonight).  Maybe we assign this element of tragedy and desperation to the whole of Africa because of a residual subconscious guilt complex linked to our nation's not-so-glamorous rise to power (i.e. the economy of slavery).  Sorry for digressing slightly, but if I came here with these notions of "Afica" in my mind, many of you must share them, and I hardly think Sally Struthers commercials conditioned all of us with the desire to "save" an entire continent.

     The single most guilt-invoking aspect of this experience is that I felt the whole production of sending a "toubab" to the bush was mostly for the volunteers benefit.  Looking back at training, i remember my program director explaining senegal's environmental crisis--the ever-expanding sahel, a semi-arid strip of land that runs through all of africa that is gradually expanding and desertifying senegal's farm land.  when asked whether planting trees (not to mention SIX volunteers planting only a few hundred trees or so) would combat the climate change, he immediately became flustered and said that the answer is unknown.  somehow the pictographs and flip charts convinced me that my program of agroforestry was in fact worthwhile, but if the government of senegal is unsure that my work here won't be undermined by an inevitable climate change, how is my work to be considered anything but futile?  A month after graduating from trainee to volunteer, i found myself in a rural village with inadequate training in my supposed area of expertise, inadequate training in the areas i personally wished to pursue (health),  and inadequate resources.  The experience seemed entirely a selfish one--that I was to spend the first THREE MONTHS culturally adapting and integrating (i.e. reading in my hut as every volunteer does, shooting the shit with my 150 villagers (half of whom were children) a couple hours a day in an attempt to learn the language, and basically looking for ways to kill time).  The experience felt like a warped study-abroad that was intended to open my eyes so I could in-turn write all of you or eventually return to the U.S. and spread the supposedly horrific gospel.  I adjusted easily to the culture, adored my host family, rapidly picked up Mandinka, found the bush somewhat peaceful and symbiotic, but was honestly bored for the majority of the time and felt far too guilty sitting on my ass chit-chatting and "learning the community" for three months of "immersion."  Moreover, my assigned work couldn't even start until the rainy season (June), which was more than six months away.  I was additionally scared by the notion that most volunteers claimed work didn't start until a year into service and some even claimed they accomplished nothing at all in their two years. 

     Senegal's Peace Corps country director and I had a long chat where I attempted to explain my decision to leave and was subsequently burst into tears upon being verbally attacked.  The decision to "quit," or rather the realization that I am not content with the peace corps as an organization and am dissatisfied with my role as volunteer has not been an easy one, needless to say.  The country director (a totally self-absorbed megalomaniac, who is fixated on his own peace corps service 30 years ago) moaned and groaned about how today's volunteers have it "soooo easy" because the peace corps now has more organization and is less about "ego-tourism," which apparently was the situation when he served (I tend to disagree with both of these arguments).  He picked up his phone at one point, spoke in wolof to his secretary (the language i didn't even study) and turns to me and says, "did you understand a word of that?  oh yeah, that's right, you were here for like two seconds <snapping fingers>...how could you?"  His most convincing argument for me to stay was that if i was truly interested in health i should have stayed in my village until someone had gotten sick, then i would at least know how they dealt with sickness (!).  I was truly disturbed by his saying this--this coming from a man who sits an air conditioned office all day, hobnobs with Senegal's elite, and lives in a mansion by the ocean in Dakar.  What did he want me to see?  Did he want me to have the revelation that health care is obviously lacking and that my villagers may not have enough money to visit the local clinic in Sirmang?  Each month, the people in my village collected 100cfa from each household leader (approx. 20 cents) in case someone got sick....meanwhile I'm sitting in my newly painted hut with a med-kit stacked full of medicine that I'm NOT allowed to share...and if I get sick I'm whisked off to Kaolack or Dakar to be treated by american doctors.  No amount of immersion could blend the layered power dynamics of a toubab living amongst senegalese peasants.  I cannot emphasize how selfish this experience felt--I was not looking for a two year stint of "slumming-it" merely so i could inevitably return to my country saying "i've lived in the bush in africa, i know what it's like."

     I also had a unfortunate run-in with an English speaking Gambian a few weeks ago who began by asking where I was from...when I replied "Simong," he curtly responded with, "No, where are you REALLY from."  I told him the United States and he promptly replied, "oh, so you're a tourist."  Offended, I clarified (in Mandinka) that I was in fact a tree volunteer living in Simong.  He snidely replied "Right. Peace Corps. You're a tourist.  And why don't you speak English to me...your natural tongue.  What's your name?"  I told him Daouda, and he again snidely replied "Daouda eh?  A tourist and a phony.  What's your real name...your AMERICAN name."  I can't really explain how this single, isolated experience stuck with me for the last three weeks or how it frighteningly struck a chord and confirmed a lot of my own doubts I had been having about the Peace Corps.  The Gambian's biting remarks stung, but it also explained why I was always either being swindled or asked for money or gifts--people would literally shout in wolof from the fields "toubab!!  come here!! now!!! give me money!"  I, personally, am not comfortable with all that my skin color represents in this country.  Additionally, the drastic discontinuity between what you all think I am doing over here (what i had hoped to do) and what I am actually doing compounds all of these negative thoughts. 

      I am sorry for dumping this existential crisis on you and again apologize for the medium of mass email.  In short, I am Early Terminating my Peace Corps service and am coming home (or may even BE home by the time I finish and send this disappointing letter).  I absolutely adore senegalese culture and will surely miss the mellifluous call to prayer, the discreet sexual jokes about binbins, petit pagnias, and churri, and the ability to surprise someone by whipping out mandinka.  If I had my way, I'd stay in Dakar and hook up with an NGO, but I must first return to the US and wash my hands of the Peace Corps.  I hope you all have a happy holiday season and please, feel no need to console or respond (though job offers are welcome ;) )  I am very content with my decision and will never regret the four months of ceaseless learning here in senegal.

 

peace,

 

Michael

 

 

i lafta ka makoyi siloo beteyamat Allah

May Allah help you find your road