Excerpts from Kristin Hirth’s Letters from Dakar, Senegal:

First impressions of Senegal: I spent the summer of 1999 in Ghana, and I was expecting Senegal to be similar. In the first week, most things seemed the same: the constant honking of taxi drivers, children begging, people on every corner selling fruit (mangoes, bananas, apples, oranges, and roasted peanuts). Then I began to notice the differences—like the trees on the sidewalks painted red, green and yellow, the colors of the Senegalese flag. I found out that they are painted to make it easier for drivers to tell after dark where the road is in relation to the sidewalk; there is no center white line dividing the road, and there are no yellow lines on the edges of the road. Makes me happy I’m not allowed to drive here! I hear the sounds of prayers coming from the Mosques, and I see many people on the street, praying. The majority of Senegalese are Muslims.

The Importance of clothing: The area on the body from the belly button down to below the knees and even ankles is considered very sexual on a woman and should be covered up. When I don’t go jogging, I always try to wear something conservative on the bottom part of my body because that is how most Senegalese women dress, and I don’t want to stick out any more than I already do! I don’t want to give a bad impression of myself, either.

I’ve learned that there is a reason behind every action. If a Senegalese acts a specific way towards me or says something to me that surprises me, I need to find an explanation for why they said what they did. It might have to do with something I did, or with how I am dressed. A good example of this occurred the night I was going to go to downtown Dakar with some other students. I went home to my host family, and asked them if I could go out with some other students. They said okay, so I talked to them for a bit, got some more money, and as I was walking out the door, my Senegalese mom, Anta, yelled to me, “Kristin, Ki” (“Kristin, come!). I walked back to her, and she and my sister started talking to me with a strong, aggressive tone in their voice, and told me I needed to change my clothes. I couldn’t believe that she was being so picky about my clothes, and I was offended that she thought my clothes weren’t nice, when at home I would go out with no problem in those same clothes. She was beside herself that I was going to go downtown in a knee-length jean skirt and a simple brown tank top and sandals. She told me to go change my clothes and wash my feet. I went to my room and quickly put on some nicer pants, shirt and shoes. I made sure to wash my feet well, too. After I was done, I asked them if I looked okay, and they said that I looked nice, and that I should have a good time downtown. Looking back on this experience and thinking about Senegalese culture and why my mom was so aggressive with me I have come to some conclusions that make a lot of sense. I know that dress and appearance are very important in Senegalese culture, and that when a person goes out of their home they are really presenting themselves for the public eye to evaluate—especially women. When people leave their home, they are representing their family and the household they are coming from—in the way they dress and in how they act (if they are polite to people on the street, etc.). Because I was going “downtown” where there were a lot of people and it was a Friday night, they wanted me to look good—for their sake, yes, but mostly for my own. They wanted me to look nice and present myself well and appropriately. They were looking out for me and for my reputation. This is a different way of looking at the situation, and it made it easier for me to accept their criticism. That is the theory I’ve formed from that experience, and I have tested it other nights when I’ve gone out and asked my sisters and host mom if I was dressed appropriately before I left the house.

Living in “African time”: One big challenge for me in Senegal has been time issues. People always joke about "African time" in the U.S. and it is very real in Senegal. Everyone is always running late in Senegal; this is frustrating when you are trying to tell your family in the U.S. when you'll be home so they can call you. This is even more frustrating when time applies to work. I became really annoyed at my Senegalese partner a few times when we were in Yoff working on our sustainable development project. We observed the six different primary levels at a private school in Yoff. We made plans for what time to meet to observe at school and he was never on time. Some days he was just 15 minutes late, but usually he was an hour late, and one day he never showed up. I was lucky that I didn't need him for the observation part— I could do that on my own—but it was frustrating that he wanted to see my notes for the times he wasn't there. There were a couple times that I was really sick, but I was always on time and showed up, and he wouldn't come because he was too full from lunch and decided to sleep. It was mostly just really a pain in the butt, and I felt very American because I saw how easily time affected me—and I had always thought of myself as a pretty laid-back person. Time issues also make me realize that there are certain things that I won't ever be able to fully let go of because they are too much a part of me. Senegal is one country and culture and the United States is another, and they differ in many ways.

My struggles to be an American woman in a Muslim country: Coming back to Dakar after living in Yoff (an "urban village" on the ocean, 8 miles outside of Dakar), I feel more confident and comfortable with who I am in Senegalese culture. In Yoff, the majority of the population is Lebou and strict Muslims, which adds different dynamics. There are also very few Toubabs (White people) in Yoff. I was more conscious of what I wore in Yoff. On the bottom half of me I never wore anything above the bottom of my kneecaps, and nothing tight, and on the top half of me I wore thick-strapped tank tops and nothing revealing. When I went jogging I wore shorts down to my knees, and I only ran on the beach, and only in the morning. I always asked my host mom if what I was wearing was acceptable for where I was going and what I was doing. I tried to be more conscious of how I interacted (and with whom) on the street in Yoff because being a Toubab automatically drew attention to me even if I was dressed in conservative, appropriate clothes. I tried to avoid shaking hands with men, but at the same time act polite and say the respectful greetings. Some men hold on to my hand too long when I shake theirs, which is frustrating and annoying, because I am being culturally polite shaking their hand and they take advantage of that. It is confusing when you try to do something like shaking someone’s hand, which we were all told is necessary in Senegalese society, and for someone to take advantage of your efforts to be polite.

Coping with feeling socially awkward: Almost everyone in Yoff spoke only Wolof to us, until they said something that we didn't understand—then they said it in French. I watched other people interact in Yoff and listened to greetings, hoping that I would catch on. When the time comes to test your ability to do greetings correctly, it is always when you least expect it, and it’s really intimidating. I try to keep a big smile on my face and have an open mind the whole time, so even if I do something "wrong," I am smiling, and people will laugh; it is easy to start laughing with people, even if you are the person creating the amusement. The fourth or fifth day I was in Yoff, I went with my host cousin to meet his family. I met ten to fifteen people in ten minutes, and my head was spinning the whole time, trying to figure out relationships, trying to do correct greetings, trying to remember everyone's name, and trying to be observant about what was going on around me. I did a pretty good job I think! With all of the older people I met I did a "sucra" (bending my knees a little) because that is a sign of respect. I learned that from watching my little sister at home. The first group of older women I met asked me what my name was and I told them my American name, "Kristin Hirth" (a pretty normal response, I thought), but they wanted to know the Senegalese name of my host family in Yoff –“Samb.” When I figured this out with some help from my host cousin, and corrected myself and replied "Kristin Samb," everyone laughed hysterically. They were so amused! One of the older women said to me "daye fondye" (meaning “you have a big butt”—but it’s a compliment). I nodded my head in agreement that I had "daye fondye" like my one-and-a-half-year-old sister (whom they all know), Aby Samb. I was intimidated because I don't enjoy being the center of attention, so I always try to relate something they say back to them or to something or someone familiar to them.

Navigating in another culture: Some small, unexpected culture clashes occurred when my host brother in Yoff asked me to give him my CD player and when the maid asked me to give her the skirt I was wearing because she liked it. It is hard, because in my head my immediate reaction is negative towards them, but I take a few steps back and try to see where they are coming from, and I remind myself that they aren't meaning to be rude. I have gotten very frustrated at times when people continue to speak Wolof to me when they know I don't understand what they are saying. I think they just really want me to speak Wolof and by speaking Wolof to me they are trying to make me feel like part of their culture.

Laughing and joking with people (this surprises them!) is a good way to get people off your back, particularly men in Senegal. I have found that it is really important to be nice to people on the street because it reflects on you and the culture you come from— U.S. American. I say hi to people on the street and if someone starts talking to me I usually talk back to them and say a few words, but I try not to say anything that would trap me into a deep conversation. Avoidance is necessary at times: for example with taxis that are constantly honking, it is important to ignore them unless you want a taxi. Walking on the street many times if I see a group of men walking towards me I try to pretend I am looking up at something in front of me and then am able to avoid eye contact with them. I am naturally one of those people who like to observe other people, even in my own culture at home, so here in a new environment I am very curious. Most of the time I look at people on the street and greet them because I enjoy it, but when I think someone will want to talk to me for a while I try to look occupied or focused on something else. Sometimes my judgment is accurate and sometimes it isn't.

A cultural puzzler—What should I have done? My host father is a coach of a good soccer team that won the championship when I was in Yoff. I went with my host mother (his wife) to his family’s house. I held my host mom's hand the whole time (people of the same sex are always holding hands) when we were walking through the streets filled with people waiting for the soccer team. My cousin arrived with the soccer team and he came over to say hi to my host mom and me. He wanted to introduce me to players on the team, friends and family, so he grabbed my hand and led me around to meet people. He is around my age, 20 or 21. Men and women around the same age are rarely seen holding hands in Dakar, and almost never in Yoff. However, family members always hold hands. Here I was in a situation where I was holding my same-age host cousin’s hand in public around his family and friends. I was wearing a long skirt and t-shirt, so I was appropriately dressed, but I felt strange. People were looking at me because I was a Toubab, but were people also looking at me and judging me because I was holding my cousin’s hand (who they don't know is my cousin)? I had no idea what to do, or if I needed to do anything. My cousin is also a good friend of mine and has never done or said anything that makes me question his motives or actions, so I felt I had no reason to think he was trying something now. I let go of his hand a couple times and he grabbed on to it again. Except for a few minutes when I greeted some more of his family members and soccer players, I held on to his hand for ten to fifteen minutes in public. I feel guilty that I was maybe behaving inappropriately in public, but I also feel guilty wondering if my really nice cousin had other motives for holding my (Toubab's) hand in public. I still haven't come to any conclusions about the situation and my relationship with my cousin didn't change at all after that night. It is an example of a situation that should be simple, but that I found very complex and frustrating.