Excerpts from Andrea Swalec's Letters Home:

Weeks before leaving for a six-month stay in Dakar, Sénégal, I was absolutely sure I was ready to leave. I spent more of the summer waiting- trying to improve my French, visiting friends I wouldn't see for a while, and realizing how eager I was to leave the suburbs of Detroit. Despite my best preparation, queasy nervousness finally set in the day before I left. Leaving everything familiar seemed crazy; I wondered what I was doing and why. My nervousness surprised me, after such great excitement.

The airport in Dakar was less frantic than I had pictured. I quickly found my luggage, guide, and the six other girls on my program. I spoke shy, clumsy French in the van and stared at the traffic on the narrow streets. I asked someone if it was always like that. She laughed and responded that it is.

I quickly grew accustomed to sellers, beggars, children screaming toubab! (white person) then laughing because they know they've said a bad word, and hearing hundreds of taxis honk at me every day as I walk down the street, reportedly because "white people don't walk." I'm even adjusting to frustrations like flies, sticky heat, and men hissing to get my attention. If I am negative, there is so much about which to feel uncomfortable. Nearly everyone asks me what I think of the heat. At good moments, I reply that it's not too bad. At worse moments, I jus sigh and respond, "Il fait très chaud." The comforts of Sénégal are not the same as those to which I am accustomed. I have missed American organization and bathrooms, air conditioning and privacy. Luckily, there is so much to love -- the mango tree in my back courtyard, the mostly leisurely pace of life, the warmth of most people, and the beautiful fabrics.

So far, language is a substantial obstacle. Most people are delighted when I greet them in Wolof and the Arabic phrases that the language has adopted -- "Asalaa Maalekum" and "Na nga def?" Some people, however, say nothing or stare. Another language-related difficult I've had has been getting used to the tone, cadence, and volume of some Senegalese conversation. When I first moved in with 75-year-old Fatou Sakho, whom I so far call Madame, and 25-year-old Aby Diagne, I was wholly convinced that they hated each other. During my first dinner at their house, I ate overcooked, cut-up pasta and tried not to cry while they screamed at each other in Wolof from opposite ends of the table. Madame and Aby hardly ever laugh, so I am currently uncertain of exactly how they feel when they speak like this. I suspect that they often disagree, but for the most part, that is simply how they talk to each other.

My best moments here so far have been comforting and being comforted by the other girls on my program, relishing how overwhelming just a few days can be, and joking around in the way I had read that the Sénégalese love so much. A few days ago, I playfully teased a little boy who chased me for change. I asked if he only chose me because I am a toubab and suggested he find another. He thought that was hilarious. Another time, I assured a man who wanted my phone number that he would certainly be the first person to have it after I moved in with my host family. He knew I was lying and laughed. Trying to bargain with sellers who would nto budge has made for other funny moments.

Intellectually, I've enjoyed beginning to understand the Sénégalese mixed usage of French and Wolof, Sénégalese values like teranga (hospitality) and jom (determination), and social norms as related to age and gender. Despite the tendency to name some things good and other bad, I am careful to try to understand how and why Sénégalese culture has developed and is developing as it is. I hope not to let the difficulties weigh on me too heavily. I'm sure to learn a lot and be fueled by my curiousity about everything from bitik (small shop) etiquette to more complicated issues of language, history, gender, and class.