Siñthiang Medina Manafi: Say hello to Senegal when you leave!
From Tambacounda and the banana plantations, I traveled to a place where villagers plant their feet in two countries—the Gambia and Senegal—in terms of commerce, telephone networks, currency and pop culture, without a particularly strong identify in either. One of my host brothers is a teacher in the small village of Siñthiang Medina Manafi (SMM), grouping 457 inhabitants in a lost rural milieu of farmers and simple tradesmen. Similar villages incarnating the bygone work of agricultural living dot the landscape, creating a master work of art of idyllic, albeit disconnected and physically exhausting, living.
My journey to the edge of Senegal involved one cramped hatch-back, two rickety mini-buses and a broken-down motorcycle, necessitating an overnight stay in a friendly village about eight miles from my destination. The village chief was only too happy to let us stay; I set up camp using my plastic mat and a dirty, smelly pillow he loaned me—for which I was very grateful and covered with one of my scarves—and slept well, waiting for the morning and the mechanic to arrive.
Truly, I was in paradise: a place where people welcome strangers and give them the best without so much as expecting anything in return. With a breakfast of sugary, milky coffee and village-baked bread they served to my driver, the mechanic and me, we were off and safely arrived at my host brother’s village. Live each day to the fullest and never think you can predict what any one ordinary day may bring!
From dawn to dusk, the women of SMM wield massive pestles to pound grain in their wooden mortars. There are no machines to grind the grain to make flour, so all the work is done by hand. They grind corn, sorghum, peanuts and millet. Some women grind peanuts in old-fashioned hand-powered grinders, which are much easier than the mortar and pestle method but is still pretty physical work. Certainly, village work renders redundant the need to workout! Since my village work remained at the observational level, I took advantage of the farming and motorcycle trails to run through some beautiful landscape and to burn off some of the calories of the tantalizing, local fare: corn porridge or rice pudding for breakfast, rice with leafy or peanut sauces and fishballs, and couscous or spicy fried rice with pieces of meat or chicken for dinner. As a present from the villagers, I was given several pounds of beef and four whole chickens: yes, I politely consumed a portion of their gift.
In the village, there are two wells from which women and children—occasionally a few men who help the women—draw water for their daily cooking and washing needs. I did my own share of drawing water from the well: I walked about 200 yards to draw a 10-gallon jug worth of water, which I carried on my head back to my hut. Yes, I had my own hut; my host brother loaned me his hut, made from clay, cement, branches and straw and complete with a “backyard,” where I slept on mattress placed on a bamboo-slatted bed, and a toilet/bathing area, partitioned from the “backyard” with a thick straw fence that is held together with bamboo rope. I loved every minute of it and became rather accustomed to the upper-90s weather during the day and the low-70s at night, which was a gentle reprieve from the harsh heat of the daytime.
My host brother is a teacher with a mission: to use his linguistic and psychological/sociological skills to bring education to a forgotten population of young people. Officially, he is a volunteer French teacher—remunerated for basic costs of living and transport—but what he has done for this village encompasses a profound notion of development that I admire.
When he arrived in SMM, there was no school. In fact, none of the three villages that now comprise student enrollment had an operating school. He spent time getting to know the population, building confidence with the village chiefs and leaders and succeeding in attracting 147 students to his makeshift school.
Proof of his diligent work: one school about three miles from SMM, complete with a proper building, multiple grade levels and several teachers, has fewer students than his school; and several other rural schools like his that have been in existence for four years or more still do not possess the school desks that he has been able to procure for his rudimentary classroom.
True development happens in an organic fashion when the educated join together with the illiterate to learn from and share with one another and conceive of a better future that suits and fortifies the local population. It’s difficult and it takes time, but the impact is lasting. I was welcomed with open arms because my host brother had paved the way. Out of their meager resources, they gave me gifts to show their appreciation for my presence with them. Relationships and familiarity with the culture and the people precedes effective development.
Tip #16 for Surviving in Senegal: Take time to be quiet in the morning before proceeding with the rest of the day and enjoy the moment of solitude before drifting off to sleep. In the village, there is no sense of personal space, so I found that the best time to meditate, to pray and to read my Bible was in the wee hours of the morning or by the faint glow of a lamp at night. I was taking a nap one afternoon, and my host brother’s students came in the front door of the hut and just looked at me and touched my hair and my clothes. They did not seem to think it was strange to watch a person while she sleeps. How I relished in those moments by myself, feeling truly at peace in a place where modernity’s clutches have yet to grasp.
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