Crazy Adventures in the Life of a Redhead

I am going to start with the end of my journey, which made quite an impression on my résumé of adventures and recount in reverse. So here it goes: For those of you who were alive in the 70’s, I am sure you remember the hatchbacks of that era. Have you wondered what happened to all those vehicles once in circulation? I’m sure that some were junked, but the rest ended up in West Africa, in Guinea in particular. I had the pleasure of riding in two different bush taxis as they are called in Guinea on my way out. A testimony to the ingenuity of man, these vehicles stand the test of time and circumstances, much like the Guinean mechanics, swarthy men and tough kids. It seems as if travel by land in Guinea (and Africa in general, but to remain close to my personal account, I will be precise in saying Guinea) is indelibly memorable due to its extreme nature and harsh conditions, particularly the roads. Guinean roads are poorly if at all paved. The paved roads have so many potholes that you h

I adore couscous and I love to dance in the street, but I never considered there exists an event that combines these two dissimilar items. They actually go perfectly together in the religious and deeply traditional world of Senegalese culture as the markings of the Muslim New Year celebration Tam Xarit. The Muslim calendar, which announces the dates of important religious holidays, follows the moon, comprising about 354 days per lunar calendar, whereas the western calendar—standard calendar—follows the sun. Roughly one month after Tabaski, Muslims celebrate the turning of the New Year with enormous quantities of couscous both for the household and for sharing with your neighbors and family members, and with prayer, fasting, and masquerade. As with every holiday in Senegal, there are two sides that dictate the behavior of participants: religion and tradition. In terms of its religious aspects, Tam Xarit is an opportunity for prayer and fasting for the year to come. Routine prayer c

Much awaited was my visit to Kaolack and short internship with GRADES (Group of Reflection and Action for the Development of Senegal). Before leaving for Kaolack, my family in Pikine told me three things about the city: there is a lot of theft, it’s dirty and the water is salty, and there are more flies than in Dakar. Sounds like a nice place, huh? Knowing that humans are prone to exaggeration, I had no doubt that I would find something good about this new city and region, in spite of the negative lot of characterizing details I received prior to my travels. Certainly I was right: I found many good things that I liked about Kaolack; unfortunately, so was everyone else. I traveled to Kaolack to assist GRADES in writing their Strategic Plan 2012-2016. I left Sebikotan and arrived in the city nearly four hours later when the sun was high in the sky and fiercely strong. My host told me that his wife had recently been mildly, physically assaulted and robbed by a motorcycle driver; he en

As a small detour from my volunteer work in Kaolack, one of the largest cities in Senegal, I took a short trip to visit a medium-sized village of about 4,000 inhabitants, called Keur Madiabel, to see how agricultural work transpires in this region. My thoughts were lively and contemplative during my stay. How I love the African countryside! It is full of splendor, with its brusque vegetation and looming trees that cannot be compared. All that I cherish about Africa is represented in its natural context: its overcoming spirit in the face of extreme difficulty—how farmers work the earth with diligent and intensive labor under the boiling sun; in its aptitude for survival amidst destructive travails—the unbelievably hearty vegetation that grows in spite of limited water and nutritive resources; and in its conviviality and hospitality—the symbiotic relationship trees have with plants, enriching the soil and the health of the crops. About half of the children living with my host family

According to Muslim tradition, once a year, Senegalese people celebrate the holiday Tabaski, which commemorates the Koranic account between Abraham and his son Ishmael: God told Abraham to sacrifice his son Ishmael, who accepted his fate as a sacrificial offering to God. However, as Abraham was getting ready to slaughter his son, an angel of the Lord appeared to him and told him to abstain from killing his son because God had found him faithful and had provided the sacrifice in lieu of his son. To memorialize the religious significance of the holiday, Muslims—generally married men, grown-up men with stable jobs, and widows—purchase rams, which they eviscerate on the day of Tabaski by slitting their throats in the name of Allah (also the Halal method of killing an animal). Islam honors these sheep with the belief that the souls of these sheep go directly to Paradise (as well as those who are killed for the naming ceremony). There are three salient factors composing this holiday: the

Having contacts in a foreign country is always a blessing; simply knowing you have a connection with people is comforting. When I started spreading the word that I was finally leaving for Senegal, my former director of Ministry and Service at North Central College put me in contact with one of his close friends who had spend a considerable amount of time in Senegal working on his master’s thesis. His friend was more than willing to pass along the name of an eclectic group of people working on an agricultural project in the Mbour region of Senegal: the Beersheba Project (thebeershebaproject.org). After communicating for about four months with one of the members of Beersheba, I finally met this dynamic group of people. Beersheba is composed of three founding couples (French/Korean, Canadian, and American) whose goal is to train Seer Christians (one of the main ethnic groups in Senegal) to be better farmers and more resolute believers. Their dedication to the long-term was inspiration

Upon returning from my four-city, three-week tour of Senegal, I really felt like I was going home. Pikine and my family there have become a comfort to me during my journey here in Senegal. What a blessing to have a home away from home! The weekend of my return was my birthday celebration weekend, and my happiness was truly overflowing to be able to celebrate such a milestone in my life. Since I love birthday parties, especially my own, I would have been slightly disappointed had I not planned anything. After dropping off my bags and chatting with my family, I took off for downtown Dakar where some lovely friends live. Having great friends here in Senegal was not something that I expected, but these two people and their friends are quite wonderful and with whom I do enjoy spending time. Aude, a dynamic and admirable French girl, and I bought crêpe-making necessities, which would be the crowning glory of the evening. We fried fish and I made a Senegalese onion sauce (really the only

As a final stop on my three-week tour of different cites and villages, I stayed in a village called Taiba Ndiaye with one of my “aunts.” What a lovely and inspiring week it was! Running in the countryside, harvesting peanuts, discussing agricultural development and dancing at a baptism culminated in a memorable cultural immersion. Absorbed into the fabric of village life, I metamorphosed into Diobé Lô, my Senegalese alter ego. My first night in Senegal, almost two months ago, one of my “brothers” named me Diobé Lô. I did not realize how effective it would be to have a Senegalese name during my journey. Few people can retain the name “Kelsey” but everyone immediately remembers “Diobé.” Senegalese people are masters at remembering people’s first and last names from the first encounter. In the U.S. it is excusable to forget someone’s name or forget meeting someone, but here in Senegal, failing to recall someone’s name is a grave social faux pas. One of the most indispensible notion

Generalizations are easy to make but rarely founded in truth; however I am confident in stating this generalization: there are few people who revel in the unknown. I am one of the few who is invigorated by the possibilities that exist in never establishing a firm program of pursuit. Since leaving Pikine at the end of September, my plans have changed multiple times, leading me to people and places I had not intended on visiting. Every step along the way has been blessed and intriguing, teaching me that frustration is a waste of energy and patience and adjustability are great virtues in any situation. From Somone, I traveled to Diamniadio, which is built at the crossroads of a national highway traveling to the interior and to the south of the country. Along the sides of the road, travelers and vendors create quite a ruckus, belying the calm and tranquility of the countryside that prevails just beyond the small grid work of cement block homes. Rugged and dotted with baobabs and African