I think one of the things I miss the most about the US is the privilege of privacy. In Oregon I loved to seek out solitude on Mount Hood or deep in the forest with only the sound of the nature around me to calm the noise in my mind. Here, it is nearly impossible to be alone, and the very notion of not being with other people is looked at as uniquely toubab.

I have found this to be exhausting on the one hand because being social every moment of the day takes quite a bit of energy, but I have also found it unnerving when for instance, all I want to do is take a shit in peace, but one of my sisters or my mom are out in the backyard, literally just outside the bathroom door. There’s no leisure time on the pot to read the paper. As a matter of fact there’s no pot, just the hole you squat over. If I spend time alone in my room with the door shut, someone is knocking every few minutes to see what I am doing or see if I’ll join the conversation, play the guitar, watch the TV, or just be with them. And even when I do find some space, there is a torrent of activity just on the other side of my door.

Sometimes I wonder how people have sex in this country without it being a spectacle. Maybe you just do it and know that everyone will know what’s going on, including your three kids just on the other side of your door. And doors, while they do exist to separate one room from another, are rarely if ever used here. Instead drapes, curtains, or a doorway of hanging beads separate one space from the next.

Even doing things in the presence of others by but by yourself like reading a book is a foreign concept here. In fact I have never seen a Senegalese person sitting on their porch getting into a good novel or writing in their journal. What you do see are people with other people talking, joking, drinking tea, or simply sitting with one another silently. Senegal boasts a uniquely social culture and doing things alone is anti-social, maybe even anti-African.

In addition to getting comfortable with being around family and friends all day, you have to learn to share your personal space. The two-foot radius of the American personal space bubble is simply laughable here. In a taxi or on an Aluhumdulilay bus you are as close up and personal with your fellow passengers as is physically possible. Sometimes you’ll even get a little kid to put on your lap for part of your journey. Remember the soap commercial with a crowd tightly packed into an elevator? “Hope everyone has used Dial!” Yeah…. On the other hand, sitting between two large women with cushiony jaayfonde (the sacrosanct Senegalese ass) can actually be a reassuring measure of safety in vehicles that haven’t had working seat belts for the last 25 years.

Fortunately the Senegalese love touch. Friends hold hands when walking down the street, men, women, young and old. Here at the Peace Corps training center, the trainers lean on one another, sit on laps, put a hand the back of the person in front of them, and shake hands a minimum of 30 times a day. As you greet a good friend, you don’t just shake their hand, but you hold onto it for a while, ask if they are in peace, ask after their family and their health, ask about their work, and of course praise God.

Doing this so often I sometimes lose sight of just how deep the things I am actually saying actually are. Can you imagine saying some of this stuff to a friend at the office in the morning?

“Good morning John. Did you spend your night in peace?”
“Yes Mark, thanks to God I did. And you, did you sleep well last night?
“Thanks to God yes I did. And how is your family?”
“They are fine thank you. They are healthy and will remain so God willing.”
“Okay John, I am going to get going. Spend the rest of your day in peace.”
“Peace to you too Smith.”
“Johnson.”
“Smith.”
“Johnson.”

Salutation, family well-being, God, and family name are integral values here and they are reflected in even the most basic everyday interactions. People will see you on the street and call out your family name. “Parker! Parker,” or in my case, “Thiam! Thiam!” It is really something that everyone seems to remember everyone else’s name so easily, especially when the name is something like Papa Ibrahima DIOUF. But I am doing my best to be present with my Senegalese friends, to hold onto someone’s hand for that extra moment, and to say their name again and again knowing that while I may not have memorized theirs, they will surely remember and call out mine the next time we meet.