The other night I ate dinner with our agriculture tech trainer Youssoupha and his family in the Parsel neighborhood of Thies. Youssoupha is a fixture in this town and at the Peace Corps training center. He is like the rebar that holds together crumbling cement, a true supporter of his family, friends, and neighbors. Youssoupha is a big man, probably 6’5” maybe an inch or two more. He is dark as night and is an imposing yet amazingly gentle man.
His house is a mini-castle, three levels with six bedrooms to house his four children, his brother and their children, his sister, and from what I could tell, at least one semi-permanent guest. On the roof of his house he showed me the water catchment system he designed himself to use for watering his gardens and trees, and to store in a reservoir he designed to augment the low water pressure in his house. He even designed the house itself and is in the process of adding a second living room and master bedroom.
Youssoupha is fluent in Pulaar du Nord, Wolof, French, Spanish, and English. He is a trained agricultural engineer and a proud Muslim. He often tells me what a great volunteer I will be, and says that even though I am not in the agriculture program, that I can be his student and his friend.
On the roof under the haze of a half moon, Youssoupha explained to me the dynamic of his home. He told me that he has an obligation to take care of everyone around him, and that doing anything otherwise would be socially unacceptable, shameful in fact. We compared the Senegalese family model to its American counterpart and the recurrent theme of material wealth versus wealth in family and friends was driven into my mind with his deep, soft voice.
Grabbing my hand in his own to lead me around the roof and point out the different trees and garden plots he had planted, Youssoupha listed off the guests in his house. He said that he has had a friend of his sister living in the house for over four months, eating at every meal without paying a single penny to help out. He said that everyday neighbors come to him for small favors like asking for sugar, or enough money to take a taxi to see a relative in another town. He said that he simply has to give, there is no other choice and that even when he cannot afford to give, he gives at least 500 or 1000 cfa.
Around the dinner platter tonight, I sat with eight of these people as we all ate beef, peas, and potatoes with our hands. My shoulders touched the person to my left and Youssoupha to my right. People would tear off pieces of beef and put them in front of me until they had all finished and insist that I keep eating. Before coming over, I bought three bottles of soda for 1800 cfa, just over three dollars. Youssoupha said that it was too much, unnecessary, and certainly not expected. I couldn’t imagine doing otherwise I told him, and after seeing the reality of his roost, I really couldn’t.
We had attaya after dinner along with millet and sweet yogurt. I spoke with Youssoupha’s son and brother about the drawbacks of going to the US to find work rather than staying in Senegal and trying to make ends meat. They knew that money is what made our country work but I don’t know if they realized just how different the way our families and communities operate. I acted out the personal space bubble, and typical salutations back home, not the prolonged and intimate Senegalese embrace and discussion. I told them that I thought they would be better off to find a way to make money in Senegal and be able to stay with their family and friends than to work hard and be alienated in the US. But that’s easy for me to say with my relative wealth compared to theirs.
I am continually amazed at the dignity that these people have in how they treat one another, in how they treat me. Youssoupha told me that I was part of his family now, that I should come back to visit soon and unannounced, and even insisted that I stay the night. I told him earlier that I was impressed with who he was and all that he had done for everyone around him and he asked how I could be impressed by a poor African man. In more ways than I can count and in greater words than I can produce.
His house is a mini-castle, three levels with six bedrooms to house his four children, his brother and their children, his sister, and from what I could tell, at least one semi-permanent guest. On the roof of his house he showed me the water catchment system he designed himself to use for watering his gardens and trees, and to store in a reservoir he designed to augment the low water pressure in his house. He even designed the house itself and is in the process of adding a second living room and master bedroom.
Youssoupha is fluent in Pulaar du Nord, Wolof, French, Spanish, and English. He is a trained agricultural engineer and a proud Muslim. He often tells me what a great volunteer I will be, and says that even though I am not in the agriculture program, that I can be his student and his friend.
On the roof under the haze of a half moon, Youssoupha explained to me the dynamic of his home. He told me that he has an obligation to take care of everyone around him, and that doing anything otherwise would be socially unacceptable, shameful in fact. We compared the Senegalese family model to its American counterpart and the recurrent theme of material wealth versus wealth in family and friends was driven into my mind with his deep, soft voice.
Grabbing my hand in his own to lead me around the roof and point out the different trees and garden plots he had planted, Youssoupha listed off the guests in his house. He said that he has had a friend of his sister living in the house for over four months, eating at every meal without paying a single penny to help out. He said that everyday neighbors come to him for small favors like asking for sugar, or enough money to take a taxi to see a relative in another town. He said that he simply has to give, there is no other choice and that even when he cannot afford to give, he gives at least 500 or 1000 cfa.
Around the dinner platter tonight, I sat with eight of these people as we all ate beef, peas, and potatoes with our hands. My shoulders touched the person to my left and Youssoupha to my right. People would tear off pieces of beef and put them in front of me until they had all finished and insist that I keep eating. Before coming over, I bought three bottles of soda for 1800 cfa, just over three dollars. Youssoupha said that it was too much, unnecessary, and certainly not expected. I couldn’t imagine doing otherwise I told him, and after seeing the reality of his roost, I really couldn’t.
We had attaya after dinner along with millet and sweet yogurt. I spoke with Youssoupha’s son and brother about the drawbacks of going to the US to find work rather than staying in Senegal and trying to make ends meat. They knew that money is what made our country work but I don’t know if they realized just how different the way our families and communities operate. I acted out the personal space bubble, and typical salutations back home, not the prolonged and intimate Senegalese embrace and discussion. I told them that I thought they would be better off to find a way to make money in Senegal and be able to stay with their family and friends than to work hard and be alienated in the US. But that’s easy for me to say with my relative wealth compared to theirs.
I am continually amazed at the dignity that these people have in how they treat one another, in how they treat me. Youssoupha told me that I was part of his family now, that I should come back to visit soon and unannounced, and even insisted that I stay the night. I told him earlier that I was impressed with who he was and all that he had done for everyone around him and he asked how I could be impressed by a poor African man. In more ways than I can count and in greater words than I can produce.
posted by Nat Parker | 10:33 AM
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