Upon leaving the Peace Corps
I lived in a small city called Mboro in a small country called Senegal for 18 months. In many ways that’s what I consider my service, despite living the last 6 months in Thies (pronounced “Chess”), a large city of 200,000. The latter bit gave me perspective and mentorship opportunities but in large part it was an acclimation time and an opportunity to live the over-glorified ex-pat life. But Mboro was where I made my life in Senegal and it holds my fondest memories as well as my hardest lessons.
I labled Mboro a beach town since its 5k proximity qualified it in my mind. But there was a wide mental disconnect between downtown residents and the those of the beach who were considered to be “for the French and the fish.” This provided some healthy tension with my host family since the beach is what I loved most about Mboro. It was my place to sit on a surf board then enjoy a cold watery beer. It’s where I went to replace the daily verbal derision with those sea breezes that whispered “two years here ain’t so bad.” I came to love the people too; eclectic mixes of Rhasta, Mouridism (Senegalese Islamic brotherhood), and generic western sentimentalities. Their consideration and acceptance was a welcome break from any kind of useless seriousness I had to adopt just 5k down the road. I didn’t pretend I could help. We were all there to enjoy the scenery.
This is my wish for visitors of Senegal since assuming sainthood is a tiring endeavor. I saw too many local people lose their dignity by asking me for things I couldn’t provide. They wanted solutions and all I had was perspective. I believe this is our base problem in Senegal. We (the international “aid” community) are all too willing to throw money at problems which require ideas. It’s been a pattern since colonialism and we do it under the guise of humanitarianism, then fail to see its consequences. This is why there’s a new shift for us to “monitor and evaluate” our results. But this has actually just slowed down the flow of money and aid. Although that’s a good thing, it’s missing the point.
My point is to say that throwing money back into a devalued currency system is as valuable as wishing fountain coins are to koi fish. Indeed it’s even worse since in most cases this creates a pattern of dependence and destructive behavior formation.
Here’s a vignette: The middle school director of Mboro noticed his well was broken. Instead of exhausting himself by knocking door-to-door, soliciting funds, he recognized that some organization would solve the problem. All he has to do is ask the right people; Peace Corps, USAID, or some aimless money bleeding NGO; it doesn’t matter. The school director knows, or at the very least, firmly hopes money will come from rich people eventually.
This is why I stopped. I saw this pattern of wretched dependence and experienced intimately all the people who asked instead of taking initiative. In silent protest I did my work, helped those who would actually benefit, and learned a lot. I didn’t sink into the French maxim of sex and sand but I certainly had a few kicks.
I still believe the Peace Corps is the effort closest to “development” possible. Sending restless hippies into the developing world to listen and learn is making up ground in intercultural understanding and occasionally initiating ideas for lasting impact.
By my observation, the most successful volunteers were those who sought a deep understanding of their host culture. The goal was not to take at face value what we saw but to burrow into something so far from our ordinary. Ultimately the way we lived was unusual and to some it did not even seem “real” but the truest statement is that it is real. It is SO real; probably more real than any kind of magazine cut-out from Good Housekeeping . It’s just not our reality. The harshest thing we can do is discount these lifestyles as something less than American.
When I made my farewell visit in Mboro I was only capable of saying things like “I’ll miss you,” and “I had no problems here.” But on a visceral level I wanted to thank them for being who they are and making me who I am. All these pleasantries had a weight of finality behind them that was subliminal to our dialogue. Luckily our faces said more than our words could.
In the end I reflect and realize I didn’t build any schools, I didn’t explicitly save any starving children, and I’m not even sure I solved any issues at all. But I did live in this unfamiliar place for two years and fell in love with people vastly different from me. I realize now: that’s a big deal.
