Humans are Humans

I watched Sally pour the vanilla-infused sugar into the teapot, the white crystals dissolving as soon as they mixed with the hot water and hibiscus. Placing the pot back on the coals, she fanned the small stove. Leaving the tea to steep over the heat, she went to the kitchen and came back outside with a plate of melon slices. I took one and passed the plate around to the others who were resting outside in the courtyard in the cool of the night. Swirling the teapot another time, Sally began to pour the bissap ataaya into a glass, handle-less tea cup. She then poured the purply pink drink from one small cup to another. I watched the tea gleam in the light from the outdoor lamp as it delicately waterfalled back and forth, back and forth between cups. After at least fifteen pours she began to pass around the drinks.

When her hands were free, her young son, Ibrahima, rose from where he was laying on the outdoor mat and crawled into her lap, his head resting sleepily on her chest. We finished off the juicy melon and sipped our tea. We all laughed softly when Ibrahima’s eyes closed, his hand dropping drowsily to the ground.

“Oof, dafe tang tey! It’s hot today!” Sally’s mother exclaimed, passing back her cup and laying down on the soft mat. As the coals from the tea’s stove cooled, we sat in silence, allowing fatigue to slowly envelop us before we moved into the warm rooms.

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I have made many cups of tea for family and friends down through the years. On a damp, Irish evening I have put on the kettle and arranged the collection of biscuits before carrying them into the cozy sitting room where a fire blazed away. I have sat there peacefully with my sister on my knee as we dissected the day and discussed the weather.

Instead of Jaffa cakes and Swiss Rolls, Sally brought out refreshing melon. We sought refuge in an outdoor breeze rather than in a fire’s glow. But the feeling that accompanies a restful evening in good company remained the same.

My time in Nioro so far has only reiterated for me the universality of human nature. Sally and I are close in age but grew up thousands of miles apart. Nevertheless she still wants to serve post-dinner tea to those she cares about, and she enjoys the warmth of the small child she loves against her body. As I rested on the straw mat looking up at the vibrant stars I so rarely get to see, I did not feel out of place. I was not confused by the customs or lost in a flurry of indecipherable language. Even the sentences I could not understand made sense in my soul. Riding the gentle waves of the conversation I could sense the time for a soft laugh or nod of agreement.

Here, away from exhaustive technology and an excess of ‘stuff,’ I feel the tugs of humanity’s universal ties even more strongly. I do not feel like I am an ocean away from authentic moments I experience with friends and family in the places where I normally live. When I send pictures of Nioro to those back at home I realize it must strike them as considerably different. The infrastructure and resources are not alike, but the pictures fail to capture the deeply understood and shared feelings that guide me through the day.

In the evening before making tea, Sally and I walked to collect a batch of pre-made couscous for dinner. Even though we dodged sand piles and wandering goats, the peace of a silent walk at the day’s end could occur anywhere in the world. We arrived at the house of the woman who made and sold large quantities of couscous and found a collection of children huddled around a small outdoor TV watching a soccer match. The extension cord running out the back of the screen was connected to a power strip that was overflowing with charging cellphones and a couple lamps. Needless to say, it certainly looked like no place I had ever gotten ‘take-out’ at before.

On the way back, Sally told me that the woman there had asked how I was doing and if I was truly happy and comfortable in Nioro. Sally said that she told her she was ‘very proud’ of how I had adjusted and the way I always socialized, talked and laughed with them, and how it felt like I was truly part of the family. My heart swelled, as I felt exactly the same way. Sally continued to explain that while the food and the weather and the incomes might be different around the world, people are still just people. I glanced over at her, carrying the large plate of couscous on her head. Appearances can deceive. There are many smartly-suited, highly academic and supposedly ‘worldly’ people in America who have still not figured out and internalized that as clearly as she has.

The couscous seller’s curiosity as to my level of immersion is normal among those I meet here. While I am discovering similarities, my new Senegalese friends are experiencing similar revelations. I note the surprise when I eat with my hands, enjoy drinking traditional tea, or insist on doing my own laundry and cleaning my own floor. Stereotypes can work both ways, and when much of what you know about America is found in music videos and TV shows it can be hard to have an accurate picture. Global travel not only illuminates one’s own understanding but also informs the communities you visit.

Every day is full of little moments that remind me of the common threads running between us all. I see myself in my older host sister who is on a break from University for a week and relished this opportunity to come home and be with family. I see some of my former American students in the children at Adja Penda Ba. I recognize the nervous little twitch of a high-achieving boy when he gets a question wrong publically. I know the distracting chatter of the girls who aren’t confident in their understanding and would rather be called out for talking than called on to answer. I know the sideways glance of the child who is looking for approval from a friend. All these character clues that teachers become attune to are found just as often in Smartboard-outfitted classrooms in America as they are in ones with chalkboards all the way here in Nioro.

Due to the birth lottery these children are growing up with very different experiences. But to a certain extent so much of our own identity, our relationships, and our happiness can be discovered, cultivated and grown any place in the world. Once we take the time to really examine ourselves and our ties with those we care about away from the distracting hum of supposed busyness we gain skills that allow us to connect with those wherever we may find ourselves. And, in the process, we effortlessly stumble upon a greater sense of self.

As I finish writing I hear the familiar theme song for the family-favorite Bollywood soap opera. Feet patter across the floor as cousins and aunts join together in the TV room to follow along to the French-dubbed program. Similarly in Ireland, the evening comes to a pause as we watch Emerdale, and in America my best friend and roommate draw our Sundays to a close with Masterpiece Classic at 9pm on PBS. There are many parts of daily life that are harder here, but that doesn’t mean that an assortment of women and girls 12 years old and up can’t come together before dinner after a full day to indulge in the dramatic, imagined Bollywood world.

I hear the knock at my door as my cousin alerts me to the fact that the show is starting. Peeling my sweaty skin of my bed I squish onto the padded bench in between an aunt and a sister, who in less than two weeks have become a part of my family. Ibrahima, the only male present, stumbles in with dirty feet and a juice packet in hand. When he starts to open his mouth to talk he is immediately told by multiple women to “Toggal tranquille! Sit still!”

I smile as I remember all the moments in Ireland where I have been admonished for trying to talk during Emerdale. In the spirit of understanding I hold him on my lap and give him my phone and headphones to listen to Alvin & the Chipmunks, a song which worked to quiet my own sister many times before.