Back in the U.S.A.

Unlike my past posts, this update is not written from a wobbling, dust-covered table at Caesar’s restaurant at the rond-point near the mosque in Mermoz, Dakar. I am not swatting flies, cursing the wi-fi or sipping on bissab juice. Instead I am in a cocoon of air-conditioning at a Starbucks in Chevy Chase. Everyone’s eyes are glued to their computer, back slightly hunched, fingers furiously typing out whatever brief or e-mail needs writing. The cardboard cup of the man next to me is covered in scribbles, each mark representing his attempt to personalize an-often uniform drink. While I could barely get Caesar’s to add ice to my juice, the continuous stream of people to my left ordering their mid-morning drinks with a personalization that is part poetic in its creativity, part comical in its complexity, and entirely ‘first world’ in its privilege.

And how do I fit into the scene? Quite comfortably, actually, despite previous anxieties of reverse-culture shock. I sip on my unsweetened, light-ice shaken iced green tea and I profit fully from the speedy wi-fi by typing a couple sentences, then checking online headlines, and then quickly switching to skimming e-mails on my phone. My yoga pants are similar to those of half the young women who file through the coffee joint, and my turquoise Beats headphones are a classic accessory for a Starbucks work-session.

But just because I have managed to easily fall back into my daily life here does not mean Senegal does not stay with me. I will sometimes see an African family in downtown Silver Spring and feel a deep longing in my chest for dinner with my host families. I will wake up in the mornings and as my eyes slowly, groggily blink open I believe for a brief moment that I will open my eyes wider and see the crisscross netting of my mosquito net and hear the cries of goats. When I feel the soft cushioning of my pillow behind my bed, the beep of the coffee maker downstairs, and the playful thumps of my sister’s feet on the stairs, I realize I am home in America. I am then filled with complex and nuanced emotions. I am mainly awash in a neutral wave of realization, as well as the poignant twinge of disappointment, and the comforting thought of relief. I miss Senegal, but there is no denying that my life here is just so much easier.

With Senegal never far from my heart or my mind, I am embarking on ‘phase two’ of my semester abroad. This part of my journey doesn’t call for any transatlantic travel, as it is the gift of different goggles through which to analyze my Western world. Four months is not very long in the big scheme of things, but when you are twenty and have only eight semesters of college undergrad, each one feels significant. Nevertheless my immersion in Senegalese culture was certainly very impressionistic and upon returning to Western culture I certainly see things with a slightly more critical view. I don’t believe in cultural superiority in either direction, and I certainly see and experience flaws in Senegalese and American daily life. But when we live in the Western world day in-day out, it is hard to take a step back and examine the situation. I want to look at my daily life here with the same eager-to-learn, open-minded and analytical view I adopted during my semester abroad. I want to continue my writing streak, so I will share these musing and analyses here on my blog and I hope you will continue to read along!