Sage's Senegal Blog

Going Back, but Not Quite

I landed at JFK the day after Christmas. Speaking english with the immigration officer I rattled my list of 9 countries I’de been in in the past four months, and was surprised by the lack of reaction. (For those keeping score, Canada, Morocco, Senegal, Portugal, Italy, Slovenia, Croatia, Russia, USA.) Perhaps the Government shutdown had something to do with his lassie-fair attitude, or perhaps this backpack laiden white maiden is non-threatening. At JFK the domestic flights require passengers to exit the airport, recheck luggage and go through another TSA checkpoint.

It being the day after Christmas, lines were long, but I was enjoying hearing so much english, but I was also so aware of so much Spanish, and French, and Russian, and Arabic. I felt invisible for the first time in months, but not because I looked like everyone else, but because no one looked like anyone else. The US is truely unique in that regard, and that diversity was something I knew I should value, but I haden’t made that valuation myself.

I spent a week readjusting to the cold in Upstate New York, where I grew up. After months of having no person recognize, or know me, this felt like the complete opposite. I was checking out at the local Co-op and got asked if I had a membership, then the cashier looked up, and said, “Oh never mind, your dad does. its R-O-M-E-Y, right?” I knew my way around town, and felt comfortable making small talk with people. I saw family and friends and snow and trees I knew the names of.

It was nice being back, but I still didn’t have a satisfactory answer to “How was it?” My cousin just come back from a study abroad program as well, and we discussed how to give people the sound bites they want to hear, while still being honest. Unfourtunatly, no one will ever fully be able to understand that experience, even those on it. I will continue processing my time in Senegal forever, it will continue to shape how I see the world.

Being back in Washington, moving in to my house, seeing my friends, and the things I’de been homesick for the whole time, I realized how going back was not going to be easy. In some ways reverse culture shock got me worse than actual culture shock, and thats not a bad thing. I’m noticing the little things I love about being back, and noticing the little things that really bother me. I feel like an outsider in my home, but it feels good to be back. In my last post I listed the little things I’de miss about Senegal, and here is a mirrored list to that. Things that I’m noticing about being back that I would never have seen before. Its abridged of course, and I’ll continually be noticing anew and I’ll try to keep my eyes open for as long as possible.

The feeling of being rushed. I don’t think I ever felt like I had to run somewhere, to be somewhere at a specific time on the dot at all my whole time away. I noticed that this morning while I rushed out the door and forgot my coffee in order to catch the bus. I wanted to walk in the leisurely pace I had grown to enjoy walking home from school in Dakar.
Colors and lack there of. Looking across the main pathway of my campus I see a sea of black, and grey, and brown. Some people wear muted colors, and a single yellow hat sticks out like the sun. I thought my wardrobe was different, but coming back to my closet I realize I too fall into the colorless palate of the PNW winter. And n a similar vein…
Bellingham is really fricking white. This was something I knew inherently, but after being the other for a while, its more pronounced when I never am. Its something I’ve never had to think about, because the institutions I’m apart of never take that into account. After reading L’Aventure Ambigue, and writing my concentration I’m taking time to examine the things I don;t know, and the ways I haven’t been seeing the world.
Flavors. Theres no denying, the cooking here has nothing on the full flavor hold nothing back, kick you in the face with love meals of Senegal.
Quiet. I love the quiet of the woods, of my breath when I run seeing no one, no car horns, or highway traffic. On the flip side, it’s odd to get on a bus full of people and have that same silence. When did we stop talking to each other and become consumed in our rectangular world?
Vegan food. Don’t @ me, but I’m really excited about eating a mostly plant based diet, and being in a place where thats incredibly accessible. Tofu, mmm so good. Fresh veggies OMG, if you are what you eat I’ve become salad.
My language, sometimes its great, and I speak english real well, but I get really caught up sometimes. I notice the ways we say things and how odd they are and then I catch myself stumbeling over words and phrasing things differently. We’re all speaking a foreign language to someone.

Some days feel natural, more and more I am caught up in the grind of school and I’ve stopped comparing things directly to Senegal, but I certainly did not come back to the same Bellingham, and more certainly did not come back the same Sage.

So here’s to my study abroad experience, here’s to adventures ahead, and here’s to Always Beautiful Tomorrows.

-Sageo

A chapter ends, and another begins

In about 24 hours, I’ll be at our farewell dinner for my time in Senegal. A few hours after that I’ll be flying out, on an extended trip to get home. I’m truly amazed that it’s been more than 3 months, for it feels like a week ago I got here. I went back to my journal from before I left and the first month I was here. The only thing I was scared of was the heat, and to be honest, thats really the only thing I never got used to. (Sure I complain when its 75, but it is chilly)

As I prepare to go home I find my self struggling with how I portray my time here. Before I left the trip was all I could talk to people about. I was so excited, and I had no idea what to expect. I know that this will forever be a part of my story, and I want to reflect it as honestly as possible.

2018-09-13 11:49:53.946 — Looking West over the Atlantic.

Sure their were downs. Really there were a lot of them. And I know those are the stories that friends and family, and strangers at dinner parties, will want to hear. I also know that a lot of people will have already painted a picture of ‘Africa’ when I tell my stories. Thing is, the the Africa of your 79¢ a day ads, your safari fantasies, your mission trips and starving children, that ‘Country of Africa’ isn’t a reality. I’m not sure how to tell the truth of what I’ve experienced knowing that deep rooted biases, and colonialism have shaped your perceptions of the story I tell since day one.

But I will be sharing, both in ways indirect and direct. Cliche as it is, but this study abroad experience has been life changing. The ways that I interact with others, the ways I look at and advocate in global and local issues, and the ways I experience and express creativity have fundamentally changed. I want to be conscious about these changes, and I hope these changes are able to come through positively.

As I was thinking about my trip I started to list all of the unlucky things that same upon me, and others on the group. But I want to share a list of all the things that might not make as good of a story, images that stick in my mind, and made me feel all sorts of ways. I learned from this beauty, the stillness, and the confusion. I don’t want moments of excitement and drama to make up the stories I tell my self when they are only a small part of my time here. So here is a list of small things.

Being constantly blown away by everyone’s style. Seriously, I’ve given up, because I cannot compete with the level of beauty and attention that goes in to every outfit.
The speed and connivence of delivery fast food.
The absurd number of taxies that make cross city transport a breeze.
The fact that rain is an excuse to not go outside (will be using this one in Bellingham)
The days where the evening light makes the whole city seem like its being viewed under a polerized lens.
Skilled attaya pours, and the foam that comes with it.
Being able to buy a shot of coffee any where for not more than 50CFA (10¢)
The smell of fresh baguettes at the bakery down the road from our host family, and the subsequent transportation via moterbike.
Fresh roasted peanuts and cachoettes
The alarming but melodic horn of the car rapid.
Being able to buy anything from a car window while stuck in traffic. Cashews, books, tissues, toys for the kids, pants, brooms, bags of water, limes, bundles of mint, oil cloth, shoes, sunglasses, phone credit, and almost anything else you could ever need.
Greeting everyone, and being greeted by everyone when entering a room.
Spicy food, and lots of laughs, and the friends that I made here

So tomorrow when I leave I begin to reflect. Begin to reprocess who I am and how does this experience become a part of that. There have been parts of my identity I’ve had to hide being here, because they’re illegal, inaccessible, or just never came up. There are parts of my identity that I’ve leaned into, new experiences have shed new light and opened new doors. This process is an ever changing, ever flowing, life long process. I remain positive, looking for beauty and peace in all things.

It is with great privilege that I have been able to come to learn in Senegal. I have unlearned so much, and I have learned even more, so please ask about my time and let’s talk about it, and try to have an open mind. I’ll be signing off from blog posts for now, as I take some needed time to reflect and reaclimate to the cold. With love, and always beautiful tomorrows, Sage.

ReSearch Party

Sunday, sitting in my apartment listening to Anderson .Paak. 
I've been staring at the computer screen for much too long, 
but it seems thats the way of an extensive, but short term 
research project. My day looks a lot different than when I wrote 
my first day in the life, so here's part 2, Research.

46463314_333230587476795_4532827889137090560_n — View of the western most point of the Old World from the African Renaissance Monument

My alarm is no longer my roommate’s alarm. With my own room today I wake up to The Curtin by Snarky Puppy. I set my own schedule and its hard to get out of bed because I ‘technically’ have no obligations today. But the deadline of my project looms around the calendar pages, and so I get up and stumble to my on suit bathroom. (We’re living life large)

For breakfast I make some toast (griddled) and have some yogurt, an apple, and some coffee. Recently we’ve been making cold brew, and its truly a great way to start the morning. I listen to the NPR 1 news update, and worry about the US. After I put on my sunscreen, pack up my bag, and grab my melodica I head out.

Its a little chilly in the shadows of the buildings, but the temperature is much more agreeable for my Alaskan sensibilities than it was my first two months here. With the new apartment my walk to school is a bit longer than it was before we moved, but I really like, and need, the walking time to think. I walk past the neighborhood mosque, and the car dealerships to join the commuters waiting for the busses. I walk along the highway passing the big fancy telecommunications, and banking buildings to rejoin my old walk to school.

Crossing the roads has still not gotten any less sketchy, but I have my strategy down. Its ok to wait in the middle of the road, so its easier to cross one lane at a time. When no spaces some up, or cars are moving slow enough you can just go for it ant put out your hand, but that doesn’t always work. If I can’t muster the courage to cross I just follow closely to someone who knows what their doing.

When I reach school I set up my work in the class room. I take up abut 4 desks with my notes and books, and computer, but a lot of the time I spend standing at the teaching podium on my computer. As a fidgety person it find it much easier to focus for long periods of time when I can dance and walk in place, and not change my sitting position every three minuets. Today I spent most of the day transcribing an interview. Hard work, but I intersperse it with youtube breaks (cause those cooking videos aren’t going to watch themselves).

For lunch I sometimes eat at school, but sometimes I’ll go to McCesars, the restaurant of the suture. They have pizza, paninis, hamburgers, traditional fried chicken, and tacos (which in all honesty are more like wraps, but they are delicious). The go order is the Bogata Taco Poulet (tortillas, émincé de poulet, frites, fromage, sauce au choix). Its killer.

After lunch its back to work. This sometimes takes the form of more transcribing, or interviews, or reading reading and more reading. I’m doing my best to keep on a schedule, and not fall into the ever so tempting loop of procrastinating. It’s hard when you study something you love, because watching a interview relevant to your studies, can lead to listening to another musician, and another album, and sharing that album with friends, and wanting to learn a new song. Theres a fine balance between productive exploration and falling down a rabbit hole, and I have not quite found how to reach that balance consistently. But thats how we learn.

Around 5:30 I decide to head home. On the walk I pass the cute street dog that always hangs out with the same guard by the police school. I continue under the bridge built by the French company that no one uses because its much easier just to cross. The alarming but melodic sound of a Car Rapide sounds as I pass the bus stop. People rush to it and cram in. I walk past the taxi car wash station, where taxi drivers make their cars look as yellow as possible. And then back past construction sites, and then up to our apartment.

When I get home Emma and I make a quick grocery run, and pick up veggies and bread and cheese for dinner. Two loaves of fresh crusty bread cost about 400CFA which is about 80¢. I make soup for dinner with a stock I made earlier in the week. Having time and place to cook has been so helpful for me. Cooking is one of the things I missed most about living with a host family, because it gives me time to relax and thing about things that aren’t my work.

After dinner I sit down to write a bit more be for bed. Below’s an exert from my paper. I’m taking more of a narrative approach than a formal approach because ‘Writing about music is like dancing about architecture’, and I’m doing by best to convey the playfulness and the flow involved in musical improvisation. (See Exert Below)

A cup of tea by my side I watch a final concert, or maybe an interview, or maybe an irrelevant video, and head to bed. Between the 4 miles of walking to and from each day, and the intensive research process, and the cool night air, I sleep well.

Lots of love, and Always Beautiful Tomorrows, Sage

From Reflections on Improvisation in Senegal:

“I wrote my research proposal, aiming to focus on musical improvisation. My experiences with improvisation in the Jazz world in the US had been a mixed bag. It is my favorite part of the music. The freedom that comes with being able to shape it into the way you feel. The joy of interacting and expressing with others in a language that goes beyond words. On the flip side, I was terrified of improvisation, because I had placed limits on what I could and could not do. While most of may education in improvisation has been amazing, but much of it has focused on playing the technique. Playing the right way. Practicing the right way. Transcribing the rightway. And I never felt like I fully connected because I was never fully free within the music, and the expression.

When I took time off I realized I didn’t have to think about it that academic way. The technique isn’t what people come to see. It is impressive to see a virtuoso play a concerto with amazingly fast passages, or to hear someone pull off a impressive scapular bebop solo, but its not the physicality that people are impressed with in music. If that was the case music would would be more like sports teams, and musicians would probably be paid a lot more too.

The thing is people listen to music because it is a way of expression. When a solo is good it resonates with someone on a level beyond words. When a symphony is good its because it made you cry. When an album is good it tells the story of your life. In spending all my time focused on practicing, and playing, and being taught, and teaching, and transcribing I had lost the fundamental reason I started playing music in the first place.”

3/4

If you have ever run a distance race, you know what it feels like to get through the third quarter. People love to cheer for you and point out when you’re at half way, but half way up until the end of the third quarter are the worst. You feel accomplished in completing half, but know that you have just as much to go as you have already completed. Only half way done, and half way to go. Its not a case of glass half empty or glass half full when the glass is a race and the point of the race is to push yourself.

I bring up this metaphor a.) because I miss running and I’m really excited to start training for the Vancouver marathon when I get home, and b.) because I finally feel like I’ve gotten over the third quarter of my Study Abroad. I have 4 more weeks and 40 pages to write, and then I’ll be on my way. Somedays I feel like I’m on the last lap of a mile, and some times it feels like the last 10k of a marathon.

This is not to say I am not grateful for the time I have spent here. Even though I missed my flight here, lost all of my belongings for a month, had to deal with a psychotic 5 year old, seen the inside of my roommates arm, and most recently was briefly kidnaped, I wouldn’t trade this experience for an easier study abroad. On the contrary, I plan on recommending this experience to everyone when I return. However, this has been the hardest thing I have ever done.

This last month I will be working on an independent research project, exploring perspectives of musical improvisation and spontaneity, specifically within higher education.With no more in class time, or class excursions my focus will be completely self directed, and mono focused on my research. I’ve never worked in a setting like this, and my final will be a research paper the longest piece of writing I have ever undertaken. I am intimidated, and know I will be making mistakes along the way, but I am looking forward to the knowledge I will gain from these inevitable mistakes.

Going home I know that this experience will now forever be a part of who I am. I can see 10, 20 , 50 years down the road having someone ask about my (first) time in Senegal, and I want to do this experience justice. I want to show the love of the people, to respect the traditions, to acknowledge the histories. In this last month I want to get the most out of this time and to figure out how to manifest the changes of this experience into who I am. In short, how do I return to tell the story about how I lived in Senegal when I was 20 in a way that is honest?

When I leave Dakar I will be heading to Croatia to spend a few weeks on a small sheep and olive filled Mediterranean island with my brother. This buffer of time and space will let me explore the changes within me before plunging back into a life that is completely familiar and up until not completely comfortable. I want to think and reflect and create to capture the rawness of where I am and where I want to be in light of studying abroad.

These past couple of weeks have been a whirlwind of good and bad stress and relaxation, and good vibes from where ever you are, are always appreciated. I’de love to here from you, so Comment, email, Facebook Message, or WhatsApp me.

Heres to Always Beautiful Tomorrows. – S

It’s More than the Usual Suspects

Morocco

Words on a page, will forever be upstaged by every alley in Menez. 

Smells of spice, and quiet sounds of life, from open doors in Fez. 

Overcast days, hold every color but grey, within walls of the Medina.

Leaving Dakar early Sunday morning we arrived in Casablanca and drove to Meknes where our Institutional Base in the Morocco was. (We partnered with private language and Culture Institute AALIM) We the drive was about 3 hours through mountainous desert, olive trees, and sage brush. We toured the city a bit then had an orientation on the Country. The main things covered were general safety precautions (travel in groups, women don’t go out with out a man, only eat food you trust) basic navigation, and some cultural factoids.

This is a large door at the Royal Palace in Fez

They also brought up the difference in terminology for ethic group indigenous to the area, frequently referred to as the Berbers. The term is rooted in the French barbare, meaning Barbarian. Traditionally they call themselves Imazighen, (Amazigh Singular), meaning free people, however in our experiences in Morocco, guides, and scholars both of Amazigh decent and not, used the term Berber with more frequency. There is a push for a societal renaming of the people, and has recently been fights for visibility of the Amazigh culture. The language is now taught in schools, and can be found on some buildings and signs. (For more check out this Article Free People – The Imazighen of North Africa)

We got a tour of Meknez, which included the Main Square, and the walls of the Medina, and a trip to the market. A firm believer in bulk buying it was amazing to see the tubs of olives, and spices, and teas, and pastries. I ended up buying an absurd amount of a tea mix with lavender, mint, rose, green tea and chamomille in it, and something called 45 spice mix, which is used for couscous. Who’s coming over for dinner when I get back?

Our second day in Morocco we drove to Fez. Although we initially ran into some trouble with the questions we could ask, and the having the authority of our professer questioned, we had a guide lead us around the city. Starting at the royal Palace, heading to the Borj Nord the 16th century fortress overlooking the city, and then diving into the medina. The medina in Fez is a UNESCO world Heritage site, containing about 540 acres it’s the largest urban pedestrian free zone in the world , and it serves as the living and working place for about 156,00 people.

The small tanning pits, the white color and the smell comes from pigion poop.

We saw and smelled (or tried not to smell) the leather tanning pits, listened to the head Copper smith hammer at a huge copper pot, and watched weavers at work. Later that evening we got lost in the medina, a danger we were well warned about and had to pay a guide who actually got us more lost, and had a few scary moments, but eventually got out in one piece. A tip for anyone traveling to Fez, as soon as you don’t know where you are TURN AROUND, and if anyone in Nike Sweats and an F boy hair cut approches you, don’t let them guide you.

Sweet mint green tea comes at any and all times of the day in Morocco.

The next day we had lectures in the morning on historic, and modern iterations of religious pluralism in Morocco. Our first lecturer gave a clearly idealized look at the concepts, but provided us with a good foundation for discussion. Our second lecturer was Journalist/Professer Beatriz Mesa Garcia (Check out her Twitter) She gave an amazing thought provoking lecture on the complexities involved in the conflicts of the Sahel. Later in the day I worked on perfecting the art of sitting and doing nothing while enjoying the cold and rain and tea. That evening we returned to Meknez.

Another morning of lectures, on Sufism and the Arab Conquests of Morocco. This time including some good ol’ decolonial confrontation when a lecturer mentioned the ‘Lack of spirituality in Africa.’ Being that our class has been immersed in decolonial scholarship we all hopped in to correct and deconstruct what she had said. Later in the day we toured one of the oldest Koranic Schools in the world, and the Museum of Meknez. At the Museum there was a beautiful display of Amazigh craftsmanship in clothing, rug/tapestry, and jewellery.

Friday we packed up and left for Rabat, about a 3 hour drive. We stopped for a quick, unscheduled tour at the Université Internationale de Rebat, a brand new school just outside the city. After a quick lunch we met with a guide at Chellah, the site of both Roman ruins and a Medieval Muslim Fortress. (These grounds also host a Jazz festival in the fall every year, so it’s a distinct possibility I’ll be coming back. JazzauChella)

Our guide and the setting here was fitting for a discussion of what makes the Moroccan Identity, considering the melange of cultures that make up this place. Through its history, Morocco has been influenced by its indigenous people, the Romans, the Arab World, and European Colonization. To try to present a singular moroccan identity is impossible, but there seems to be an agenda of creating this identity through a lot of our lectures and experiences in the country. Reflexively, there is also the myth of the nationalist identity that happens in the US, and I’m sure in many other places around the world. In fact the whole idea of the melting pot – where people from different cultures come in , and all meld to become one embodies this. In becoming one, the individual identities can become erased, as one generic Identity is presented to the world. (see the corny but fitting Melting Pot vs Salad Bowl Argument Here)

That evening, after some cajoling, I lead the group to Jazz club a few minuets from our Hotel. After living in Dakar 2 months, and having almost no live music in my life I was thrilled to hear Kora player Mbemba Diebate, and his band Bacoumba Fusion. It was a smoke filled, bar, with a lot of interesting people, and me being me at a set break I got to talk to the band, and got to introduce myself to a lot of them. I played piano with the band for their last set, which was absurdly fun, though I could barely hear myself. Im excited to stay in touch with several of the group members during the course of my ISP, which I’ll be starting in a week.

Our last day in Morocco we woke up early and drove to Casablanca. There we visited the Grand Mosque of Casablanca, the second largest mosque in Africa, and the only one open to non-Muslims in Morocco. A total of 105,000 worshippers can come together at this mosque. It seemed larger than necessary for human sized people, and the intricacies of designs was absolutely unreal. We walked barefoot through the worship area and looked out at the sea, and up at the incredible ceilings. There were a lot of tourists there, but there was also a part that was blocked off for a religious study group. We then left the prayer hall and went down stairs to view the 41 fountains for ablutions.

During our last few hours in Morocco we wandered through the Casablanca Medina to find Ricks Cafe. The original never actually existed save on a Hollywood movie lot, but an American Ex-Pat has created one in its honor. It was closed, but it was amusing to see it and to hear some disappointed and naïve american white haired tourists ask “I wonder if theres a bar in the Mosque’

We ate our last moroccan pastries and said our goodbyes to our Moroccan Guides and headed to the airport. Getting some last minuet gifts and indulging in a PSL (it’s my only taste of fall, don’t drag me) we caught our flight back to Dakar.

It was funny how unremarkable coming back to Dakar was. It was a completely different experience that the first time we all flew in 2 months ago.

We arrived home a week ago from when I’m posing this. A tired week at school, and then Thursday through Monday off for the Moorid Pilgrimage to Touba for Magal. Emma and I have been laying low and recovering from our trips (and falls 😉 and enjoying a quiet weekend in Dakar. Our last week of academic classes is coming up, and then we begin Independent Study which will run through the end of the program in December.

Stay in touch, and here’s to Always Beautiful Tomorrows. – Sage