“‘Twas the [week] before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring not even a”…no wait there’s definitely a mouse stirring. I hear him every night scurrying around my room.
There are no Christmas lights in sight, no Christmas trees, no department stores shoving holiday consumerism down my throat, I haven’t been invited to even one ugly Christmas sweater party, and I have yet to hear a single Christmas song. If it wasn’t for my phone reminding me of the date, church services celebrating advent, and the sporadic Operation Christmas Child boxes floating around, I would never know it was December. Under the cons
tant rays of sunlight, my tan is still progressing nicely. I still eat fresh watermelon every night for dessert, and the heat is still stifling enough that there are times of the day that no one is caught dead going outside. Staring at the advent calendar I have taped up to my wall, I am trying desperately to make it feel like the Christmas season. I’ve made Christmas cards, I’ve been keeping up with a daily bible reading that walks me through the advent season, I’ve read Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, I’ve even watched a few Hallmark Christmas movies on Netflix to get me in the “Christmas spirit”. It seems as though nothing I do can close the gap between what I’m experiencing here in Fatick and what my previously understood notions of what Christmas is/should be. Do I resign myself to a year without Christmas?
All of this has got me thinking about what Christmas actually means to me. Having siblings so much older than I am (each with their own sets of in-laws) I’m the first to admit that our family Christmases are somewhat unconventional. We usually celebrate as a whole family either the Saturday before or after Christmas. Coming from a large family, presents have never been the focus of Christmas. Buying presents for all 20 people in my immediate family would get a bit ridiculous and quite expensive. That being the case, my parents and I (as the only one in the family yet to be married) usually have an unusually quiet Christmas Day filled with a Harry Potter marathon and all of the homemade Chex Mix one could possibly want. As with most other families, our Christmas is one filled with warmth, love, laughter, and of course, yummy food.
But as I sit here writing this blog, I can’t put my finger on why I feel like I’m living in Whoville. It feels as though someone has stolen my Christmas, but I have no clue who. There is no grinch in sight. I live with a Christian family and I work in the Senegalese Lutheran Church offices, if anyone were to go over the top to celebrate Christmas, it would be these people. Then it dawned on me. Living here, in a majority Muslim country, where the average person is living on less than five dollars a day, Christmas has a much less consumeristic feeling. Families don’t have the extra money for over the top decorating or an excess of presents. It’s been hard for me to admit, but this lack of consumerism for me, has translated to a lack of feeling like “Christmas”. That’s been a hard reality to realize. When did Christmas become directly correlated to shopping, twinkle lights, matching pajama sets, and decorated cookies? There is nothing overtly wrong with celebrating Christmas in this way. In fact, I find so much comfort in it, that while writing this, I am experiencing my first bout of homesickness. Not only for the fact that I am missing my familiar traditions, but for the fear that after my experiences in Senegal, I may never be able to go back to the way I previously viewed this holiday season.
As in most of my blog posts, I have to disclose some discomforts I’ve been feeling. Lord knows that I’ll continue experiencing them throughout this year. I don’t know about you all, but growing up, my church participated in Operation Christmas Child, or the shoebox donations. We’d save up all our boxes from the shoes we bought throughout the year. When Christmas season rolled around, we were able to choose the gender and age range of a child, then fill the shoebox with gifts that would be sent overseas to “needy” children who don’t get presents for Christmas. I write this with a breaking heart, because I remember the pure joy I felt as a child picking out toys to fill these boxes. And now, living in a country on the receiving end of these boxes, I feel sick to my stomach at the unintended consequences of a seemingly good natured act.
What I didn’t realize at the time was that the books I chose were in a language the children wouldn’t understand, not to mention depicting images that the kids couldn’t relate to, that further reinforced the notion of the White Savior complex. The toys that I picked out often were ones that I would have wanted to receive for Christmas, never occurring to me that children in different countries wouldn’t have the first idea of what to do with a deck of Uno cards, or a pocket size game of checkers. And never in my wildest dreams did it occur to me that these shoeboxes came with mandatory bible studies, that the recipients had to track participation and report back to the organization, ultimately requiring conversion in exchange for presents. Here in a dominantly Muslim country, you can see why this is problematic for me to witness. Even if the boxes were only given out to Christian children (which they’re not), Christianity looks vastly different here in Senegal than it does in the United States. Using the Bible studies written by “toubabs” in the West, with ideologies that are difficult to comprehend and images of white children that are impossible for these children to relate to, rather than building up and supporting the Bible studies written by the Lutheran church in Senegal, further strengthens the heart wrenching, postcolonial belief that “West is Best”.
Many of you may bristle with discomfort reading this. Trust me, I struggled even writing it. You may indignantly ask “How dare she question my motives?” Or “I am only trying to help those less fortunate than myself.” I understand that none of these consequences are ever our intention when we think about donating to charities that work overseas. I debated for a long time whether I should even address this specific discomfort I’ve been facing here, since I don’t really have a solution to offer up. I don’t know what the answer is. Maybe there isn’t one? I feel conflicted because I know the intentions back in the States are nothing but pure and good hearted. But what do we do when the effects of our actions have unintended and in this case, unseen, consequences? I’ve had to take a step back and truly evaluate the reasons behind why I give to certain charities. Is it to truly better an overseas community and empower them? Or as hard as it can be to admit, is it to make myself feel better about my unearned privilege in the world? If it is the latter, which I’ve starting to realize might be the case, can I be vulnerable and honest enough with myself to admit that? Though it may be convenient for me to continue giving without understanding the consequences, am I brave enough to contemplate that my actions could be counterproductive to the intended goal? This, I’ve discovered takes a lot of self reflection and brutal self analysis. But if not now, then when?
What is it that we are trying to spread by sending these packages to “needy” children in third world countries during this holiday season? The spirit of Christmas? Love? Happiness? A sense of community? As I write this I think it finally hit me why, despite the almost no outward expression of Christmas, the feeling of Christmas spirit is not lacking. As any Hallmark channel movie can tell you, the magic of this specific holiday season doesn’t lie within gifts, the perfect Christmas dinner, Christmas trees, or twinkle lights, but rather within the sense of community, love, and giving that this season brings out of people. But the most amazing thing is, the Senegalese don’t have one specific season for these traits. Community, love, and charity are all staples of their everyday lives. They don’t need a holiday to remind them of the importance of family or giving. That is a daily occurrence shown through their shockingly literal “open door” policy, their unwavering commitment to Teranga (Senegalese hospitality, you should really google it), and their unrelenting desire to help not just their own neighbors, but even strange toubabs like me. Maybe the answer to the problem lies not in spreading our consumer driven ideas of Christmas overseas, but adopting some of their ways of living out Christmas all year long?