My initial thought applying to Young Adults in Global Mission (YAGM) was “Gosh, I sure do love mission trips, but they never seem long enough for me to get as much done as I would like. This will be like a year long mission trip. I will make such an impact on my host community as well as on myself.” *chuckle at the naivety* However, after being accepted into the program I was warned repeatedly by Global missions staff as well as by YAGM alum, that this year may not look like what I initially expect. I was introduced to the YAGM buzzword: Accompaniment. If you would’ve asked me three months ago if I was ready to build relationships and forego all my previously held beliefs about efficiency and productivity, I would’ve replied with a “Hell yeah! Put me in coach” attitude. But as hard as it is to admit, I never thought I’d struggle as much as I have. I pride myself in being adaptable and easy going. I grew up with the phrase “Adapt, Migrate, or Die.” Though, I’ve discovered this particular phrase applies much more to the sport of gymnastics than it does to life as a missionary. I’m only just now figuring out how much it gave me an unwarranted sense of confidence in my ability to adapt to the changes this year would bring.
As I write this, my little host brother is crawling on my back like I’m a jungle gym, as sweat drips down my back and out of every pore in my legs. It’s 90 degrees at eight o’clock at night and my house (which runs on solar power) has only enough energy for a single lightbulb in each room. My only reprieve from the heat is the outdoor shower I take every night (when water levels allow) and the fan in my room. Now I don’t mention this to complain or to get sympathy. In fact, all of this has been surprisingly easy to adjust to. If these were my only hurdles, then I’d be set for a pretty easy year. But rather, what I struggle the most with is my sense of uselessness. I understood (in theory) that I was not coming into Senegal with the purpose of fixing anything or providing any service that the Senegalese couldn’t do for themselves. But what I wasn’t expecting was the feeling of just being in the way. Unable to really communicate, I feel more like a nuisance to my coworkers than a help (though they’d never give me any reason to believe as such). I have a story that describes this situation perfectly. Just yesterday I was at the women’s center helping my coworker Salle pick bissap leaves from the vine (think Senegalese hibiscus) and after struggling in the beginning to get the leaves disconnected from the flower, I was finally starting to get the hang of it. I was feeling pretty confident as my nimble fingers began to make quick work of the pile of vines in front of me. After about 5-10 minutes, I looked up only to realize that the way I was holding the vines as I picked the flowers was causing Salle to constantly have to dodge the vine as I unknowingly almost smacked her in the face with it repeatedly. But seeing how proud I was that I was finally figuring it out, she decided not to say anything and just kept dodging my wild vine swinging. After realizing my mistake, exclaiming “wasanaam” about 100 times (Seereer for pardon me) and reorienting my body so I would no longer assault my coworker with bissap vines, I discovered that long gone are my thoughts that I’d be making a lasting, impressive impact on my host community. Now my main concerns are about not smacking my Senegalese coworkers in the face (literally or figuratively) with my incompetence.
Despite my inability to communicate, I’ve found myself getting frustrated at the “inefficient” ways things are done here (go figure, right?). Does everyone really need to say “Jam soom” six times in the same salutation? Or the church services that can run an upwards of two hours, though are never consistently the same length week to week. A few Sundays ago, my frustration grew as the power went out (which meant the fans stopped working), church was “supposed” to end 45 min earlier, and for some reason unknown to me, we were doing a second and third offering, which included a Senegalese dance circle led by the Pastor! All I could think was “dear Lord, will this service ever end??” The only thing on my mind was a cold shower and hopping online for a scheduled FaceTime call with a friend back home. But once church was finally over we sat at the taxi pickup station for another 30 min in the beating sun, watching bus after bus pass by that would’ve taken us on the route home, I found my frustration growing yet again. After suggesting just taking the bus home and swiftly being dismissed, I could feel my patience dwindling by the minute. Why could nothing be done in a timely manner here?? I screamed inside my head. After finally catching a taxi, I noticed we weren’t heading right home. It was 105 degrees, I had mistakenly left my hair down and felt like a drowned rat with all the sweat pouring out of me. It took me five minutes of calming breaths for us to reach the first stop, which was the water filtration system. Due to Fatick’s location on the Saloum river delta, the water is too salty to use from the tap, so families have to buy their cooking and drinking water from the water osmosis center. My host family had noticed that the water filter in my room was running low, and they grabbed my water jugs to have filled for me, without my noticing, mentioning, or asking.
To say that I was ashamed at my impatience and my inner dialogue would be an understatement. What I thought were my frustrations at their inefficiency turned out to be a frustration with my inability to understand their way of life. This is just one of many examples of times I’ve questioned the way things are done here, often with frustration or, if I’m being brutally honest with myself, a bit of judgement. Luckily my lack of communication has acted as a double edged sword. Though it has been a constant barrier leading me to feel lost, confused, and oh so very awkward, it has also kept me from voicing many of these thoughts and snap judgments, and forced me to just sit back and watch situations unfold. What I’ve noticed is that every time I think I know the better, more efficient way, I’ve been proven wrong time and time again. Taking the bus would’ve meant carrying three 10L jugs of water miles home from the bus station. The extra 45 minutes of church and the two extra offerings were because the church recently opened new boutiques to help supplement the church’s finances but they needed some extra money to get things off the ground. What my lack of understanding kept me from noticing was the deeply engrained sense of community that is ever present in Senegal.
Not speaking the native language has forced me to sit quietly (mostly in discomfort) and listen much more than I ever did in the U.S. But doing so has been the exact thing that has forced me to notice how little I really know. If I came in to Senegal being fluent in either French or Seereer, I would feel as though I had some knowledge that I could impart. That I should be actively involved in the discussions and my opinions taken into account, rather than just being an observer. Though there is nothing wrong with participation, I’ve found there is so much humility to be learned in being able to just sit back and recognize all that you don’t know. In the U.S context where we often listen to respond, rather than listen to hear or understand, we are trapped in a cycle of talking over one another and leaving the discussion confused as to why nothing really got accomplished. I reckon that if we all were to sit back, truly listen, and accept that we don’t always know everything, we’d find that there are often some amazing thoughts and ideas from our partners at the table. Patience is an often undervalued quality to possess. Not only patience for others, but patience for yourself.
I’d like to share with y’all a prayer that I’ve been saying repeatedly during my time in Fatick. Feel free to steal it and adapt it to your own life as you see fit.
Lord give me the patience to let my frustrations roll off my back, like the ever present beads of sweat.
Lord give me the clarity to continue seeing my discomfort and misunderstanding as gifts from you.
Lord let me feel your love and peace as intensely as I feel the heat from the African sun beating down on me.
Lord give me the strength to trust in you and this process as much as I have to trust this random person leading me to the bus station.
