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Published: October 7th 2010
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Dear Family and Friends
I have survived my first 3 to 4 days in Africa and began that oft talked about term called “culture shock.” I have experienced it a couple of times and I am familiar with several of its variation; I always find it exceptionally difficult to specifically analyze the impact it is having on my behavior. With that aside I can pinpoint one phenomenon that I have run across that is something which has been referred to as "African time." The phrase itself does not have much currency here, specifically in St. Louis; however, the phenomenon is quite obvious. I suppose that every hyperactive, energetic, constantly working, Western, adrenaline junkie like me is baffled and boondoggled by this immense sand trap that is “African time.” Getting up at 7 am with an itching desire to get a list of things to do as quickly as possible just often ends up in disappointment as you attempt to wade out of the quicksand. I declined that route; instead I am attempting (possibly futilely) to slowly immerse myself into African culture and society. I figured to do this without any phone or time peace to be bewilderingly unaware of the
passage of time and get a grasp of “African Time.” So for the past couple of days I have been relaxing, reading, and exploring. The popular book "A Gird with the Dragon Tattoo" was my introduction, which I read at a breakneck pace in less than 48 hours, which I suppose was counter to “African Time” but hey, us westerners have to rush even through relaxation.
I have also done some exploration of the town of St. Louis. So for those geography buffs here is a quick and dirty lay down of the city. The town of St. Louis, the historical par at least, is on an island in the Senegal River estuary. The bulk of the town is on the mainland, while the touristy part is an island, while the fishing side is on sand bar on the other side of the island. The town is characterized by a steel bridge connecting the old town to the mainland. In the old town, or centre-ville, there are buildings that date back hundreds of years to the colonial period, but European powers were not the only imperialists to leave their mark. St. Louis is also home to the oldest Mosque
in Senegal as well. Most of the buildings are squat two, or three stories, apartments that often have a courtyard in the middle. The houses pallet ranges from topes to beiges. They are often dilapidated with the plaster falling off to reveal European brick. These brick buildings are testament to the former French empire since these bricks had to be imported, often as ballast on merchant vessels. The main streets are paved and in the shade locals congregate to talk and avoid the heat. Down the allies you can see children playing with live stock on the sandy streets. The mornings and afternoons see the most activity in town, because during the early afternoon is is simply just to hot to bear the heat. I have posted a couple of pictures of the town to give you guys a jist of what it looks like as well of my accommodations.
So, onwards to what I supposedly came here to do. As I mentioned I have been taking it pretty easy so far. I should explain the structure, therein lack of, of the NGO that I am with. The women who I was in contact with, who is the soul
of this project, is called Lies(pronounced "Lees") who lives her husband Jeorie(Yuri), who you could call the body of the project. They both have full time jobs which are done online to insure that they can live and keeps their own private funding to keep the project going. They can work in Senegal since all their work is online, Jeorie works as an IT guy, while Lies conducts online teaching. This now leaves us the volunteers. So, since Lies and Jeorie have most of their time consumed by their careers there are not many existing programs. There a couple of hodgepodged ones that kind of function, only marginally. One in particular is working with local street urchins, but because the little guy's do not speak French, we need to rely upon a local who speaks Wolof to act as an intermediary, thus the quagmire of “African Time” sinking us eager Westerners into the sand.
Now because the NGO is in its infantile state and fairly unorganized, the two current, soon to be previous volunteers who I met are moving on to another project in Dakar. They expressed some dissatisfaction that they expected to be given some work and tasks
as opposed to find it themselves, which I do see as a very logical complaint, one which I am struggling with myself. Now I am not going to lie, coming here and finding out that I again have to choose what I would like to do, which if you remember was why I came here, is a great dose of irony. I am again back face to face with my nemesis, the existential crisis. However, this time its form is quite different and holds more moral baggage. I will soon be the only volunteer here, my colleagues are leaving tomorrow for Dakar where they found another project and I will have to start looking for projects here in St. Louis that I would like to tackle for the time being.
The plain and simple question of how can I help is far more difficult and complex for the indecisive, sometimes timid, over thinking, middle class urbanite such as myself. Take for example a simple walk down the street, a torrent of problems and issues jump out at my well mannered, civilized, sense of propriety. Abject poverty, health, education, filth, infrastructure, human rights, gender issues, environmental damage, pollution, crime, water
scarcity, etc. The list really does go on. Also when you pinpoint one particular problem, you only glimpse vague shifting siluettes of the solution in the chaotic sand storm as you try to blindly sift your way to it. The leviathan that is African poverty is such an immense to beast to tackle and when I am given the equivalent of a pair of safety scissors to slay it, it is daunting.
However, my faithful readers never fear, if anything I have an almost limitless bag of optimism combined with a large dose of stubbornness that many have called sheer fucking stupidity to ride me out through this adventure. So put your worries aside and be safe in the knowledge that Jan Norgaard Jones is receiving the adventure that he so eagerly and naively wanted.
Just as safe and sound as he was in Canada,
Love
Jan
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Kate Abarbanel
non-member comment
Hey Jan, I'm lurking the blog and enjoying it a lot. I have also experienced the phenomenon of African time, and I can only say that as you spend more time in Africa you begin to have lower (or perhaps I should say, somewhat less xenophobically, "different") expectations. In short, it stops being so irritating . . . unless you're trying to facilitate something between other, more inexperienced, westerners and Africans. Then you remember how irritating it really is. When I was in Uganda, I met an Israeli guy who'd been travelling there for around four months. We had a pretty long conversation, but the thing I remember is his comment that, "Africa will make you a huge racist." For me it was definitely true, in the sense that I began to assume things about Ugandans. If one told me that something started at 12, I'd hear 2 . . . 3:30 if it was raining. If I was told that something cost 10,000 sh I'd always assume the actual price was closer to 3,000. Anyway, I'm rambling, but the point is that I feel ya. It's hard to reconcile what we're used to with a totally different pace of life. Culture shock is tough . . . and while it gets easier it doesn't really go away. Anyway, I'm glad you're sort of settling in. Here's hoping that something works out with your volunteer work quickly . . . in Western time. :) Kate PS. There's a really great book called Africa: Altered States Ordinary Miracles that you should have a look at if you can. It was assigned in an Intro to Africa class I took last year, and it's pretty comprehensive and (as far as I can tell) fair to the continent. Not boring either. I'm guessing opportunities for getting Amazon orders in Senegal are abysmal, but if you get a chance to have a look at it even after the trip I think you'd find it interesting. The fellow who wrote it is a British journalist called Richard Dowden.