When I decided to intern in Senegal for two months this spring, I didn’t quite know what to expect. It would be my first time in Africa and my first visit to a French-speaking country, despite having only taken one term of French prior to boarding the plane there. And yet it was with excitement and optimism—though not without a smidge of trepidation—that I committed to two months of NGO work and intensive French study in a country that I knew little about. So why did I choose to do my GlobalWorks internship in Senegal in the first place?
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Ever since I was a child growing up in a small, conservative town in rural Oregon which I spent a good part of my youth wishing to escape, I’ve always been curious about the people and places of the world that we Americans, as a rule, never seem to hear much about. Even as I witnessed my classmates who were privileged enough to be able to travel abroad came back raving about vacation destinations like France and Italy, my thoughts always turned to those more “obscure” corners of the globe that most Americans wouldn’t be able to place on a map. The difference, it seems to me, is a matter of prestige.
For most Americans, France—to pick, as an example, the most touristed country in the world—is a symbol of refinement and “culture” in the classical sense of the word, home of haute cuisine and the language of love. Merely the sound of the French language is enough to conjure up romantic visions of Paris, the City of Light. Mention any Francophone African country to the average Paris-vacationing American, however, and they are likely to imagine a rather generic picture of poverty, pollution, political instability, war, disease, and crumbling infrastructure—all set against a backdrop of sweltering jungle or dusty desert. According to the same popular imaginary according to which the French Riviera is the stuff of dreams, tourists don’t go to Africa; aid workers and Blue Helmets do. Here essentialism has replaced romanticism. This dichotomy emerges from a much older paradigm which positions Europe as civilized, in contrast to the regions it colonized. In other words, France is worth visiting; its ex-colonies are not, nor even are their names worth remembering.
No wonder why, in the intensive introductory French class I took the term before heading to Senegal, we never discussed Africa and its many dialects of French—despite this continent housing more than half of the world’s everyday Francophones.
I don’t wish to begrudge anyone their trip to France. But lovely as that vacation may be, when I decided to apply for the GlobalWorks International Internship Program this spring as a means of gaining professional experience and learning French, I did not want to reproduce those conventional narratives about France as the pinnacle of high culture while ignoring the people and places they colonized. So where else could I go to gain professional experience and learn French that would, at the same time, provide me with a more unique and challenging experience? As I investigated other available options, Senegal appeared as the answer to this question.
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As it happens, there is only one partner organization in Senegal, so arranging the internship was the easy part. Soon enough, I had met with the president of the organization I would be interning with to discuss my roles and responsibilities. I would be interning 20 hours per week with an NGO called the Groupe pour l’Étude et l’Enseignement de la Population (GEEP), which works on issues of public health, sexual education, and youth development by designing and implementing curricula and youth clubs at secondary schools around the nation. In addition to my internship, I would spend another 20 hours a week in intensive French lessons at one of the premiere language schools of Dakar, Senegal’s capital. Finally, I would be placed with a Senegalese host family who would serve as my guides in adjusting to local life. Given I was also writing my thesis at the time, it was clear my schedule would be jam-packed. Still, as the days to departure ticked down, my excitement mounted.
My first impression of Senegal, upon landing in Dakar on a Sunday morning of early April, was that it was warm—not just physically, though it was quite hot, but culturally too. When my host family beckoned me into their lovely home, I was struck by what I would soon learn is a Senegalese value called teraanga—what one source describes as “a uniquely Senegalese combination of generosity, hospitality and sharing that permeates daily life.” Indeed, Senegal is probably the most open and welcoming place I’ve been. Everywhere I went, people embodied the spirit of generosity, hospitability, kindness, and respect which is at the heart of Senegalese culture.
A representative example of the extent to which teraanga is woven into the fabric of daily life in Senegal is the traditional tea ceremony, known in Wolof as ataya. Consisting of three rounds of a very sweet and frothy green tea mixed with mint and excessive amounts of sugar to counter its bitterness, ataya is traditionally offered as a gesture of respect and hospitality between hosts and their guests. One of the cultural ambassadors at my French school made a point of bringing every student at least one round of ataya per day, and every time my host family made it at home, they also made sure to offer me a cup. The same spirit of sharing finds expression in the way in which meals are traditionally shared—scooped by hand out of a big metal dish around which the whole family and their guests sit cross-legged on the floor.
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Music, too, is a sharing experience. One of my best memories from Senegal came as an utter surprise, after mentioning offhandedly, one day in French class, that I would love to meet Cheikh Lô, my favorite Senegalese musician. When my teacher responded, with a smile, that he would see what he could do, I assumed he was joking. Lô and behold, not three days later he invited me to see Cheikh Lô play live at a beachside bar in a different neighborhood of Dakar, where he introduced me in person after the show. This, more than anything else, demonstrated how pervasive the value of teraanga is within Senegalese society. Naturally, by the time my program ended, I considered my French teacher a friend and not just an instructor.
Although my two months in Senegal were very busy—and seemed to go by in a flash—I ended the program feeling that it had been a lifechanging experience. My first visit to Africa had seen my French improve immensely, I had gained valuable professional experience through my internship with GEEP, and I had learned a lot about a country and culture which, before my visit, I had known close to nothing about. As I bid goodbye to my friends and host family at the end of my program, I shook with the left hand instead of the right in the traditional manner. This would ordinarily be an insulting gesture, but when one is traveling, it symbolizes that one will return in the future to correct the offense. It is an acknowledgement that we will see each other again and renew our relationship in the future. Indeed, I know already that I will return to Senegal, sooner rather than later.
So next time you consider going on vacation to France, consider Senegal too. I’m glad I did!
By Rowan F.F. Glass
GlobalWorks International Internship in Senegal, Spring 2023