Warmth of a New Family

Leaving PST Homestay
Sangalkam, Senegal
May 9, 2010

On my sunsoaked mattress in my bright blue room I sit watching Sadio prepare the third cup of ataaya. Pouring the steaming sugary mint, she swirls the teapot to ensure every last drop of flavor is absorbed. Leaning over two shotglass sized cups, swirling and pouring, Sadio glances up at me between sniffles. It is my last hour with my training homestay family and my mother, Sadio, is making it special by preparing afternoon tea.

I have only been in country for two months but the connections I have made with my host family in Sangalkam have been remarkable. It’s incredible to imagine that we managed to form such a bond over a short period of time despite the gross bathroom, Sadio’s handicap and a massive language barrier.

She pours the first cup of tea and we sip around the foam. It is a hot afternoon and the sunrays plunge through my screen window transforming it into a boiler room. Isotou sits on my lap, taking advantage of the last few minutes with her new big sister while Ibrahim, my ever-precocious 2-year-old, waddles around my room delightfully handing me my toiletries as I gather my bags.

Hadi, my sister, walks in and sits next to me. I hand her some ataaya and she sips it as we joke about jaifundays – or “ghetto booties” – and how I need to work on mine before I come back to visit them. (I guess I just don’t make the cut in Senegal.)

Sadio, squatting over the propane can, adds more sugar to the brewing ataaya. The air is heavy and hot and the flame from the gas stifles the room. One by one, each of the ten kids in my compound filter in and sit on my twin-sized bed, joking and petting my hair.

After the third cup of ataaya, the kids start to get rowdy and give each other piggyback rides. Then, they tackle me in unison as Hadi picks up my camera to capture the moment. With every snap of the camera, the kids squeal with excitement. Nothing is more electrifying than having their picture taken from a digital camera where they can have instantaneous results. The photo session ends and Sadio, having cleared out the propane tank from the corner of my room, shoos them away. All but little Isotou scamper along and an impromptu soccer game breaks out in the front yard of the compound.

Sadio looks at me with a mischievous smile and tells me to wait on the bed while she fetches something from her room. Isotou looks up at me with a wide eyes and a luminously sly grin. I hear Sadio rummaging through her armoire, hear her shut the doors, and see her fling my doorway curtain open. With maternal pride, she gives me a pink and blue complet. She makes me try it on and I do several full turns for each of the family members that trickle into my room to see the toubab in traditional Senegalese dress. They all smile and say it looks nice.

Sadio pushes my shoulder down to make me sit on a stool in the middle of my room she used while making ataaya. Her and my neighbor Keita grab a section of my hair and start braiding; petting and smoothing out the uneven pieces. After a minute, they stand back and marvel at their work. Hadi, still holding my camera snaps a few pictures and then directs me to pose in a Senegalese fashion. We giggle as I make funny faces and the kids sitting on the bed try to jump into the frame.

It is almost time to go and Sadio starts to get teary-eyed. We have become very close over the last two months and it is hard to say goodbye for the final time. We hear the Peace Corps car pull up to the roundabout where it is to take us back to Thies where we will take our final language exams head to Dakar to swear in as official Peace Corps volunteers. I snap a few final pictures of my family as Sadio, Hadi and the kids pick up my baggage and head out the door. I say bye to everyone in the compound and feel a strange sadness I didn’t expect. I have formed a strong bond with my family in Sangalkam and know I will miss them dearly.

The women and kids insist on walking me to the car. As we make our way down the sandy streets, kids I’ve played soccer with or tickled on my way to class shout my name and wave goodbye.

We get to the car and the rest of the volunteers’ families are there goodbyeing and taking last-minute pictures. I pick up Ibrahim and Isotou and give them a big hug. Sadio, Hadi and I look at each other and start to cry. We give each other one more group hug and I bored the bus. As the car pulls away, Isotou runs after it waving for me. Her little legs and tiny flipflops patter in the sand. We turn the corner and are moving on down the road.

Training may be over but I will never forget the warmth and welcomness I received from the Diallo’s in Sangalkam. I will always consider them family and hope they will do the same.