Act like you know what you’re doing

I am a drama queen. The problem is it comes naturally. The bigger problem is that actually being a queen in drama is much harder than it looks, and acting does not come quite as naturally for me.

Fortunately, among the many random things I’ve picked up since coming to Colombo is a play reading group. Turns out, I love acting. It gives me a similar high to presenting research, which I absolutely love to do, yet this is actually… fun.

This past weekend, a group of a little over 10 of us headed out to a resort in Negombo for a retreat filled with pool time, an open mic, and of course, play-reading. Kalpanee deserves the biggest shoutout for planning this entire excursion. From the fish rolls that greeted us in her apartment while we waited for the van, down to timing the dinner delivery so it wouldn’t arrive mid-performance, every detail was perfect.

The beautiful resort – and shoutout Kalpanee for getting us an upgrade to a suite with this sweet view!

For context: Amar, an Indian man with a deep passion for all things theater and literature, leads this group every time he visits Sri Lanka. He used to oversee the Pizza Hut and Taco Bell chains here (though he’s recently retired and now manages social projects associated with Pizza Hut that provide training to youth around the country). He hand-picks each of the 8 or so short plays (7-10 minutes each) and hand-selects people to fill every role. For a few weeks leading up to performance night, everyone rehearses their lines, and then we come together to perform. The first time I performed, I think I had about 3 lines, but Amar still took the time to meet with me beforehand to go over them and make sure I was comfortable.

His play selections are always fascinating. I’ve played the best friend of a woman in a relationship with God himself, a sex worker called in not for sex but to scratch a poor man’s itch, an NGO worker with a spectacular lack of cultural competency, among others.

From a play-reading event earlier this year

The play reading itself has been a masterclass in tuning back into my creative side. While I normally turn to music to fill this gap, I haven’t quite found that community here, so this has been a perfect outlet. There’s something deeply comforting about a cohort of artistically minded people who go out on a limb to perform – and apparently go out on a limb in other ways too, like Altaf asking a woman (his now wife of 10 years) to marry him over text after knowing her for three days. Commitment to the bit is always there.

While I’d been attending these play reading events for the past year, getting to spend an extended period with core members of this group was absolutely invigorating. We usually don’t have time for stumbling through (in a very fashionable way) a Bollywood dance during our normal meetings, nor do they get to watch me fail spectacularly at reining in my competitive side while losing horribly at “Spot It.” But it was through these moments, as well as the smaller conversations that morphed into deeper themes, that I felt seen in a way I haven’t quite found in other circles here. There’s something so wonderfully alive about people who want to laugh and find every reason to do so.

The crew this weekend (I’ll spare you the video of me attempting Bollywood dance)!

Save the Turtles! But No, Really…

It’s a Monday night, edging past 9:30 p.m. The day’s rhythm has wound down: work wrapped up, Sinhala class finished, dinner cooked and enjoyed. Normally, I’d be slipping into something cozy and settling in for the night. Instead, I’m standing barefoot on a quiet strip of beach along Colombo’s southern coast.

The shoreline is hushed, lit only by the faint glow of nearby beach restaurants and bars shutting down for the night. As my eyes adjust, the sand begins to move as hundreds of crabs dart from their burrows, surfing the tide back into the sea. Street dogs roam nearby, sniffing the breeze, hopeful we’ve brought snacks. Mosquitoes join the party, making their rounds with relentless persistence. The air is thick and warm, but the breeze off the ocean offers a bit of mercy.

We step into this late-night world, part guests, part guardians. Week after week, we return to this nighttime beach ecosystem, not just to witness it, but to protect one of its quietest, most essential residents: the sea turtle.

There are 6 species of sea turtles that can be found on our coast, but we mostly saw Olive Ridleys.

The Turtle Saver Life Chose Me

There was a time I was infamously dubbed “the turtle saver” for snatching plastic straws out of my friends’ drinks thanks to that viral video of a rescuer pulling one from a sea turtle’s nose. My mom has always appreciated my conservation streak… until it interfered with her enjoying a crisp, cold Coke through a plastic straw.

Back then, doing the right thing felt easy—giving up a small convenience for a noble cause. But actually saving sea turtles? That’s a whole different level of inconvenience—and absolutely worth it.

What We Do

Every night, three groups patrol different sections of the main beach in Colombo. My team’s shift ran each Monday from 10 p.m. to 2 a.m., walking our designated stretch—about a 15-minute loop—over and over. Our group was a rotating mix of personalities:

A young married couple
A middle-aged conflict and peace worker
Two sisters—one 23, opening a boutique, the other 26, preparing for a marriage and move to the UK in August
Occasionally students from a marine university
And leaders from the organization would join, adding fresh energy to the night
Oh and Jialan!

You simply cannot judge any of these photos that we were forced to take after our shift ended at 2 am – but here’s the crew!

Over those four hours each Monday, we got to know each other—sometimes through deep conversations, but more often through the shared experience of walking in the moonlit silence, waves crashing beside us.

When we spotted a turtle coming ashore, we’d wait for her to lay her eggs before gently relocating them to a secure site with the Coast Guard.. (For the record, sea turtle eggs are deceptively heavy. One night, the Coast Guards sailors were tied up with other nests, and I had to carry the last one back through the uneven sand. It was a full-body workout!)

Between patrol loops, we’d take breaks at either end of the beach—one near a temple perched above the sea, the other nestled between fishing and diving boats.

Why We Do It

We interfere because if we don’t, others will.

The most immediate threat? Poachers. One night, we caught a poacher red-handed. He backed off quickly but casually asked if he could “just keep a few” (he claimed the Coast Guard sometimes let him). Another time, a poacher was so intent on taking eggs that he tried to attack the Coast Guard—a poor decision with an even poorer outcome.

Even well-meaning humans can unintentionally cause harm. One night, we found turtle tracks leading nowhere. A group of tipsy men admitted to “helping” the turtle back to sea. Imagine walking into a hospital in labor, only to be turned away because someone assumes you got lost! To be fair, most people wouldn’t expect that a mother turtle would walk in circles trying to find the perfect spot for anywhere from 20 min to an hour.

Then there’s erosion. I’d heard it was a problem, but didn’t fully believe it—until we arrived one night to find the beach had shifted dramatically. A sand ledge taller than me had formed overnight. If a turtle had laid eggs before that drop-off appeared, the nest would’ve been destroyed. If she came ashore that night, she’d have no way to climb to safety (note: sea turtles return to the spot they hatched to lay their eggs, so it’s also not as if she could just find another beach to lay her eggs).

And turtles don’t just face threats on land. Many get caught in polluted waters and need to be rescued. When only 1 in 100 eggs survives to adulthood, making sure the eggs are safe is more important than ever.

Reflections

Considering I normally go to bed at 8:30 or 9, this wasn’t just a four-hour commitment—it was a total disruption of my carefully curated sleep schedule. Tuesdays were rough. Especially the one time our PiA cohort traveled eight hours on the hottest train ride of our lives down from Jaffna, dropped our bags at home, and then immediately went to turtle patrol. That next Tuesday? We were running on nothing but fumes.

But for all the exhaustion, the magic was in the smallest moments. The first time I saw a turtle, I physically jumped from excitement. The first time I saw one lay eggs, I was in awe, and so were the local beach dwellers, some of whom had lived there for 50 years without ever witnessing it.

It turns out, saving turtles isn’t just about them. It’s about everything they represent: the delicate balance between human intervention and natural resilience, small choices and sacrifices that somehow add up to something much bigger, and unexpected bonds you form on a beach, under the stars, while the rest of the city sleeps.

So yes, save the turtles. But no, really.

Home, Humidity, and the Highs and Lows of Life Abroad

High: The Sri Lankan Miss Universe awarded me a medal.

Our running club participates in quite a few races — sometimes we’re the only ones running in the races. I’ve tried my best to get out of half of their early-morning escapades by claiming that waking up at 5:30 a.m. on a Sunday is an unthinkable crime against humanity. This tactic worked beautifully until the Nestomalt Endometriosis 5k, where Jialan played her trump card: she informed me that the top three winners would get medals and that I had a good chance of snagging one.

Now, anyone who knows me knows two things:

I am easily distracted by shiny objects (my parents have tragically had to endure many in-depth conversations about metal types for my jewelry obsession).
I am deeply competitive (these same parents have also witnessed countless tantrums over losing Uno or getting knocked out of soccer tournaments).

So, there I was at the starting line on a balmy Colombo morning — a brisk 80 degrees with 90% humidity. While I spent the entire 5k convinced I was on the brink of death, I did win the women’s race.

The true pinnacle of this experience wasn’t the victory itself but the awards ceremony. Why? Because the Sri Lankan Miss Universe MCed the event, and she personally placed the medal around my neck! As if that wasn’t enough, I also walked away with what I can only describe as a lifetime supply of Nestomalt (a malted hot drink that tastes like sweetened Weetabix). It was, without question, the greatest win of my life.

Bonus: After my victory, I was asked to fill out a media form (because clearly, this race was a big deal). As I was handing it in, the girl filming asked, “Stifel… Do you know Susan Stifel?” I blinked and replied, “Um, my mom??” She lit up and said, “Yes! She’s amazing! She helped me understand the U.S. college application process when I was applying to schools.”

First of all, what are the odds? Second of all, how wild is it to have a mom so kind and passionate about her job that she’s fondly remembered by a student who didn’t even end up attending Lafayette? I can’t remember the name of my Notre Dame admissions counselor, let alone anyone from the other schools I applied to.

Me at 5:30 walking to get a tuk tuk to the race.

The Sri Lankan Miss Universe and sweaty me!

High: Fall festivities in Japan (where they actually have a fall).

One of the hardest parts of the last couple of months has been the lack of cold weather around the holidays. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss bundling up until I was sweating through all of the Christmas markets and caroling practices. But a quick trip to Japan to visit William and Indigo for Thanksgiving turned everything around.

In just a few days, I crammed in everything I’d been missing: decorating their Christmas tree, making gingerbread houses, enjoying a pancake breakfast, sipping fall Starbucks flavors, devouring apple pie, walking through parks filled with seas of vibrant leaves, and binge-watching Hallmark movies. It was the ultimate fall fix.

Low: My oven exploded.

An oven is something of a rarity in Sri Lanka (as it was in Senegal), where most cooking happens on the stove. So imagine my delight when I moved into an apartment with a built-in oven! Sure, it’s more of a rogue broiler that doesn’t follow its own temperature markings, but it’s been my trusty companion for meal preps and satisfying baking cravings.

That is, until one lovely Sunday morning when I was roasting vegetables, I heard a huge BOOM followed by the unmistakable sound of glass shattering. My first thought? “The entire building is going to collapse!” (Also, shoutout to my instinct to freeze instead of fight or flee. Good to know how I’d handle a real emergency.)

It turns out the tempered glass door of the oven had completely shattered. As if the explosion wasn’t bad enough, the next three months were a slow-motion nightmare of tracking down a repair guy. He required constant reminders—because apparently, calling him every other day was the only way to convince him he was, in fact, working for us.

But at long last, the oven is fixed!

High: A sunset barbecue at Radheeka’s family house by the lake.

One beautiful Saturday evening, we drove about an hour south of Colombo to Radheeka’s family house for a big barbecue — essentially a farewell party for Raunak, Paul, and a “see you later” to Kalyani, who is entering the might-be-a-few-weeks to might-be-a-few-months visa journey to extend her contract.

We grilled sausages and chicken for the meat lovers, vegan sausages and veggies for the vegetarians, and pineapple for Raunak, who was oddly passionate about this choice. By the time the food prep was done, the table was overflowing with dishes, lively conversation, and quite a bit of wine. I contributed dessert — a massive 1 kg cake that barely got dented after we stuffed ourselves with the meal. The setting sun over the lake, paired with good food and even better company, made it a night to remember.

High: Pickleball and padel tennis weekends.

Before moving to Sri Lanka, I’d played pickleball exactly once and had never even heard of padel tennis. Now? These two sports have become the backbone of my social life here, where they’re wildly popular.

About once a week, I play one or the other, and it’s become one of the best ways to build and deepen friendships. There’s something special about not having to constantly talk, yet still communicating through coordinated movements and shared competition. Since these games require four players, I end up meeting someone new almost every time as either I or my friends bring in someone to fill the spots.

An aside: While I’m slowly learning to enjoy racket sports, there’s one part I just cannot stand — the honesty. Growing up, I was taught to cheat in all my sports. Tug the shorts of the girl on defense. Keep kicking the ball until the whistle blows even if it was out of bounds. Flat-out lie and claim your handball was out of the box (even though you were standing 10 feet inside). My first instinct on the court is still to cheat — oops.

Low: Watching Notre Dame beat Penn State (thank God), but over FaceTime at work.

I have never been as stressed as I was watching the last minutes of that game, and I have never felt as relieved as when we made the field goal. But the moment the students started celebrating? That’s when it hit me.

Now everyone is planning their trip to sleep on Jacob’s floor for the championship game, and I am prepping to watch from the other side of the world. I have never wanted to be squished on an inflatable mattress surrounded by 37 people more than I want to be in Atlanta for the game.

Living abroad, you get used to missing the little things — the random hangouts, the traditions— but you remind yourself that you’re living this cool, full experience abroad and it’s the sacrifice. But it’s the bigger things, like birthdays, Christmas mornings, and Notre Dame finally going to the championship the year after I graduate, that really get you.

High: Having time.

One of the best parts of being here is that I have time. I work a 9-to-5, and then the rest of the time is completely mine. Part of leaving college is figuring out who you are because you’re suddenly thrust into work and truly living on your own. But I’ve realized that a huge part of that self-discovery comes from actually having the time to figure out who you are and what you like.

For me, this has meant reading for hours, lounging by the pool, stumbling upon an adorable French bakery, and finding a rosemary latte (a worthy stand-in for my beloved lavender lattes). I’ve gone to painting workshops, journaled more than I have in years, and taken long moments to just be.

Before this, I filled my life with so many great (but time-consuming) activities. Now, having so much time for and with myself feels a little strange and almost wrong, but I’m realizing how important this time is, and I’m incredibly grateful for it.

High: A slow boat cruise along the Mekong River in Laos.

William, Indigo, and I had the most wonderful time on a slow, breezy cruise along the stunning Mekong River. The trip was the perfect blend of relaxing and fun: eating oranges, sipping coffee, reading, listening to music, having random chats with other passengers, and soaking in the views as the boat glided along the water.

We also stopped for a few excursions, including one to a village where we tried scorpion whisky. (Pro tip: it’s 50% alcohol, so proceed with caution!)

Low: It’s hard to deepen friendships.

I’ve spent quite a bit of time spinning a web for myself here, connecting with people in different corners of life. While it’s nice to have built a network, the individual relationships sometimes feel like they’re developing slowly or feel stagnant.

Part of this challenge is that most of my friends here are older than me. Princeton in Asia is an amazing program that helps us find placements overseas that we otherwise wouldn’t be able to get this early in our career, but it also means there aren’t many people our age in similar circumstances. On top of that, many Sri Lankans my age are overseas—brain drain was already a big issue here, and COVID, paired with the economic crisis, made it worse.

I’m truly grateful for the friendships I’m making, but they all seem to share the same struggle: a lack of convenience. There’s no walking into the kitchen to find your whole friend group having dinner. There are no Saturday tailgates or Thursday night CJs where you are bound to see anyone and everyone you know. I can’t just drive down the road for ramen on Sunday nights, run into someone and have a long chat, or schedule a casual lunch between classes.

Even something as simple as hanging out at my apartment feels complicated. How do you break the barrier between meeting someone once or twice and then expecting to be comfortable enough to just chill at home together? It’s a completely different mindset to push yourself to meet new people and invest in those relationships, and I’m trying to find ways to do this that feel natural to me. But most of the ways I know were built around being in school or part of a young adult community.

I’m realizing that friendships here, and friendships outside of college in general, look very different. I know I have to be patient. I just really, really wish I didn’t have to be patient.

High: Work is falling into place.

I’ve been pushing myself to articulate what I really want to do with my career—both now and in the future—and the more I reflect, the more I realize how lucky I am to have ended up at IWMI. It’s the perfect balance: big enough to have an international influence and create meaningful impact, but small enough that people know who you are and can make things happen.

I had a small freak-out recently when I wasn’t sure what direction I wanted to take. On a whim, I reached out to the Strategic Program Director for the Water, Climate Change, and Resilience program—someone whose career path feels like a blueprint for what I’d love to do. Within five minutes, she responded with, “Do you want to hop on a call?”

That call was a game-changer. Despite my stumbling through an explanation of my goals, she read between the lines and not only helped me build a plan for deciding whether to stay longer at IWMI or move on but also connected me to a coworker, someone who’s now helping me dive deep into one of our flagship projects.

Beyond that, I’ve been lucky to find mentors who are invested in me as a person and in my growth. They’ve not only encouraged me to follow through on my own ideas but have also been introducing me to opportunities that are expanding my experience. I’m getting hands-on exposure to everything from communications to the operational side of development projects, research, and even the international policy sphere.

Long story short, I’m realizing that taking this job—a decision I was so unsure about—was probably the best one I could have made career wise.

High: Coming “home” to Colombo.

After spending nine days traveling around Thailand and Laos with William and Indigo, I was exhausted (life is so tough, right?). All I could think about was how excited I was to be home, in my bed, in my space.

This was the first time I truly felt that since moving to Colombo, and it was a nice realization. It’s so different from Japan, where I would’ve paid a million dollars to sleep in William and Indigo’s bunkbed room for just one more night.

I know it takes longer than I always expect for a place feel like home. Colombo isn’t fully there yet, but it’s feeling more normal, more comfortable—and this moment felt like one of those little markers of progress.

Low: My office plants keep dying.

I don’t want to end on a terrible note, but… seriously, how do you keep office plants alive in this climate? Between the chaos of Colombo’s humidity and the Arctic blast of air conditioning indoors, I swear it’s a horticultural nightmare.

Thankfully, when Raunak left, he donated his leftover plants, so we still have some green in the room—miraculously still alive (for now).

Take Me Out to the… Cricket Game?

Last weekend, I played in IWMI’s annual cricket tournament, a day-long showdown featuring four teams all vying for the most coveted title in Sri Lanka—well, at least the most coveted title among Sri Lankan men who work at the International Water Management Institute. So how did I, a girl from suburban Pennsylvania—who, yes, has a knack for participating in niche sports (e.g., running in the Ethiopian national youth 5k, being on a national-title intercollegiate Gaelic football team, boxing for four years in college), but who has hated baseball ever since my brother thought it would be fun to visit every baseball stadium in the U.S.—end up playing cricket? (If you’re lucky, my mom will show you a photo series: my brother happily cheering at every stadium, followed by a picture of me sleeping at every stadium.) Well, besides the weeks of backbreaking training, there were a few key steps involved.

Day at the cricket tournament! — Day of the cricket tournament!

First, get tricked into starting. Well, “tricked” might be a strong word. I had been playing soccer every Thursday afternoon with some coworkers at the international school nearby. But one day, instead of soccer, I arrived to see a group of men from IWMI’s grounds pushing the nets away and hammering three small pegs into the dirt. Confused, I asked one of the regulars what was going on, and he replied, very enthusiastically, “It’s cricket time! We need to practice for the tournament.” And with that, my fate was sealed. I was now someone who plays cricket.

Second, learn the rules—kind of. Thrust onto the field, I got the rules explained to me in real time, usually right as the ball was flying toward me. Thankfully, they stuck me off to the side, so when I say I endured “weeks of backbreaking training,” it was more like bending over to pick dandelions. If it wasn’t clear before – sports like baseball and cricket just don’t really grab my attention. But now I was fully committed—partly because the 20 or so Sri Lankan men from work were so surprised (and excited) that I was there, and partly because they just put me on a team without telling me and were relying on me to participate because every team needed a woman. To be clear, I never sat down and officially learned the rules, so don’t ask me how the game actually works.

Third, get briefed on the details for the tournament over the phone while traveling in Kandy for work. The tournament was officially set for October 5th, with games starting at 8:30 am, and we needed to be there promptly at 7:30 am for drills. This was serious business. We also had to wear the custom-made cricket shirts one of the team members was making. Finally, we were going to be called “The Cloud Strikers.” Don’t ask me where that name came from, I have no idea. Unfortunately, only one out of these three things ended up being true.

The day of the tournament finally arrived, and I called a tuk to the playing grounds. When I got there… I saw no one. Now, I knew “island time” might affect the 7:30 am start, but I expected at least a few people to be milling around. Nope. So, I sat there texting the one person I knew on my team (for context, each team was made up of different IWMI departments—Communications didn’t have a team, so I’d been placed on the ICT Department team, even though I still don’t know what ICT stands for). Finally, Sanjeewa arrived, just as confused as I was. It turned out, we had been given the wrong address.

Once we got to the right field, we hopped out into the now blazing sun, only to find out there wouldn’t be any team shirts after all. Not a huge surprise, to be honest. We started with some batting practice, which was fun. I bopped along to the DJ blasting early 2000s hits while trying to get the hang of things. Then, the news hit me: since each team had to have a woman player (I had willingly signed up, but apparently, the other women had to be bribed), the women would be bowling (their version of pitching) to each other. This was a surprise, because I’d been assured that I would never have to pitch—and I had no idea how to. After a quick two-minute crash course, I was out on the field for the first match.

While I could at least get the ball from point A (me) to point B (the batter), getting it to land straight, bounce well, and have any power behind it was… a bit of a struggle. But I made it through four games. I also learned I bat pretty decently, bringing in at least ten runs (though this isn’t all that impressive considering games can get over 100 runs). I even made one fielding play, which I consider a victory. The rest of the time, I worked on my tan, which very quickly became a sunburn without me noticing.

The tournament turned out to be quite the social event. Besides the music, there were baked goods, THC chocolate milk (which, although warm, surprisingly hit the spot), and some wine and beer. Coworkers who weren’t playing came to hang out, and I had time to chat with a lot of people outside of work, which was nice and made the eight hours we spent out there go by faster. Even though the festivities continued after the final game, I had to head home to nurse my sunburn and recover from our team losing every single game.

All in all, it was a must-do experience. I can say I played cricket in Sri Lanka and can now go to a match and have some clue about what’s happening. I can also officially add it to my list of niche sports. So, I’d say overall, it was a win-win.

31 Things I Learned in my First 31 Days in Sri Lanka

Uber Tuktuk is exhilarating. Even the most mundane drives to work often turn into escapades – with no doors I appreciate the breeze on hot, humid days, but am also highly conscious of the fact that I am always seconds away from death as we zoom in and out of traffic (and pull out in front of massive buses whenever we please).
You can call an Uber Tuktuk but it is a 50-50 if they will actually come. We often get stuck with the drivers a) accepting the drive, then deciding they would rather just sit still and not drive towards us, b) calling us on the phone just as they are about to arrive to ask for cash, though we have already paid card on Uber, or 3) missing our turn and just never looking back.
There are no master keys in my apartment complex. So, when the only keys to the apartment were accidentally on a 15 hour flight back to the US, we got to know the maintenance staff and local locksmith quite well.
The heart of Sri Lankan culture comes out when you get locked out of your apartment indefinitely. Manel, the woman who cleans our apartment, was only supposed to come around 2 pm (after we moved in at 10) to clean, but as soon as she heard we were locked out she came and stuck by our side, even bringing us waters and chairs (and offering us a million more things to make the highly stressful situation a little more bearable). This is even more thoughtful considering she didn’t know us beforehand and was willing to spend her own money.
The heart of Sri Lankan culture also comes out during meal time. Our Airbnb hosts took the time to teach me how to make a typical dal, chicken, and okra meal (which I have since not figured out how to make taste as good).

There are few mosquitos on the 11^th floor. This is a welcome change after our first stay introduced a night routine of tightly closing the bedroom door and then running around the room killing as many mosquitos as possible before settling into bed.
There are not fewer cockroaches on the 11^th floor. My first encounter with one in our new apartment was when I went to fold a newly laundered shirt, stuck my hand in to turn it right side out, and a cockroach and I held hands for a split second. We bonded in that moment as both our hearts jumped from our chests.
I am too competitive for Sri Lankan pick-up soccer.
I not competitive enough for Colombo’s Night Runner’s Club.

I am perfectly competitive for cricket – though they stick me off to the right (where nobody hits), so it often feels like I am playing outfield at a little league game. Maybe I should start picking the dandelions…
Notre Dame has roots everywhere. There is a Notre Dame club of Sri Lanka that welcomed me immediately as I landed, even offering to pick me up from the airport. I also got my beautiful apartment through a Notre Dame connection!
Buddhist offerings of rice create an unintended full circle. Buddhists believe in samsara, or a continuous cycle of life, death and rebirth. Part of this means doing no harm and showing kindness to animals, as theoretically you can be reborn as one. Every day, Buddhists across Colombo set out offerings of rice, fruits, flowers, and medicinal oils for Buddha, which are promptly eaten by the street dogs. Whether or not it’s intended, I love that the ritual provides for the street dogs.
Chacos are a must. Monsoon season means you could be stepping into a river of water in the street, even if it was sunny two minutes ago.

When taking a train, get second class unreserved and sit in the doorway for hours when all the seats are taken. You’ll have a better view anyways.
Don’t just get on any “bus to Colombo” when you are in Galle. There is one that takes the freeway (what we thought we were taking) that only takes 1.5 hours, but there is another that takes the scenic route. Let’s just say we didn’t get on the freeway and did get home 5 hours later.
The best coffee is made with warm powdered milk, a teaspoon of sugar, and a spoonful of instant coffee. Work provides these ingredients and I am obsessed.
Maya, the canteen cook at work, is the most attentive person I have met. She learned my breakfast order within two days and knows exactly what to put on my lunch plate (though I have had to beg her to give me spicy options, because she is scared it is too spicy for foreigners).
Only the most special can order Maya’s coconut water at lunch – I am so scared to ask because I don’t want the potential disappointment.
Breakfast costs 100 LKR and lunch costs 250 LKR. Together that is only $1.
Ovens here are essentially broilers. This was learned the hard way as I obliterated my green beans, and my brownies turned out both burnt and uncooked.
Water from the tap does not have viruses, but has hard minerals, so boiling water doesn’t actually help.
I only know how to take care of succulents – my poor desk plants are constantly on the brink of death and looking up instructions for “why are the leaves on my cordyline fruticosa tree turning yellow” will tell you it’s either because you are overwatering it or underwatering it… not helpful!
Drying racks are expensive.
Electricity is even more expensive, especially since the economic crisis.
Time is split before 2019 (aka before the Easter bombing, then COVID, and then the economic crisis) and after 2022.
String lights made for the American outdoors work here even with the 240 voltage. They make my room incredibly home-y. I am terrified they will die soon.
McDonald’s shut down across the country due to hygiene allegations. Wondering how this happened – I mean have you seen the state of other McDonald’s even in the US?
There is no set garbage pick-up, which makes disposal difficult for those in Colombo. Apparently, there was even a garbage mountain that avalanched years ago. We have been going out the past couple of weeks with Pay, a German man from work, to clean a wetland, which people use to dump trash. It is incredible how much we find every time and highlights his commitment as he goes out twice a day every day on his own.

Tamil movies are long and will kill your eardrums just a little bit. Fortunately, the crowd reactions in the movie theater and the intermittent dance scenes keep things interesting.
I am becoming my dad. Every morning, I make myself some breakfast then turn on the Al Jazeera cable channel to get my morning news.

I can live abroad, feel normal, and enjoy the experience fully. I departed Senegal in the flurry of COVID and without closure, the year left off on an odd note. I was left wondering if I would want to live abroad again and do it full time. This experience is showing me that not only is living overseas possible, but it is something I would considering doing throughout my career.

Let the Journey Begin in Colombo, Sri Lanka

It’s been a while! If you have been with me since my Senegal days 5 years ago, welcome back. If you are new, hi – I write blogs while living abroad because my mom did the same, so in her honor I continue the tradition.

I am living in Colombo, Sri Lanka for the next year working at the International Water Management Institute through a Princeton in Asia fellowship. There are three other fellows, Sophie and Jialan, who work at IWMI with me (I call us the Sri 3), and Anthony, who works for Himal Southasian.

It is hard to imagine what the rest of this year will look like, but I am excited to share pieces of it with you as we go!

30 Things I Learned in 30 Days – October

You can live off of your Wolof if you know these three key phrases (phonetically spelled):
1. “Da fa tangue” which means “it is hot.”
2. “De my sango” which means “I am going to take a shower.”
  1. In Islam, washing oneself is a way to purifying oneself, so my host mother takes a shower before each of the five prayers every day.
3. “Dama sonne,” which means “I am tired.”
Don’t break a glass all over your bedroom floor on the first night. Although your host mother will be fine with it, it makes for a very awkward exchange in broken French. It also makes for another very awkward moment when a piece gets stuck in your foot when you are walking to the bread shop and you start bleeding everywhere.
1. Don’t tell your mom the piece of glass lodged in your foot is from the street. You won’t be able to wear sandals for a while after that.
Poulet yassa and mafe are so good. They are even better when you help make them.
The Senegalese share my deep appreciation for naps (Nopolu tuti – in Wolof). It’s so hot after lunch that everyone takes a nap just to get out of the sun.
Polygamy is normal here. The reason (coming from my host mother)? In Islam, it is bad to have a relationship outside of your marriage, but if just marry that person, it is acceptable. This means family sizes tend to be rather large. My host mom was even telling me of a man who had 4 wives, and because it is common for women to have multiple children, this man fathered over 50 kids.
4 year olds cry. SO. MUCH.
Basketball is 10x more fun here than in the US. I go with Marieme (my host niece) and when we play, it ends up being Marieme, the boys from the neighborhood, and myself playing pick up games. It’s great because there is little to no pressure to play well, it’s all for fun.
1. Also, a way to a girl’s heart is by passing the ball to her even when she has missed basically all of the shots she has taken. There are about three guys that consistently pass to me to be kind and I swear in those moments I considered marrying them.
There is A LOT that won’t make sense at first and may be a little uncomfortable, but it all makes more sense in time. Take for example, the situation with the room that I have been sleeping in. It has two wardrobes and a dresser, all of which are already filled with clothes. This means that I have had to live out of my suitcases. This made me a little uncomfortable at first for two reasons. One, at our Pre-Departure Orientation they made it clear to us that we need to keep things tidy or our host families would get upset. I will admit, and my parents can attest, I am not always the most organized person although I would like to be. So, combining this characteristic and the fact that I completely over-packed, I knew this would be a bit of an issue. Two, people are constantly in and out of my room. The room has two doors: the first connects to the living room, the second connects to the main bathroom. Although I have nothing to hide, it still makes me a little anxious (especially with a very curious 4 year old host niece) every time someone walks in. Now, this was all a little tough to take in the first night, all until I talked to the host student from last year who lived with my family. She told me that my host mom had given up her room for me. The room I was promised has some troubles in the rainy season and due to climate change the rains have been heavier this year. So while I was so worried so about my situation at first, I am now super thankful for her kindness especially because the rest of the family has had to sleep in the living room because their rooms are flooded too.
Don’t wait to do a week’s worth of hand washing. You will rub your fingers raw.
I am actually not as afraid of speaking French/ Wolof as I though I would be. Senegalese people are so incredibly kind and encouraging, especially when it comes to learning their languages. I am certain they don’t have any clue what I am saying half the time, but they are so nice they will just run with the one word they could understand and continue the conversation. I don’t know enough French/ Wolof to know what they are saying, so I just respond with the two words I understood. We end up having some pretty extensive conversations, but they probably don’t make any sense to someone listening in.
The intro to the Senegalese news channel that we watch is the beginning to Paul Simon’s “In Your Eyes.”
I don’t understand Senegalese eating patterns at all. We don’t really eat during the day, if we do it is in the late afternoon. At night, we will have what seems like two meals and maybe some snacks. Granted I haven’t started school and don’t have a clear routine, but still I never know when I am going to eat! And I want to make it clear that this isn’t a problem, it has just taken some getting used to.
At the neighborhood water filling station, a 10 L bottle of water costs 500 CFA ($1) and takes 4 min and 55 seconds to fill. FYI, the fountain only takes 500 CFA coins, not 500 CFA bills. It takes every other bill, just not the 500 bill.
Some of my favorite moments are just sitting with my host family. Sometimes we talk and I get to practice my French, other times I learn new Wolof or watch TV, but often we just literally sit there. I realize how rare moments like these are in the US.
As many of you know I really can’t stand cartoons/ animated movies and shows, but I have learned to appreciate watching animated French kid shows at the end of a long day.
1. The Voice (French version) is also very interesting.
There are probably 10-20 dogs in my house. The twist is I don’t know where they are. Like I think there are a couple on the roof, a couple off a door in the hallway, and many more in my host brother’s living quarters. There also might be a cat room on the roof and even a man living up there as well, but I honestly have no clue.
It is seemingly impossible to break big bills here and nobody takes anything above 2,000 CFA (and that is already is pushing it). From the ATM I got 10,000 CFA bills and my host sister helped me break one 10,000 CFA into 5,000 CFA. I then got some smaller bills at the grocery store but that was accompanied with a dirty look. Maybe this is good for my budgeting.
Chapstick does not do well in this heat.
There seems to be very little judgement here, or at least that occurs in the same forms as in the US. Being fat doesn’t matter, wearing the same thing twice doesn’t matter, being sweaty doesn’t matter. I know there is definitely some hidden judgement that I don’t see quite yet (especially because I am a foreigner), but I realize how much energy I spent at home worrying about my appearance.
Homemade bissap (hibiscus) juice is to die for.
This really is a country of “teranga” (Wolof word for hospitality). My family will just walk into another person’s house and just sit for a while. We will often eat a meal with them and all will talk. We once decided the morning of to spend a whole day (9-5) with my host mother’s mother (for context my host mother is in her 60s-70s, I have absolutely no clue how old her mother is!) who lives about an hour away.
I had a misconception coming here that there were some topics that I couldn’t or shouldn’t talk about, but I have had some very open conversations with my host mom about abortions, birth control, periods, family issues (roles of women/ men), etc.
Fans are the best invention and you cannot tell me otherwise.
Mosquitos like me better than any other person in my family. My host mother finds this very funny, then politely yells at me to put on insect repellent.
Buses here make no sense but everyone knows how to use them. There are no maps and everyone I ask just helps me get on a bus. I don’t know how they know which one is the right one!
I really miss toilet paper. Literally no one here uses it. They use these little tea pot things with water in it. I don’t understand them.
You can walk into an Olympic training pool… no questions asked.
You either buy eggs one at a time or in a package of 120.
Working out by the seaside while the sun is going down makes exercising somewhat bearable.
Feeling comfortable coming home to a group of people that now feel like family (even though they were strangers 30 days ago!) is an amazing feeling. Getting house keys literally made my day because it means this place is really home now. Also, if you break your key chain, floss works well as a replacement.

A Whirlwind of a Month- February

At the beginning of February we hit our halfway point. If that wasn’t enough to give me a rollercoaster of emotions, the rest of the month surely did the trick!

To start off the month, we had our first set of exams, or as they call them, compositions. You would think this would not be fun, and I guess it wasn’t something I looked forward to at first, but it was a nice change of pace from our normal schedule of classes. At Sacre Coeur, once you finish an exam, you can leave the class. And as they get 3-4 hours for each exam and each exam only has a few questions, Will and I had a lot of time to just hang out (most other students take the entire time, we do not know how they do this). It was nice to have time in the day to enjoy school. We would read, walk around, talk and just enjoy the nice weather we have been having recently.

On the final day of exam week, we were lucky to have had no compositions, so Will, Eli, Lydia and I headed into Centreville (center of Dakar) for a day of exploration. We started with Le Musée Civilisations Noires (Museum of African Civilizations). The museum starts from the beginning of human time and follows the development of humans up until current day tribes and countries. This was another one of those experiences where I realized how ethnocentric my history classes have been, and it is always so interesting so see African history from an African point of view. Afterwards, we found an amazing Lebanese restaurant and bakery, and then headed to the local grocery store and found ourselves a good deal on an ice cream cake-like dessert, which we ate on a random sidewalk in the middle of town, while we mindlessly talked about life and anything that popped into our heads.

Next came midyear orientation. It was supposed to take place in Saint Louis, but it just so happened that the one weekend we wanted to go, the fishermen of the town revolted against new taxes and changing laws, bringing violence to the streets. Thankfully our alternative was incredible. We ended up heading to Warang where we traversed through mangroves and tiny islands on a pirogue, played pool and laughed until there were tears streaming down our faces, woke up early to watch the sunrise on the beach and simply enjoyed each others’ presence. Little did we know this would be one of our last times spent together as a group.

The day after we returned from Warang, Will dropped a bomb on me. We were sitting in the middle of our English class when he whispers “Lizzie!” I look and give a confused nod as to not disrupt the teacher, he goes “I am going home!” I give him an even more confused look. “No Will, you can’t go home. It is the middle of English class.” “No like home home. I don’t want to do this anymore.” And with that one sentence my heart dropped.

The cohort has become a family to me and Will has particularly come to feel like the perfect mix of brother/ best friend. Since arriving here we have spent almost everyday together. Whether it was in the beginning when the others started school and each day we would pick a new part of Dakar to explore while getting to know each other, sharing our childhoods/ favorite moments/ hardest times/ weirdest experiences/ anything to fill the time and space we had together, or in school where we shared the experience of being thrown into a completely foreign space that sometimes was so overwhelming that the thing that helped me get out of bed and brave the day was knowing I wasn’t doing it alone. Because I saw him so often, he naturally became been a huge support system for me. Whether it was having him hear me out on how terrified I was of sleeping with the rat/mouse or giving each other reassuring looks in the middle of class so we were both clear that we were equally confused, it hurt to hear him say that he was just going to leave everything and go home. This is not to say I don’t support the decision he made, he was not enjoying his time here and he is happier at home. All I want is for him to happy, it just sucks that he couldn’t be happy here.

Unfortunately, the universe did not think the shock of his declaration was enough for me. The period after our English class, Madame Santos came into our class, and with a heavy heart told us that our English teacher had passed away the night before. This hurt. We knew that he was sick, but I thought they meant he had a cold. The last time we saw him he was perfectly healthy. Will and I ended up going to his funeral, which gave us some closure, but still, English class is just not the same without him.

Just to top everything off, my health started going downhill. I have been noticing little things here and there but I always just wrote them off. Finally, I decided I just needed to go to a doctor and make sure everything was okay. I soon found out that my hormones were out of balance and after putting two and two together, we realized that stress has been causing a lot small but pretty concerning changes to my body. People that know me well know that I am not usually the one who stresses all that much. In fact I didn’t even realize how stressed I really was. My mind has adapted to a lot of the little stressful things I’ve been continuously experiencing, but in reality my body has been feeling the impacts for a while. It didn’t help that there was confusion between the doctor, my local coordinator, my parents, the heads of YesAbroad and me, which led to even more stress! Thankfully I am taking some medication that is putting everything back in order and has helped give me back some energy I did not even know I was missing, which has helped me crawl myself out of this funk I have been in.

But nevermind the bad. I think it is important to address that this last month hasn’t been easy, but I am getting through each day and I am still doing my best to keep looking for the good things that have been happening and that will be happening in the weeks to come.

Thankfully there were some really good parts of February that helped me take my mind off of things for a bit. There were two big holidays that we got to celebrate: Valentine’s Day and Mardi Gras. In the US, these holidays are fun, but they are definitely not celebrated to the extent to which they are here! For the week leading up to Valentine’s day, it was all anybody could talk about. Who was going to give who chocolates? “Lizzie you are going to bring me chocolate right??” “Do you think my crush is going to write me a letter??” Valentine’s Day here had the heart and soul it did when I was in elementary school, and I was definitely as excited as I was in grade school to get chocolates!

Similarly, Mardi Gras brought out my playful side as people here treat Mardi Gras as Halloween minus the trick-or-treating. Everyone got to dress up (my class chose to wear traditional clothing, while other classes chose different themes like animals/ characters) and come into school. My classmates were so excited to see that I had joined in on the celebrations and when I arrived in my dress and started walking down the hallways I was met with continuous compliments on my dress, screams, handshakes and a lot of photos! Instead of going to classes, we had a talent show, costume contest, and time to just dance! It was also a time for everyone to hang out, which was great because I got to meet new people and make some new friends!

It’s hard to see but there are about 1,000 kids surrounding the stage cheering on the talent show contestants!

Next, a crazy coincidence led to one of the coolest experiences I have found for myself here. One morning my (real) mom texted me out of the blue to just mention that the Mercy Ship, a ship converted into a hospital that travels around the coast of Africa providing free surgeries to people who otherwise would not have access, was docked in Dakar. My mom threw out the idea that I should see if I could volunteer or at least get more information. This was one of those “okay yea mom I will do my best” that turns into nothing. I had never heard of Mercy Ship let alone was going to magically run into the boat. But the world works in mysterious ways. That same day I went into town and was at a restaurant when I saw a water bottle that said “Mercy Ship Staff.” Now here I was staring at this woman’s water bottle for a good few minutes deciding if I should go over there and say something or not. I am definitely not very outgoing, but before I could even think, my feet were taking me over to their table. The universe was giving me a sign and I knew I needed to take it. Thankfully, the ladies were super sweet and answered my questions, but they said I unfortunately wouldn’t be able to casually volunteer (to volunteer you live on the boat for a minimum of 2 months- YES Abroad would not be pleased if I missed that much school haha). On my way out of the restaurant, though, one of the ladies chased me down and asks me if I would at least like a tour of the ship. Only friends/ family of staff can get on the boat, but she said she would be happy to show me around. I was ecstatic and she took down my number. But I knew not to get too excited though, because I had to rely on her to follow up and what’re the odds that she would remember a random person who approached her in a restaurant. But later that night I got a text and the next week I was on the boat! If you don’t know much about the Mercy Ship I highly recommend just taking a quick peek at their website. They are run by incredibly dedicated volunteers and they do amazing work.

There were also a bunch of smaller moments that I loved and I know I’m going to remember for a long time.. like us all buying a cake and then eating it all Senegalese style (aka just digging in with forks), or being surprised by having been named Student of the Month which just made my heart so happy!

So there is one more thing that has gotten me through my troubles and anybody who knows me is not going to be surprised… I started fostering 3 kittens! They were brought to my host sister when they were about 7-10 days old (aka their eyes were just opening) and they were on the verge of dying. My family had no clue what to do with them so I jumped up to the challenge! They are now about 6 weeks and are very much alive, playful and healthy. I will not go into too much detail because I plan on dedicating a whole post to them, but I figured I could at least share a photo to tie you all over until that post!

So in all, so much has happened this last month. I reached what seemed to be my rock bottom, but yet I have so many things to be thankful for, even if it is just the fact that I get to wake up everyday in Senegal (and get to see the bright and shining faces of my sweet kittens)!

20 Things I Learned in the First 20 Days of 2020- January

Senegalese New Years celebrations are wonderful, but the bigger celebration is making it home alive! New Years Eve was one of my favorite nights I have had yet. I helped my host mom prepare a huge meal of couscous, chicken, and sauce for the whole family and then we were all surprised for the first time with dessert…ice cream! About 20 minutes before midnight my host sister came bursting into the living room and told me to get dressed (I was already in my PJs- oops). We quickly picked up 3 of her friends (keep in mind we are on Senegalese time- take your version of quick then multiply it by 2) and jumped in a taxi to go to one of the main roads. I watched out of the car window as the clock hit twelve and the kids lining the streets sent their fire crackers up to light up the night sky (mind you- these were very young kids with explosives- a little terrifying to say the least). I watched with wonder as we walked through the streets and people hugged and kissed and were just overwhelmingly happy. This wonder quickly turned to fear when, sometime during the night, the little kids got bored of sending their fireworks into the sky and decided to play a game of “let’s aim these explosives at our friends and try to hit them.” Fortunately and unfortunately they had bad aim. Fortunately, they weren’t hitting their friends. Unfortunately, I was nearly hit numerous times by stray fiery bullets! In the end I did make it home alive and well (really late in the morning may I add) and had a wonderful and adventurous start to the year. (Pictured below- our last meal of 2019 which we ate western style.. what a treat)!
I am not terrified of cockroaches anymore. I am now terrified of mice/ rats. So for the past few weeks I have been hearing some ruffling and shuffling beneath my bed. I was a little scared at first until one night I turned on my flashlight and saw it was just a cockroach. For the next weeks, whenever I heard the sound, I could easily turn back over and go to bed knowing it was just a little bug going about its business. Well, one night, the shuffling was getting a little out of hand. I took out my flashlight and to my horror I saw a tail. A long freaking tail! I was terrified which made him terrified, so he ended up scurrying into more of my stuff, which made me even more terrified. When I told my host mom about it the next morning, she simply laughed- apparently this happens often- and told me she thought there was one in the room. Thanks mom. She then told me I just need to sleep with the cat for a night and I’ll be fine (I dubbed this the Hunger Games: Rat edition). I love La Femme (not really her name they just call her the woman) so not complaining on that solution.
Meat man at the end of my street is amazing. I can get freshly barbecued brochettes of meat put into a baguette sandwich with sauce and condiments from him for only $1!
Feeling trusted makes me feel more at home here. As I start to really settle in, more and more people have begun trusting me with responsibilities. At home, I am often the first one up and have to wake everyone else up. I also run errands and have cleaned the house numerous times. At school, Celeste is now a couple seats away from me so I can’t use her when I don’t catch a word or phrase, but now I have become the Celeste for another girl… a Senegalese girl… who has gone to this school for years… and is FLUENT in French. I’m not complaining, if anything it is a compliment, it still just surprises me. In volunteering, I have been put in charge of different projects, whether it is at Village SOS (an orphanage) where I can teach an English lesson, or at Sunu Thiossane (an art and education organization), where I was elected to lead the group’s social media page. In the US, I had many conversations with refugees who explained again and again how they just wanted to give back to their community. I have really started to understand this. Not only do I like being helpful because I am doing something to make others happy, but when other people let me help them, it means they trust me, and that means I have really started to find a place in my community.
Don’t put your laundry on the main neighborhood clothes line. Somebody had a lucky day and now has some really nice new Lululemon leggings.
Getting a package from the post office is so much harder than it needs to be. I was aware that I had three packages waiting for me since early November, and that they had passed through EMS Dakar (one of the post offices). Usually when I get a package, a sheet of paper comes to my house that I take to the post office to pick up the package. This slip can sometimes take weeks to get to me so for a while I wasn’t too worried. But two months has passed and I finally decided I had waited enough time and decided to just call the post office. I called twice and in French tried to explain my situation and give them my tracking numbers. Both times they said the numbers weren’t valid. I was getting a little nervous.. What happened to my packages? I decide I just need to go to my post office and see what was up. The man there told me they were all the way downtown at the main post office. I then hopped in a taxi and told him to step on it because it was 4 pm and the post office closed at 5 (also fun fact- a woman just hopped in the taxi after me, she was a nice Congolese woman and we talked in English for a little bit before she just hopped back out- I am still confused). When I finally got there I asked about 3 different people what to do with these three tracking numbers I had written down on a piece of scrap paper- very official I know. Finally one person had a clue and handed me off to a nice man. That man then led me through back doors and little alleyways, shuttled me between 5 more people, and after 45 minutes and me persistently asking where my packages were (they would bring one package out and then forget about me), I had all of my packages. But this was not the end, rather the beginning. It’s 5 pm and I am finally ready to leave; I paid 6,000 CFA for the taxes on the packages and I am walking out the door when a woman stops me. She takes my ID and the papers that correspond to the package and tells me I need to pay her 10,000 CFA ($20) more because I am late picking up the packages. First off, I didn’t have 10,000 CFA and second off, I was not about to pay for a late pickup for packages that they never let me know they had- heck I had to track them down! She then takes the packages from my hands, tells me to come back the next day, and starts walking off. At this point, I channeled my inner Susan Stifel and decided I was not leaving until I got my packages. I called after the woman which attracted attention to the situation. Even better, I started to get a little emotional. Then 4 people came over and start a heated conversation in Wolof. My plan was successful and soon enough I was led to the Head of the Post Office’s office. He also told me I needed to pay, this time only 2,000 CFA (I only have 1,500 CFA so this is still a problem). After some back and forth the woman slaps down 500 CFA on the table, gives me my packages and I leave… I have a lot of time to feel proud of myself as I take the hour walk home because I didn’t even have any money left for a taxi or car rapide.. But all in all what an adventure! (Pictured below- my local post office and a snapshot from my walk home from the main post office – I was walking fast because I needed to get home before dark!)
Always bring an extra pair of pants. I have ripped two pairs of pants (one from the market, the other my uniform pants). Neither time was an optimal time to rip a pair of pants.
Madame Santos is one of my favorite people. For context, she is a big, stern, don’t-mess-with-me woman. She is also the principal, our science teacher, and the general rule enforcer/ the one who instills a little bit of fear into every student so they behave well. Although there are periods when I despise her (aka when she makes us come in for extra physics/ chemistry classes that last for 5 hours), there are many moments that I can’t help but love her. Somehow I have weaseled my way into her heart and she into mine. On Thanksgiving morning I showed up in her office wearing turkey sunglasses and a turkey headband and although she was clearly having a tough morning, she burst out laughing. She also went out of her way to wish me a Happy New Year (and let me slide on the first day back to school when I missed a class- don’t ask). She made it on this list particularly because the other morning, in the middle of class, she looked at one of my friends and then looked very intently at his head. “Did you brush your hair??”, she burst out. She then sends him out of class to find a comb. Only Madame Santos would do this. Only Madame Santos.
Even Senegalese funerals, as heartbreaking as they are, are beautiful. One of my classmates, Caroline, lost her father, so to support her and her family, I went to the funeral. It was hard to watch her and everyone else mourn, but what surprised me was the underlying feeling of love that flooded throughout our seats that even extended to strangers like myself. I didn’t know Caroline’s father and in all honesty I don’t even know Caroline all that well, but as soon as I arrived we became apart of the mass of people already there and all together we helped the family celebrate his life. Music was sung soulfully from the heart and prayers were consistently being quietly said, so there was never quite complete silence. When I looked up at the end of the final prayer, there was a sea of bright, colorful dresses that seemed to sway with the exit music, and I knew her father was smiling down on us.
There is very little competition here. This realization hit me the other day and before then, I didn’t even realize that it was missing. In the US, there is competition in even the smallest, most normal things. For example, trying out for sports. Here, there are no (or very few) sports teams for girls, so you can’t be picked and you can’t be cut. In school there isn’t a fight to have the best grades because grades don’t mean all that much when going to university mostly depends on your score on the Baccalaureate Exam. There also aren’t any awards or spaces that highlight one student over another. Even the petty little competitions between friends/ friend-groups vying for social power/ popularity are non-existent. It is weird because I haven’t felt disappointed in months, but at the same time, I also haven’t felt the feeling of accomplishment.
It takes a lot less to make me happy. Honestly, the little things are often what make me most happy. Although it is hard to track a lot of ways I have changed, the one thing I have noticed is that I have become a lot less materialistic (my mom and dad are jumping for joy). I don’t have the same excitement in my stomach when I pass by a jewelry shop or clothing store- I was a little scared the first time I lacked those butterflies- I honestly thought I was getting sick. This idea became even more clear to me when I was ecstatic the other day over going the market and getting new underwear for myself (my host mom accidentally threw away a bag of my laundry). My old ones were shrinking and getting torn up from all the hand washing, so I cannot express to you how happy my heart was to put on a fresh pair!
I love my cohort so much. This one is not new. I have loved them since our Pre-Departure Orientation. We have had an incredible bond and I attribute so many of my good times here with them. Following out return from Thies we had another Christmas just for ourselves where we found an American restaurant and had a Secret Santa exchange. I ended up getting a wig (which my host family said was actually a quality wig) and a construction mask from Will. Do I know why I got these things? No. Neither does Will. Whether it is talking for hours while looking out at the sea or finding events/ new places to explore more of the city, they have become some of my closest companions. They made this list particularly because as I mentioned above I went to get underwear, but I did not do it alone. My cohort was happy to help me sift through endless street stalls to find the perfect underwear. That is love! (Pictured below- Lydia and me in a car rapid after a successful trip to the market, Will making sure his Secret Santa gift to me would fit, me after I received the gifts- they did in fact fit).
I value my host family. This goes without saying, but I have started to really appreciate some of the smaller things, particularly the fact that they have learned and accepted (and infused into their own life) the idea of alone time. Although this doesn’t seem like a big thing, Senegalese people are very family/ community oriented and are almost always with someone else. The family will naturally gather in our living room and our neighbors and friends will come in and out to visit. I have really learned to love this part of the culture, but I also really appreciate just having the time to lie down and be alone. My family respects this and I am so thankful I am for that.
Senegal has different standards of being clean. For one, there is sand everywhere. Even after I take a shower, I step out and my feet seem to already be dirty! Also, even though I have gotten a lot better at hand washing my clothes, I can’t say that they are nearly as clean as anything coming out of a washing machine. And as I have been getting more cleaning responsibilities, I have been learning a lot more “secrets.” For example, when we prepare the chicken (from the moment it’s killed to the moment it is served), we don’t wear gloves (not so worried about eating the chicken because it gets cooked, more worried about the blood and guts that get on your hands).
Connections matter. I have been hearing this my entire life, but this year is when it has really hit me. Everything I do outside of school is due to connections I have made. I have gotten to know two American Embassy families here, one through my brother’s professor’s help and the other through one of my dad’s best friend’s help. Those families not only welcomed me but also gave me the opportunity to join an Embassy softball team. In volunteering at La Pouponniere (an orphanage) and Hearts Home (a group that works with the community), I emailed a professor at Notre Dame, who then gave me the contact of a student, who then gave me the contacts for these places. For Sunu Thiossane (the arts and education organization), I talked with a professor at Lafayette college, who the gave me her son’s contact, who then gave me the final contact. I am so thankful for these opportunities especially because I have sent an incredible amount of emails to various groups and NGOs that have never been returned (pictured below-the nativity play put on by Hearts Home (in Wolof!) and the Sunu Thiossane Team).
Senegal is so much better in the winter.
Senegalese people have very little tolerance for the cold. It has been hovering around 70 for the past couple of weeks and everyone here is freezing! My classmates show up to school with sweatshirts and scarves, little kids are bundled up with winter coats just to go out and play, and I am not allowed to keep my window open at night because my host mom is afraid I am going to be too cold.
Working out with kids is so much more fun than working out alone. Recently, I hurt one of my calf muscles so I couldn’t run to the Corniche to work out. Instead I opted to work out in the alley behind my house. Some of my neighbors were sweet and would cheer me on when they walked by, one even ran back into his house to give me his jump rope. After a few minutes I had attracted some attention from the little kids that live in the neighborhood. Soon enough I had a whole gaggle (including some girls- which made me super happy because for the most part girls are encouraged to stay seated and hang out at home, which often means they don’t get much exercise) doing the exercises with me. They seemed to be having a lot of fun and it took my mind off of actually working out so I was having fun. At the end, a little girl came running up to ask me if we were going to do it again the next day… My heart was so happy.
When your host sister offers to take you out (she rarely tells me where we are going)… go! We recently ended up at the women’s national basketball championship game and watched as Dakar won! It was the liveliest sporting event I have been to in a long time, with drummers banging out rhythms (even while the game was being played) and people jumping, dancing, chanting, and twirling shirts above their head. At the end of the game, the man next to me (who Marieme somehow knew) asked me if I wanted a picture. Naturally I said yes, thinking he would just take a picture of me with the court behind me, but instead he helps me over the railing and introduces me to the captain of the team. She then puts her arm around me and takes us to the trophy where we take a picture together!
I am not Senegalese, nor will I ever be Senegalese. I specifically mean this in an emotional way.. I have come to accept that with my blonde hair, blue eyes and American accent, I won’t be like them physically. Anyways, this may seem like a simple idea, but it is something I have been struggling to come to terms with and I still can’t even say I am quite there yet. Before coming, I unknowingly set high expectations for myself. I thought I was going to become fluent in French, find really good friends, feel perfectly “normal” at school/ home, etc. I have made enormous strides in these areas, but I still feel like I am coming up short. It hit me one night that my school friends don’t really know me. I mean they’ve never really talked to me. They mainly know me as the smiley girl who always asks about their day and just listens in to their conversation and laughs along with everyone else. They don’t know my personality, my opinions, or my humor, and I realize, to an extent, I don’t know much of theirs either. There are so many times when I am late to internalize a joke, or even if I do understand it, I just don’t have the culture reference to find it funny. I have also started to realize that even if I was able to fully express myself in French, the connections I would have with them would never be the same as the ones I had in high school. Where my friends and I would have conversations about politics, social issues, and daily drama, my friends here prefer lighter topics (which I completely understand). As hard of a pill as it is to swallow, I have been slowly coming to terms with the fact that I am a part of their community but I am not quite a part of their culture. In other words, I am not Senegalese. But I am realizing (a big thanks to my parents sharing they have had similar experiences) that that’s okay. I am not expected to be. I wasn’t born here, I didn’t grow up with a Senegalese family doing Senegalese things, learning the unspoken ins and outs of Senegalese culture. And although I thought I was failing because I wasn’t fully connecting, these past couple weeks of reflection have helped me remember that although I won’t ever be Senegalese, my time here is to learn about and appreciate their culture in the deepest sense. In that sense I don’t feel like I’m failing. I have definitely learned a lot from my friends and family about Senegalese culture. And although it is often hard to express myself, I have taught them a lot about American culture, even if it comes through the language of smiles and laughing along with the jokes I don’t understand quite yet.

A Very Merry Christmas in Thies- December

Merry Christmas from Senegal! This has definitely been a holiday season I will never forget. For a majority Muslim country, you would be surprised by how many Christmas decorations have gone up around Dakar. There are streamers and lights on random streets and the men on the street who usually try to sell you things like peanuts and tissues are thrusting full-sized fake Christmas trees and plastic ornaments at you! There are even some chocolate Santas and log cakes in different bakeries. Although Dakar was settling in to celebrate the traditions of Santa and gift giving on December 25, our cohort was traveling away from the hustle and bustle of city life to Thies (pronouced like Chess) for a week of different celebrations.

The first celebration began as soon as we arrived in Thies on Saturday (December 21). Unlike the other celebrations to come this weekend, this one was completely spontaneous and was made up on the spot when our car pulled into the one main gas station they have in Thies. Our task was to buy something for breakfast, but as soon as we walked in, we did a double take (well each of us did a double take so I guess we did a ten-take) and found Reese’s Peanut Butter treats and different variations of Oreos! Somehow a random gas station in a random city in Senegal just happened to be carrying American snacks that we haven’t seen in a long time. Let’s just say our goal of a hearty breakfast was quickly swept away. We took our goodies, along with some fruit, juice, and chocolate croissants and bread and headed to our guide, Sidy’s house. There we FEASTED! It was definitely a lot of sugar, definitely too much sugar, but Senegalese people don’t eat many sweet things, so for us, this was our first celebration.

The second celebration was a planned celebration. In fact, it had been planned for many, many months and we were just last minute guests. Sidy’s niece was actually getting married that day. So, after we finished our breakfast, we carried our full bellies and went to get dolled up. Some women at Sidy’s house started pulling out dresses for Sara and Lydia (the other girls on my program) because they didn’t have any Senegalese dresses and then at the last minute they looked at me and they told me they had a perfect one for me. The dress was in fact perfect. It fit my waist and dropped to the perfect spot on my ankles and the color was just beautiful. It even came with material that they wrapped around my head. When I finally looked in the mirror, I felt fully and truly Senegalese and was ready to party at this marriage.

Fun fact, I have never been to an American wedding. I have actually only been to one wedding, which was an Ethiopian wedding. I was ready, and I mean ready, to experience this whole joining of two families celebration. Throughout the whole day there was a lot of music, dancing and socializing, but we also quickly found out that the day would consist of a lot of sitting, especially for the women. When we arrived, we made our way through the opening corridor and shook hands with every single person our eyes touched. By the time we took our first seat at the end of the hallway my face hurt from smiling and “salam aleekum” had become a tongue twister. We sat there for a while before being moved to the backyard for lunch. Unlike Dakar which has a million people for 83 square kilometers, Thies has 6,670 square kilometers for 620,000 people. Houses in Thies have so much space. There are gardens in front of the house, behind the house, and the houses in general are just so much bigger. There were probably a hundred people packed into the backyard, but somehow it still didn’t feel as cramped as anything in Dakar.

Another fun fact, women don’t attend Senegalese weddings… not even the bride. At one point in the day all the men left us in the backyard to go to the mosque for the marriage. During that time men with tam-tams came and started drumming, women started dancing, and the bride made her first appearance. We welcomed her from the car and followed her through the house to the backyard where there were pictures and more music. The boys happily came back about an hour later with beignets and juice and then we hit another spell where we just sat there. We ended up talking about the universe, different paradoxes and theories, and God, so I mean at least we spent our time well. It was getting dark and we were getting a little tired when we finally got up and into a car and headed back to Sidy’s. But don’t be fooled. This was only for a quick outfit change. We weren’t at his house for more than 5 minutes before we were up and back in the car to a different venue for more celebrating. As you can guess, at the new venue we did some more sitting. It was around 11:30 when we got there but dinner doesn’t start until the bride shows up. The bride was fashionably late and ended up showing up at 1:30 am, so we had a few hours to kill. Leave it to the Senegang to fill the time though. We played games and ended up wandering off and exploring a half-built building, Lydia and I actually swinging ourselves off the edge (sorry mom and American Councils) and onto a roof on the second floor to look at the stars. The marriage celebration was all fun until we all hit a wall at about 1:15 and I started to feel a little sick. We ended up following the man who brought us to the party back to the house of the first celebration, only to find out we gave Sidy a heart attack because this man didn’t tell anybody he was taking us! After getting into a few cars we found our way back to Sidy and finally we made our way home.

What happens when you have 5 people in your cohort and only 4 seats in the car..

Unfortunately, home was not much of a comfort for me. I started to feel sick somewhere into the wedding, but only once I laid down did I actually get sick. Sorry to Sara and Lydia who were sharing the bed with me because there were many times in the night when I popped up quickly from our squished arrangement to sprint to the bathroom. Thankfully, the next day we spent at Sidy’s house instead of immediately heading to host families, and for that I dubbed that day of sleep the third celebration.

By the time we did leave to go to our host families, I was feeling much better. I got very lucky with my host family. My goodness they were great. They are a very traditional group with four different extended families living together. There were six young kids who were running in circles every time I saw them, four women who were always smiling, a young housemaid who was very sweet, and honestly I can’t tell you how many men actually lived there because they were always in and out of the house. Anyways, I was absolutely spoiled at this house. Will at one point said that going to Thies is like going to your Senegalese grandparents’ house and I’ve never heard anything more true. Firstly, I had a room all to myself- this meant I had a dresser for the first time in months and could actually spread out a little bit. Nobody was coming in and out of my room and I didn’t have to worry about being neat all the time. Secondly, for breakfast there wasn’t just bread, there was meat and cheese and eggs and coffee, oh my god there was coffee, and just when I thought I had finished, they brought out juice. At lunch, there was the regular rice, vegetables and meat, but then they brought out fruit! Thirdly, Thies runs on a different time schedule. Everyone stays out until 3 am and then sleeps in until midday. I slept so much these past days. I even did something I was not expecting to do until we got there, which was I took off my watch. I am a very time oriented person. I constantly plan my life around time to make everything as efficient as possible, but for the first time in a long time I just stopped. I didn’t look at the clock at all. If I needed to go somewhere, somebody always told me so I didn’t even have to worry about that. It felt weird at first. I looked at my wrist hundreds of times those first few days, but once I just let go of worrying about the time, I was able to relax in a way I haven’t been able to in a long time. I also slept so much more which was nice and well needed.

The last celebration was, as you can guess, Christmas. But, there were a lot of smaller celebrations that led up to that and a lot of things to do before we could actually celebrate. The first thing we had to do was head to the market and then Auchan (the grocery store) to get ingredients to make Christmas dinner for us and all of our host families. This time was full of a lot of guess-timating because this entire week we didn’t have internet and for those of us that did know some recipes, the measurements were not Senegal friendly. Oh you need 2 cups of cream cheese? I guess we can take 175 grams of La Vache Qui Rit (not cream cheese, just a very creamy cheese).

We then were also let loose with 2,000 CFA each ( $4) to find dinner. Lydia and I ended up pooling our money to buy the one thing I would never have thought to have found in a random city in west Africa… a small vanilla iced coffee from Starbucks. We also got Twix and those little packets you get when you’re little with the tiny bread sticks and cheese.

We took our “dinner” across the street to the first “Christmas celebration.” It just so happened that on Christmas Eve THE Wally Seck was coming to Thies. Don’t worry, I didn’t know who he was either, but it seemed like the entirety of Thies turned out to see him. We all packed into this soccer arena, taking up the stands as well as the entire field. There were even people stacked on the fence and hanging from trees trying to get a glimpse of this guy. The concert was supposed to start at 10 pm but Wally didn’t end up showing up until 1. It’s okay though because we got to talk to Eli’s host brother and his friends and watch some people lip sync on stage to Senegalese songs. When the clock hit midnight, Lydia and I cracked open our Starbucks and started singing Christmas carols. We definitely got some stares because our music did not quite fit against the Senegalese rap/ modern music going on in the background, but not going to lie, it didn’t feel that different because we had been consistently stared at up to that point.

Unfortunately the Americans were weak and couldn’t stay for the whole concert, even though it was a lot of fun watching thousands of people dancing their hearts out to our good friend Wally. We all headed back to Eli’s host family’s house and met up with Sidy. It was too late for us all to go back to our host families so Will stayed with Eli, Sara did end up going home, and Lydia and I stayed at Sidy’s. Once we finally laid down for the night, Lydia surprised me with some Christmas carols she downloaded and we just stared at the ceiling taking in everything in. At some point we fell asleep, but honestly what a beautiful way to start Christmas.

The real Christmas celebration was spent together cooking. Lydia and I got up early (10 am) to start on the mac and cheese. For a meal so simple, we still couldn’t manage to make it work. They only had enough cheddar cheese at Auchan for the buffalo chicken dip, so we decided to improvise and use the only other type of cheese they had there. Turns out it was Swiss Cheese and turns out Swiss Cheese doesn’t melt easily. Oops. For the most part everything else turned out well. In the end the meal consisted of mac and cheese, buffalo chicken dip (La Vache Qui Rit is actually a viable substitute), baked potatoes, chili, fruit salad and dairy free chocolate chip blondies. It took all day, but we had made a wonderful meal that we were able to feed to all of our host families plus some extra guests. Sara’s blondies ended up being burnt and still uncooked, but we all dug in Senegalese style to scoop out every last spoonful. As we walked home that night along a dark and empty road, I just looked up to the stars (which you can actually see a lot of, unlike in Dakar) and let every emotion hit me. It didn’t feel like Christmas. There wasn’t snow. There wasn’t the spirit that flows through the streets of Bethlehem, PA. There wasn’t even my regular or host family. But I wasn’t sad persay. I spent the day with 4 other Americans who I love so much and have become my family and we helped other people celebrate Christmas for the first time. So it didn’t feel like Christmas, rather it was a good day which just happened to fall on Christmas, and so for that I call it a Christmas celebration.