Tidal Wave

We were sitting around the dinner bowl. My host dad home from another extended stay in Dakar was asking me the status of the recently planted manioc plants (all 51 of them). Considering this had been a recent source of disappointment, I hesitated a bit before responding….

One week and a half earlier I had spent an entire morning preparing the soil where the manioc stalks, that came from a mother plant downed in a nasty wind storm the night before, would be nestled in the afternoon shade. Two days after the fresh planting I traveled to Tambacounda, a small regional capitol on the eastern side of Senegal. My first trip east of Kaolack since my arrival in Senegal. I was meeting with all sustainable agriculture volunteers and our director to evaluate our program, brainstorm and share ideas.

Upon return to the village after a week long absence, I quickly greeted my family, unpacked my belongings, broke the fast and excitedly made my way to check the status of my garden.
The eggplants were producing numerous flowers and even a few young fruits, the tomato plants looked dry and crispy along the edges but were also flowering with small fruit and the once prosperous bean plants were coming dying back to brown, leafless vines. The mulched sweet potato vines were stretching their arms and legs in luxury atop it’s straw bed. I continued on to the much anticipated manioc.

Dead. All but three plant stocks had were as empty of life as that frozirigimortified bird hanging from dad’s power lines. In my investigation of the death scene, I revealed the culprits busily consuming that which was no longer of use to me. Damn termites…they will be the end of me.

…the termites, I explained to my host dad, had made a gourmet meal of the manioc rootstocks, almost as delicious as the millet and peanut sauce dinner we were consuming. Before I could say another would, one of my host mothers took the opportunity to once again criticize my work in the garden, belittling the gallons of sweat I poured into improving that wretched soil and discrediting any knowledge base I may think I have. My front line of defense was spread thin and I could feel the anger boiling just below the surface, ready to burst. Yet, even if I had wanted to burst, I couldn’t find the words to appropriately respond to my family members and my present state of mind. I was silent…loudly silent. I then stood up, rinsed my right hand and walked straight to my darkened room. I flipped on my light, sat down in my plastic chair, folded my hands in my lap and let the hot tears burn my cheeks. What the hell am I doing here?

I sat for a long time in the dark, thinking and calming myself. I wanted to confront my anger, my mother but quickly realized that the root cause of my frustration was nothing that could be changed. I just had to let it go. My solitude, loneliness, cultural differences, our gap of understanding and perceptions of reality…it is nothing but life in this world.

I left the compound, tried to get away. I needed a quiet dark place that was not my hut. I couldn’t find it but the dark sky and brilliant stars soothed my burning soul. I returned home, took a breath and explained to my host dad that there are just moments when the world becomes too much and I just need to ride out the waves. You can be assured, I am in peace here.