An Update: Somewhat disjointed, but comprehensive nonetheless...

April 4th: My last entry on "Africa @50" was full of optimism and energy, none of which characterize my sentiments during Senegal's 50th Independence Day celebration last weekend. To fully understand my frustration, you must have a sense of the potential that lay within this historic moment - something I touched on in my last blog post. Instead of using this moment for introspection, the celebration was President Abdoulaye Wade's egotistical display of profane, self-congratulatory back-patting. He, with use of public funds, apparently paid for the travel of several heads of state and dignitaries including a delegation from New York featuring none other than Jesse Jackson and the head of the NAACP, to attend the inauguration of his disgusting statue. The statue, by the way, has been lit with what look like disco lights that use up so much energy that we, in Ouakam, had nightly black-outs averaging about 3-5 hours for two weeks leading up to the inauguration. Needless to say I was disappointed to hear about Jesse Jackson and company. It seems that folks have become so caught up with grand gestures, they have forgotten (or don't care) to do their research to insure that the ends justify the means.

 

Set Setal, Take 2: On March 28th my little corner of Ouakam (Cite Assemblee) held its second Set Setal since my arrival. After a couple of months of theoretical planning with the Set Setal crew (Papis, Malang, Mustafa, Tamsir & Vicky), and a couple of weeks of rushed preparation (including a couple of days of absolute mayhem), the big day finally arrived. Like the last time, I woke up after too few hours of sleep unsure of how many of the hundreds of neighbors we had solicited would actually show up. The beginning was slow and after the first hour we had only attracted a group of hard-working kids. Eventually, with the sound system set up and music blazing, the adults joined in. The artists we had invited painted beautiful murals on the 3 walls we targeted and prepared. Overall the set setal was wildly successful. A little fun fact: 2STV, a local news station, showed up and my 15-second interview was shown that evening. A photographer friend was there to capture all of the beautiful images of the day and we plan to collaborate to put together an exhibition of the photos in the neighborhood before I leave. I will have images to share after that!

A note on Love: I have gone through a somewhat rough period recently, but have come out stronger than ever. Today I find myself wondering less and less frequently about whether or not my feelings make sense or whether they are 'possible' at such a fast rate. All of these abstract notions, 'sense' and 'possibility' have been stretched to their modest limits over the past couple of weeks and they no longer serve as my points of reference. I feel like if my life were a graph, its curve is on a steady incline into God's realm where human-constructed obstacles fall away allowing for love to thrive at its purest. I realize, for the first time in my life, that love is less of a state of being, and more of an ongoing series of decisions and actions with blissful, wholly self-gratifying results.

The Countdown: It's official. This coming fall I will be starting a joint MBA-Public Policy degree at Carnegie Mellon University in Pittsburgh! It has been a long, exhausting, but worthwhile process. I have been awarded both a merit scholarship and a full-tuition Fellowship. So many people have been generous with their time and energy in supporting me through this period - thank you so much, I am deeply grateful. I find it fitting that the admitted MBA student website is called "the Countdown." I imagine that this name captures the bittersweet anticipation felt by many of members of the class of 2012. I, for one, feel very torn. Part of me is already there reveling in the new forms of intellectual stimulation, nesting in a new apartment and city, already making plans to bring peers on an MBA trek to Senegal..etc. Part of me wants to stay here and enjoy the fruit of the many rich relationships I have cultivated over the past two years. But there is no stopping or slowing down in this world. I am excited for the change of pace and I look forward to being able to return to Senegal with more to offer than my many ideas and good intentions.

Haïti: The absolute destruction and desolation caused by the recent earthquake in Haiti has really touched me. I think this event has struck a profound chord because of Haiti's history of suffering at the hands Western bullies, the much larger "political and economic earthquake," as one journalist put it in the Huffington Post. When Gilda, a Haitian American friend here in Dakar, sent out an email asking friends to help her organize a Dakar-based response, I eagerly launched myself into what has become a full-blown organization seeking legal recognition as Initiative Senegal-Haiti. Here is a blurb on what we're about:

Initiative Sénégal-Haïti is a group of private initiatives formed spontaneously after the disaster. As "Unity is strength" is the Haitian logo, we are people of all ages, professions and multi-cultural backgrounds based in Dakar who have decided to establish a link between Senegal and Haiti. Initiative Sénégal-Haïti aims to meet the immediate needs of earthquake victims and create longer-term partnerships between the communities of Senegal and Haiti.

So far we've organized a 8.5KM march that attracted over 400 participants and a salsa workshop that raised over $600, the theme of which was Alice Walker's prophetic quote, "Hard times require furious dancing." We are planning a 'Haiti Day' featuring a historical exhibition, film screenings and discussions, a fashion show and sale, and a fundraising concert. We're hoping to, through these cultural activities, share Haiti's rich history, culture and spirit of resilience with the people of Senegal and also mobilize Dakar communities to engage in this very human crisis.

Our very first engagement with the public was a shout-out about our initiative at a regular bi-weekly poetry slam. Side note about poetry slams in Dakar: They are less like NYC's infamously riotous Nuyorican scene and more like bohemian, guitar-strumming, soft-spoken, poetry reciting, open mic nights where the french influence bears heavily, like an overdose of floral perfume. "Je t'aime, je t'adore, sans toi je suis riens...." However, on the night in question we centered the poeticking on Haiti, diaspora relations, and mobilization in Senegal. I was inspired to write the piece below, though I didn't stay long enough to read it (excuse the "french").

Dakar-Haiti 2010

It's twenty-ten/time to build anew/no time to wait/for another round of handouts/that are never free/ with strings attached to hands that control and manipulate from air conditioned board rooms/ far from the forests, villages, people, waters, electrical grids, and young minds they degrade/ Senegal, it's twenty-ten/it's time to think about solar power/and returning the people to power/and taking Wade out of power/and memorializing our generation with actions and not monuments celebrating....what?/La Renaissance Africaine?/ I never knew we were dead/Dakar, I don't know about you, but I feel alive/don't need to be reborn/need jobs, infrastructure, real leadership, leaders who actually give a sh**/not just empty political gestures/ a piece of land for Haiti in Senegal.../why don't we start with some real sh**?/ like sending Haiti some positive energy, some money, some thoughts, some support, solidarity/from one people to another/separated only by history's crimes/tonight we feel your pain/we have our own problems, but we too are part of this world/my friends, it's twenty-ten.

Thus far my work (approximately 20 hours per week) helping to build Initiative Senegal-Haiti has been a little stressful due to the internal politics and ageism involved, but on the whole, also very rewarding. Not only is this an insightful learning experience on mobilizing and fundraising in Dakar and building a coalition, but I am grateful to have the opportunity to help in any way I can. I am SO very proud of my mom, who has been picked as a senior representative of USAID to work on a task force assessing the on the ground situation and determining how to best transition from short to long-term support. She is currently on her way to Haiti, where she will be for a few weeks. Good luck Mom!

In the mean time, if any of you have connections to people on the ground in Haiti who can maybe enlighten me and my colleagues on how best to use our funds, please send me contact information. This has been one of our major points of contention - should funds we raise be used for immediate medical responses or long-term rebuilding projects? How do we, from Senegal, insure that our funds are used effectively while also supporting local, homegrown organizations rather than larger, well-endowed actors like UNICEF or the Red Cross. I am a huge advocate for giving to Partners in Health, which is a medium-sized organization with local roots, 25 years of experience in Haiti, and an irrefutable reputation for effective work. But of course, I am open to suggestions, so please send any information you have! Thank you!

Giving Thanks: It is interesting and telling that I wrote my last blog at the end of Ramadan. Since then many exciting and noteworthy things have happened - all too real to try to relay here in this limited virtual forum. The most significant and yet the hardest to capture in words is the spiritual journey I have awakened to find myself on. I say awakened rather than embarked, because this has been a long journey, perhaps it even began during my childhood, but I have only recognized it consciously within the past couple of months. Suddenly everything in my life revolves around spirit. The steps we teach students to communicate inter-culturally are all about realizing that your reality is constructed based on your cultural values and perspective. This constructivism is at the root of how I see God, life, creation/free will, happiness, change.



Perhaps this awakening began during Ramadan, which I tried to make meaningful by reflecting on religion (notably my Christian background and experiences with Islam) and my beliefs, which often do not align with religion. Nowadays I dwell over concepts read and re-read in Conversations with God, I take my time slowly digesting words by Alice Walker, I try to have meaningful soul-provoking conversations, I ask a lot of questions. My boss, who bears witness to this process, casually used the term "existential crisis" over lunch the other day. That made me smile.



Perhaps it is all of these nosy essay questions in applications for graduate programs. I lay bare my ambitions, strengths, weaknesses, regrets and lessons within a sincere response and then, coming to as if from a trance, wonder if the admissions committee really wants to know who I am. It has been one of the many pleasant surprises in life thus far - applying to business school can indeed be an introspective and even spiritual process.



Perhaps it is the constant questioning we encourage among our students. They come here often having already planned out their lives - first peace corps, then NGO work, and along the adventurous route of a career in development they plan to go. They arrive expecting these ambitions to be unquestioningly supported and instead we force them to question and challenge the concepts upon which they have built their dreams. Development from and towards what? Are we a good model of 'developed'? Who chooses these standards? Does happiness mean the same thing for everyone? Is the concept of universalism just a cover for cultural hegemony? This is the juiciest meat of our program and the most rewarding. Is it such a leap to connect it back to constructivism and the realm of the spiritual?



Perhaps it is, as auntie Alice might suggest, the gardening. Since my return to Dakar from the U.S. this summer I have been caring for the family of plants I inherited on the roof of my apartment. With the help of a more experienced gardener who brought new nutrient-rich soil and advised me on the needs of the different plants, I have been nurturing them and watching them grow. It is a small but nonetheless miraculous thing to witness - after misting (spraying water on the leaves of) my favorite plant, a frangipani tree, I can literally see it perking up.



I know your eyebrows may well be creeping up incredulously and now maybe you are smiling or shaking your head thinking "existential crisis." Again, that makes me smile. Because if it is a crisis I am going through, I never want it to end.



On this day, so ironically earmarked for giving thanks each year, I continue on my present path, more awake than I've ever felt. And for that I am thankful.

A June 7th Surprise: Have I mentioned that I am in love with my friend/roomie Duma? Knowing that we won't be together for my July 7th birthday and also knowing the plight of summer birthday party organizing when everyone is traveling, Duma threw me a fabulous surprise party on June 7th, a month before my actual birthday. It was the cutest thing ever. She recruited some friends to help distract me during the day and her and Fatou Sow (mostly Fatou) whipped up a mouth-watering ceeb bu weex (my fave) and white sangria. I came home around 5pm and was greeted with a big 'surprise!' from friends. Thank you all - especially Duma. It was really special.

Mariam, Tinari and Gabe cutting fruit for Sangria

Ceeb bu weex bu neeeexx

gifts from Mariam and Esperance

Duma has aptly named this photo "Ceebcoma"

An Update: The semester is over! We went on our final program trip at the beginning of the month (to the river delta region of Sine Saloum on the beautiful island of Mar Lodj). Then came exams, the re-entry session to prep students for counter-culture shock and advise them on how to leverage their study abroad experience in networking and interviews, and the farewell dinner. Now Serigne and I are just working on submitting grades and end of year reports before enjoying a nice long break.

In the mean time, I've met with an old acquaintance from my work with AWOMI in 2006, Coumba Toure, who is now the West Africa representative of Ashoka. For those who don't know, Ashoka is an international organization that supports social entrepreneurs through a fellowship program. It is Echoing Green's peer, but different in that it doesn't focus on start-ups and is more established internationally with regional offices and programs. Coumba came to speak to our students about gender issues and public health in Senegal (one of her many areas of expertise as activist, Ashoka rep, and childrens' book author). She mentioned that she is brainstorming around the best way to establish a new 'Youth Venture' program in the region that will fit well within the West African context and a) spread the word about social entrepreneurship; b) encourage young people to use social entrepreneurship as a way to fix local problems big and small; and c) provide support for them to do this. I jumped on board to help with brainstorming, research and yes - a little fundraising. Last week was Ashoka's regional fellow-selection period so one of their founding board members was in town. I was fortunate enough to have dinner with him, Coumba and an Ashoka intern, Simon, during which he entertained us with stories of narrowly escaping Suharto's secret police in Indonesia in the 60's due to his dissertation research on the entrenched corruption of the forestry industry and other equally exciting adventures. I'm looking forward to possibly working more with Coumba and the team to develop a network of young social entrepreneurs in the region. It's nice to know that now that I've been introduced to the world of social entrepreneurship, its lingo, its network, I can still continue to learn and contribute in various capacities anywhere in the world - thanks EG!

Another interesting update is that a couple of weeks ago I was invited to speak at the 25th anniversary of my old elementary school, the International School of Dakar (ISD). I'm sure it's pretty hard for most international schools to keep up with their alumni who are constantly in flux - so they were really excited to hear that I was in town. I must admit that I got really nervous about speaking - I'd been asked to speak once in the afternoon to the student and faculty/staff assembly and again in the evening to board members, parents and invited dignitaries. Mind you, in the evening I was to share the stage with the U.S. Ambassador and many of the parents are ambassadors themselves. But in the end all went well and I was thanked and complimented by students, teachers and parents, which was nice. It was amazing to see how much has changed and also to reunite with several of my former teachers who are still there. Overall it was a nice experience that allowed me to reminisce but also appreciate just how much I've grown since my own years at ISD.

Well I'm afraid I have to end this update because I have to run to a performance. This week is the Kaay Fecc international dance festival (kaay fecc means "Come Dance!" in Wolof). The cousin of a friend is performing in an hour and I promised to go watch. Last night's performance ranged from the incredible to the incomprehensible. Who knows what conceptual art delights tonight holds in store....

Easter Sunday/"Miss Celie I feels like dancin'!" I rarely celebrate Easter. When I was younger I participated in all of the mandatory egg-painting and hunting, church-going, and chocolate-eating (even though Mom has always had a complex about bunnies due to the psych ward escapee who used to dress in a bunny suit and flash the children on her school playground). During college in the US I remember being in complete shock at the first sight of someone with an ash cross on their forehead for Ash Wednesday and Easter came and went as a much-appreciated long weekend for more last minute paper-writing before the end of the semester. This year however, Duma and I got the urge to celebrate Easter religiously. Despite my uncertain relationship with Christianity as an institution, I think being in Senegal has made me appreciate the value of ritualized celebration. Since, in most cases, sitting in a church pew doesn't make me feel closer to God, I feel it is insincere of me to go just for the sake of celebrating Easter (aka when it is convenient for me). But if I can stand by and watch eight moutons be slaughtered for Tabaski, someone else's tradition, how wrong can it be to go to a ceremony for the sake of its familiarity?

We barely woke up and made it on the ferry to Goree island in time for the service. But Tinari, Katy (visiting from NYC), Duma and I were all there in our Sunday best, sitting behind the nuns on a wooden pew which was no doubt installed in 1830 when the church was built on the historical island, at 10am sharp. We followed the nuns as they cued the congregation on when to stand, sit, kneel, cross oneself, and sing. The choir was a wonderful mix of choral Wolof with drums and guitar. Having been raised Methodist myself, I was a bit overwhelmed at first by the level of ritual and the ornateness of the church; the lit candles, the holy water, the burning incense, the gold plaster and graphic crucifixion scenes all over the place seemed a bit overkill. Why not just sit outside under the tree to admire God's presence? This line of reflection always brings me back to the scene in The Color Purple when Miss Celie and Shug are walking in a field and talking about trees and God: 'I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in field somewhere and don't notice it.' But I guess it doesn't hurt to stimulate the senses every once in a while, whether with incense and music or a series of standing and kneeling (very similar to Muslim-styled prayer and yoga). As if on cue, someone got the spirit half way through a hymn and was systematically carried out by nuns and choir members who worked (never once missing a note in the music) with the efficiency of NYC club bouncers to bring harmony back to the sanctuary of God.

After the service we milled around on the church steps, as people do, and then met up with a friend of Tinari's, Fedou, who was born and raised on Goree. I slipped out of my heels and into some sandals before we walked up to the highest point to give Katy the panoramic view of the island and Dakar's skyline. While on this hill we stopped and sat with one of Goree's hidden treasures: Baye Soulaye. Baye Sooley (Father Sooley) is a bearded older man who 'sells' coffee and nuts to any passerby interested in a place to sit and good conversation. Our two hour session with him consisted of Wolof word etymology, philosophical debate and the signing of his impressive guest book full of different languages and memories.

After our second round of church with Baye Sooley, Fedou invited us to his home (across the cobble-stoned path from the House of Slaves) for lunch. It was such a Senegalese moment - leave the wise old man after a two hour conversation over cafe that he would be insulted if we paid for only to head into the crowded living room of a family we've never met (except for Tinari) for a delicious communal lunch. It just so happens that a friend we had met the day before (also via Tinari), stylist Mariam Diop, was there for lunch too. The food was DELICIOUS. It was a Senegalese paella of sorts: spiced yellow rice with pieces of chicken, shrimp, oysters, and squid thrown in the mix, covered in a tangy sauce of fresh sliced tomatoes and cucumbers. MMMMM!

After some coffee to jerk us out of our food comas, we headed across the 'street' to the House of Slaves for a tour. It was a first for Tinari and Katy. But even though Duma and I had been before its a pretty sobering experience every time, to say the least. Each time I visit I feel like some new piece of history jumps out at me: the fact that the French traders lived on top of the inhumane dungeons, the poor ventilation, the punishment cells, the door of no return. This time what stuck was a sentence on a display panel about resistance and escape during the middle passage. Under the relatively well-known Amistad story, one line: on November 29, 1777 fourteen women threw themselves into the ocean together from the boat Soleil.

The day ended on an energetic note with a game of pick-up basketball on the neighborhood court. I couldn't resist and jumped in - bare feet, Sunday dress, and all. I think of it as a continuation of my childhood days when I would run around our Dakar neighborhood, Simone and Zoe in tow, and climb mango trees in my white laced socks and patent leather shoes.

There should be a word for days like this - ones that are heavy with learning and memory, but still surprisingly buoyant.

A little Alice.... So today I got to thinking about the fact that my dear friend Fatma is about to give birth to a baby girl. I am already an auntie to Nasozi's son, Rafayando Kalungi, and Leilani's daughter, Xenayana - both as beautiful as their mothers. For me this is not only a sign of the inevitable fact that my friends and I are growing up, it is also a a reflection of the strength and inherent optimism that it takes to bring a life into this world. In this state of mind, I came across a piece of Alice wisdom I hadn't read in a while and thought it fitting to post in honor of all the womanists in my life. To you my loves!

From the preface of In Search of Our Mothers' Gardens: Womanist Prose. Alice Walker's definitions of womanist:

1. From womanish. (Opp. of "girlish," i.e. frivolous, irresponsible, not serious.) A black feminist or feminist of color. From the black folk expression of mothers to female children, "you acting womanish," i.e., like a woman. Usually referring to outrageous, audacious, courageous or willful behavior. Wanting to know more and in greater depth than is considered "good" for one. Interested in grown up doings. Acting grown up. Being grown up. Interchangeable with another black folk expression: "You trying to be grown." Responsible. In charge. Serious.

2. Also: A woman who loves other women, sexually and/or nonsexually. Appreciates and prefers women's culture, women's emotional flexibility (values tears as natural counterbalance of laughter), and women's strength. Sometimes loves individual men, sexually and/or nonsexually. Committed to survival and wholeness of entire people, male and female. Not a separatist, except periodically, for health. Traditionally a universalist, as in: "Mama, why are we brown, pink, and yellow, and our cousins are white, beige and black?" Ans. "Well, you know the colored race is just like a flower garden, with every color flower represented." Traditionally capable, as in: "Mama, I'm walking to Canada and I'm taking you and a bunch of other slaves with me." Reply: "It wouldn't be the first time."

3. Loves music. Loves dance. Loves the moon. Loves the Spirit. Loves love and food and roundness. Loves struggle. Loves the Folk. Loves herself. Regardless.

4. Womanist is to feminist as purple is to lavender.

Giving Thanks: If you know me well, you know I am a holiday person. Not the kind that goes crazy with Christmas tree earrings and home-baked cookies topped with colored sprinkles...No. I just really like the warmth around holiday-time, the good food, the traditions, and the meanings (no matter how deeply buried under commercialism and ugly histories) behind them. To me, despite the sketchy origins of our all-American holiday, Thanksgiving is a time to slow down, spend time with people you care about, and reflect on the many blessings life has reaped. (and yes, their is the eating of the good food).

This Thanksgiving I had two dinners: one home-made with friends new and old and another one, more hectic, for the students. On Wednesday Duma and I, with the help of our host and family friend Shenita, whipped up a fabulous dinner (if I may say so myself). We had roasted chicken and gravy, homemade stuffing (mom's recipe), mom's famous cheese rolls a la CK, mashed sweet potatoes, creamed corn, sauteed veggies, salad and cranberry sauce. To top it off, Jeanne made some delicious apple crumble pie and pumpkin pie for dessert. It was wonderful. We had our buddies Tinari, Calvin and Gabe over and Shenita invited some of her friends.

Gathering to give thanks and capture the moment before we dove into our TG feast.

The next night we had over 200 guests at a dinner for my students, students from our host institution, faculty and staff. It was pretty stressful for me because I had to MC and literally pick numbers out of a bag to call on tables one by one for an hour so that people would not stampede to the buffet line.

Students enrolled in our Gender and Development course work with an organization called CIPFEM, created by past students in our program. They facilitate after school activities and tutoring sessions for girls aged 5-12 and otherwise help them develop as well-rounded students and confident leaders. In order to add some meaning to the dinner and share an American holiday with the CIPFEM girls, I suggested our students invite them. I was shocked at first by the grumblings I heard, "I don't want to have to worry about them during Thanksgiving....this is our holiday....it's going to be too much work...." Fortunately only a minority felt this way and the girls attended the dinner. I think they really enjoyed it and it was a reminder to everyone that these holidays actually can and do mean something more than a race to the buffet line.

Me, Khaita (Serigne's wife), my colleague Serigne, and Duma at our program's TG dinner

Personally, I am thankful for many things...but most of all I am grateful for family, friends, the opportunities that have brought me here, and for all of the lessons I have yet to learn. I am also grateful for the ability to find these lessons in any and every thing: the Alice Walker book I'm reading, the CIPFEM girls, my students, random discussions with friends and roommates, giant Baobab trees and beautiful sunsets....


Helped are those who find something in Creation to admire each and every hour. Their days will overflow with beauty and the darkest dungeon will offer gifts.

Helped are those who receive only to give; always in their house will be the circular energy of generosity; and in their hearts a beginning of a new age on Earth: when no keys will be needed to unlock the heart and no locks will be needed on the doors.

- Excerpt from The Gospel According to Shug, The Temple of My Familiar by Alice Walker

Nov. 5th = OBAMA DAY: Early this morning I caught myself in a crowded bar reminiscent of NYU haunts in the lower east side, tearfully singing the American national anthem with a diverse group of friends, Dakar residents, and unknown compatriots. This was definitely a first for me; but today is a day of many firsts. The United States has just elected Barack Obama to be its next president. This is the first time I have felt truly proud of my country, its decision, and its spirit of idealism. We all listened attentively as McCain graciously admitted defeat and as Barack, eloquent as ever, spoke of our collective accomplishment and the real challenges ahead. The man is truly brilliant. I admit that when I saw Virginia go blue and saw the CNN projection of Barack's victory on screen, I broke down into sobs. Around me friends and strangers cheered, screamed, cried, jumped up and down, and generally fell into an overwhelming fit of collective joy. It was truly a euphoric moment - one that will be forever ingrained in my memory. We eventually headed home at 6am and collapsed, as if exhausted by the two year campaign trail ourselves.

Before the bar we fawned over this cutout of Barack at the U.S. Ambassador's Residence.

Waking up later today knowing that the results weren't just a dream, that Barack is in fact President Obama, was and remains incredible. Since it is Obama Day - we took the day off, donned our Obama gear, and went downtown for a celebration lunch. Our waiter must have noticed our pins and incessant Obama chatter - in an act of Senegalese generosity, he gave us his invaluable (and very hard to find here) Obama 08 poster. I was really touched, and already still reeling from the night's events....I am still weepy! Everywhere we stepped, people gave us thumbs ups and their congratulations. What a day! What a blissfully joyful day!

Restaurant waiter, Mamadou, who gave us his poster

On a more serious note, for the more cynical among you: please don't take my current bliss to mean I follow Obama blindly, even though I do love him. I do not expect him to change the world or even our political system. I expect him to do his best leading the country, resolving domestic and foreign relations problems. I believe that his best is potentially the best we have ever seen in any president because of his character, upbringing, experience, and ability to inspire across so many lines. In the end, if we want a revolution to happen, that's up to us, not Obama. If anything, his campaign has taught us that much. So, to the cynical, open your hearts and minds just a little bit more...i know it can be risky, but that's how change actually happens step by step. It's no small thing that the babies born within the coming months and years will grow up with a black president as a norm in life, a given. And the emotional support of and attachment to Obama of older generations within the black community is not something that should be mocked or treated callously (as I've seen on facebook). This is a time to honor those who have made this step, however relative, possible. Thank you grandparents, parents. aunties. uncles and peers!

'It's Black Obama!' - A major Senegalese newspaper celebrates Barack and the history made today.

One more thing - If you know me, you know how much I love Alice Walker. Here are her words of wisdom to our next president (thanks syd!).

American Woman: The other day I had a talk with a colleague about the differences in lifestyle between Senegalese and American twenty-somethings, including the different gender dynamics in our respective societies. Here you can be a 28 year old man and still be considered and treated like a teenager in some respects by your parents - living at home, financially dependent, mom takes care of cooking and laundry...etc. If you are a woman you are expected to stay within the protective confines of your parents' home until you are married and can then move to the home of your husband. Of course there are always exceptions to these rules....I sometimes wonder what people make of Duma, Jeanne, and me - financially independent and living without any protective male figures around to chaperon us. Are we given the benefit of the doubt as foreigners from a different way of life, our we secretly admired for our independence, our we observed with indifference, or our we suspected to be running a brothel? Who knows? I just know that I am feeling extremely grateful for and content with my life these days and wouldn't exchange it for anything. There was a time when I yearned to take on another 'more Senegalese' identity for myself because I had this static, romanticized image of what a 'Senegalese identity' is and was still very discontent with always being 'the American' living overseas. But these days, with Obama close to the White House, and a clearer head about the ever-shifting realities of Senegal and the U.S., I am able to fully accept who I am. I don't mind the fact that I will likely never fit seamlessly into this Senegalese society that I love. The best I can do is to keep drinking my coffee, working hard, supporting Obama, and learning from the experiences of living here. I agree with Michelle, this is the first time in my life I have been really proud to be an American.

Pirouettes & Throwbacks: Like many little girls, my childhood dream was to grow up and become a ballerina. I was pretty serious about this goal up until the age of...oh, maybe 13. I used to parade around the house in ballet slippers and touts-touts, was a ballerina for a Halloween for a few years, and took regular classes up until high school. I think what finally broke the dream for me, besides my waning interest in this relatively rigid classical form of dance, was the realization that this discipline seemed to demand me to be something I'm definitely not: a waif. Of course I had all the support of parents and family, but looking at ballet performances made it clear to me at the time that a certain body type is required. I soon grew out of my childhood fantasy, hung my point shoes as decorations, and took up modern and African dance classes where curves are celebrated.

Looking back, I realize that I just didn't really want to be a ballerina or else I wouldn't have given up so easily. It is hard but still possible to dance without the traditional 'ballerina body.' Even so, the impact of those traditional expectations is real. I have a new friend here, Morgan Ross, who is doing research on just that - the impact of the classical ballet body image on dancers of color, specifically in former French and British colonies. She is a Watson Fellow - for those of you who have not yet graduated from undergrad, this fellowship is amazing and you should all apply - and therefore has a year to travel to an unlimited amount of countries to research something she is passionate about. Since dance is a shared passion of ours, I decided to try to help and put her in touch with my former ballet teacher, a no-pain-no-gain stick-touting French woman named Madame Andree Lorenzetti.

Me and Madame Lorenzetti when I happened upon the dance studio in 2006. She looks exactly the same after 10 years and even now after 12 years...

This is how, earlier tonight, Morgan and I found ourselves in Madame Lorenzetti's adult ballet class, neither of us having taken ballet for some years now, dizzying ourselves with clumsy pirouettes and struggling through painful adagios. It's actually incredible how the dance language (a unique collection of French terms) has stuck with me after all these years. What is even more incredible is the fact that Madame Lorenzetti and a few people in the class totally remember me from when I was ten and still wearing my round, red-rimmed glasses....

I think I'm going to keep the classes up...they are definitely a workout and a challenge. Who knows? I might just be a ballerina after all - a much more well-rounded one, in every respect, than I could have imagined.