Time Out in the Village...

Here's something I wrote under a tree in Ganni.

Sitting alone on a woven mat under the tree and reading some random book I was quietly approached by two children, an older sister and a younger brother. No older than 7 and 5.

It was in America I might call a 'quiet' spring afternoon. Anything but noiseless, with no less than seven species of birds chirping their hearts out in the tree above me. Goats were of course loudly crying out to each other as annoyingly as possible just to hear each their own voices. I think they might actually be so stupid as to think they are dead if they can't hear their own bleating. Like a spring afternoon in America, their was nothing of silence but the simple surprising harmony of the cumulative sounds and the tranquility of the surroundings. It was reminiscent of sitting next to my dad's pond with a line out in the water. The sum of the noise creating a sort of enchanting or perhaps endearing quiet.

Anyways, I'm rambling... it was a nice day! So the brother and sister came up silently behind me while I was reading. When I realized they were there I turned and saw their hands already timidly outstretched to me. There was no fear of this stranger only a kind of wonder as they stared hesitantly at my white face and quizzically at my tattoo. I took both of their hands and greeted them first, as is customary, in Arabic then in Wolof, their mother tongue. I let go of their hands and asked them how they were doing in French. They just continued to stare at me silently.

The sister wore a bright white and yellow dress made of light cotton that danced in the breeze. A breeze which in America might seem more akin to a warm furnace blast, but here we call it a cool breeze. The wind made the loose ends of the dress dance in a playful manner that starkly contrasted the unmoving resolve and serious manner on the sister's face. It was the resolve of a seven year old girl to go over to complete stranger dragging her brother along to shake his hand... As silently as they came to me they turned and left, I said peace only in Wolof, a customary good-bye, to them and the little boy turned around. Throughout the whole encounter he had seemed totally unsure about me and the whole situation that his older sister had dragged him into. As I said good-bye he turned to me and smiled at me. He continued on for a little bit, then turned and waved and smiled again several times; each time running to catch back up with this sister who didn't wait for him to stop until they turned down the path.

Even though the exchange transversed three languages, more was said and passed on in the strong resolve on the face of the girl who led her brother hesitantly to greet a toubab and the final relaxed accepting smile and wave of the young boy. Sitting here under the tree contemplating this meeting, I realized while I have no idea what I'm supposed to be accomplishing, this is what I'm supposed to be doing here. In this little encounter I accomplished two of the three goals of the Peace Corps and I can say if this was all I was ever able to accomplish each day or even once each week I would consider my service successful.