It Doesn't Matter Here
A few weeks ago, I helped my cousin, Fanta (yes, like the soda), who is 16, with her homework. Fanta is in grade 8, despite her being 16. Most children start school late here. In the Gambian education system, all students are taught subjects in English, but unfortunately, many of the students do not have mastery of the English language. Fanta, however, is pretty bright and I'm hoping, with my concern and support, will continue her education at least through grade 12.
As I was helping Fanta prepare for her science final, I came to the realization that my credentials here have no meaning. My time at a fairly reputable four year college, graduating with honors, etc and my job post-college with a public official mean absolutely nothing to those who now live around me. Even those who have completed their secondary schooling have no idea what any of the above means, but I realized, as Fanta struggled with the thought that an earthworm is considered a multi-cellular organism, that for the past five months, my so-called credentials have disappeared from my mind, and you know what...I like it.
At times it's as though I am a celebrity in my village---children yell Jaliika and say 'How are you?' to practice the only English phrase that their older siblings taught them. There are times, more often than not, that I wish I were invisible here. Villagers ask me for money (some jokingly, most seriously), my mothers tease me for not going to work with them in the rice fields, and I constantly get told that the 20L jug of water I carry on my head is too heavy, yet my 70 year old host mother carries a wash basin that holds the same capacity on her head several times a day. At times I'm treated as if I'm the wisest sage there is (when I actually have no clue) and other times I forget I'm 25, went to university, and had a job because by many here, my marital status, small stature, and 'baby face', I'm considered a little girl. (If I had lived here my whole live, I probably would have been married for seven years already and had at least three children by now.)
My degree, honors, and job don't matter here; the villagers don't care. How humbling it is when the 11 year old girl who pumps my water for me lifts the 20L jug on my head or my host mom shows me the art of pounding rice, that I still can't manage to do no matter how hard I try. Being here, I realized I've shed the attitude which accompanies many of my equals in the States. Here my status, on paper, is void of meaning, but perhaps I can now focuse on my credentials as a human being. Maybe my family will enable me to realize that the exchange of cultures, thoughts, experiences, provide more credentials than one could ever put on paper.
It's only been 5 months into my time here, and I'm already learning a lot about wisdom, perservance, patience, survival, happiness, and most of all, humility.
As I was helping Fanta prepare for her science final, I came to the realization that my credentials here have no meaning. My time at a fairly reputable four year college, graduating with honors, etc and my job post-college with a public official mean absolutely nothing to those who now live around me. Even those who have completed their secondary schooling have no idea what any of the above means, but I realized, as Fanta struggled with the thought that an earthworm is considered a multi-cellular organism, that for the past five months, my so-called credentials have disappeared from my mind, and you know what...I like it.
At times it's as though I am a celebrity in my village---children yell Jaliika and say 'How are you?' to practice the only English phrase that their older siblings taught them. There are times, more often than not, that I wish I were invisible here. Villagers ask me for money (some jokingly, most seriously), my mothers tease me for not going to work with them in the rice fields, and I constantly get told that the 20L jug of water I carry on my head is too heavy, yet my 70 year old host mother carries a wash basin that holds the same capacity on her head several times a day. At times I'm treated as if I'm the wisest sage there is (when I actually have no clue) and other times I forget I'm 25, went to university, and had a job because by many here, my marital status, small stature, and 'baby face', I'm considered a little girl. (If I had lived here my whole live, I probably would have been married for seven years already and had at least three children by now.)
My degree, honors, and job don't matter here; the villagers don't care. How humbling it is when the 11 year old girl who pumps my water for me lifts the 20L jug on my head or my host mom shows me the art of pounding rice, that I still can't manage to do no matter how hard I try. Being here, I realized I've shed the attitude which accompanies many of my equals in the States. Here my status, on paper, is void of meaning, but perhaps I can now focuse on my credentials as a human being. Maybe my family will enable me to realize that the exchange of cultures, thoughts, experiences, provide more credentials than one could ever put on paper.
It's only been 5 months into my time here, and I'm already learning a lot about wisdom, perservance, patience, survival, happiness, and most of all, humility.
posted by Stephanie at 11:38 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home