"Thoughts while Hiking"
Is it my silence that creates the rush of the river,
The rush of the river that feeds the land
The rush of the river that feed the people?
O the people
Who irrigate the village
Who irrigate the minds of silent travelers like us
Who irrigate the streets with money and ego
With nothing to lose but weight and wait
Is it my silence that creates the wind in the valley,
The wind in the valley that cools the people
The wind in the valley that carries the dust
That chokes the throats of silent travelers like us?
O the throats
That swallow the water
boiled by locals who swallow the smoke
for hours at morning and hours at dusk
swallowing their pride instead of making fools out of us.
Is it my silence that creates the silence of the mountain
The silence of the mountain that speaks to the people
The silence of the mountain that I think I can hear
only because I'm here three months out of the year?
Please go on, prey on without me
hike on, trek on but don't think about me
I am just a traveler
you can choose to leave behind
But know after me there will be many different kinds
It is my silence that keeps you suffering
My silence that knows about starvation and crime
My silence that cries loudly in the smiles of children
My silence that needs to be broken in the right place at any time.

I found myself in the music store yesterday with some students, amidst the bustle of the Thies market. While waiting for our CDs to be recorded we made small talk with those who passed in and out of the store. An older Senegalese man gappened upon us, asking what brought us to Senegal and how long we would be staying. He sensed our excitement to be in his country, and commented "Il n’y a pas d’argent mais il y a de joie." There is not a lot of money here, but there is joy!

We as students, instructors, travellers, and Americans have acquired so many skills over the past 5 weeks in Thies, and most importantly we have begun to understand what we need to survive, as well as what binds us together as humans. We have abandoned most all of our material posessions in the States, save a few t-shirts, books and necessary camping equipment. Our Thies families have shown us that happiness comes not from the posessions we display in our homes or the social status that we project through our clothes and accessories, but the hours we spend dancing on the roof to mbalax, making tea, washing clothes with our sisters (trying relentlessly to make that "squish squish" sound), playing soccer at dusk on the sandy pitch with the teenage boys from the neighborhood.

I remember questioning the source of happiness and definition of success as I settled into my village as a Peace Corps volunteer in the scorching region of Tambacounda in 2003. No one in my village had ever attended high school and much less would they have prospects of attending university or securing a high-salaried position in the city. My villagers were content being farmers and herders, and it’s likely that generations from now the village will not have changed so much. The men will still be leaving at sun up to tend to their peanut fields, the women will still be preparing millet and leaf sauce, while the children fashion dolls out of sticks and cars out of discarded sandals. . . .and they will be content. They may never aspire to own a car, a television (for as of yet there is no electricity that far from the main road), or the latest fashion trends, but rather they have their elders living amongst them, knowledge passed through the ages, and a belief in a higher power that provides and protects.

Individuality, a theme coveted by Americans, an idea I quickly learned was irrelevant in Senegalese culture. I was never simply Khadidiatou, but Kadidiatou of Saare Hammadi, Khadidiatou –daughter of Mbaye and Sira, sister of Djiba, Samba, Dmba, Alson , etc. In difficult times what little food was available was sure to be shared with every extended family member, stretching to the outskirts of the village, and likewise, in celebration of a baptism or passing of an elder there was certain to be a feast grand enough for all to partake, each contributing what rice, meat or oil they could afford to.

I came to embrace that what is truly essential is compassion, respect and integrity of the soul. The families with whom we have stayed in Thies have offered us more than money could ever repay—a brief glimpse into the skeleton of human existance, an instance to question our own definitions of success and quality of life, an opportunity to experience the meaning of family and belonging within a culture that a few weeks ago was simply words on a page. It is with newly unshielded eyes that we embark on our journey through rural Senegal and Mali, carrying with us an appreciation for the challenges brought against Western concepts of fulfilment. May your days be as full of joy as ours are !

This is an excerpt from a journal assignment done about sacred spaces on the island of Fadiou.
 
I am sitting on the mustard colored tiles of the platform outside the Catholic Church. I am in a shady alcove just outside the church, and from here I can be in the cool relief of the shade, hear the echo of the birds against the tile roof of the church, and hear the cackles and yells of children I just greeted in the street. I am inside this enclosure, given my privacy by iron-caste gates and my seclusion by towering tiled walls. Yet, I am also in a public place. When I set out to look for a sacred place for this exercise, I did not immediately come to the church. In fact, I thought of the church as cheating...who doesn't know that a church is a sacred place? As I wandered, though, I found myself drawn here for multiple reasons. First of all, I think that I always had this idea that being in a place of worship should change your level of thought, your awareness of morality. As a kid sitting through services, though, all I felt was boredom and then disappointment with myself for being bored. For some reason, I thought, religion just didn't fit into my life the way I thought it should. The more I have thought about it, though, the more I have realized that spirituality and morality are integral parts of the person who I hope to be. I want to live as much and as thoroughly as I possibly can, I feel that I am finding my religion in that desire. Slowly, all the words that I used to find so hollow and disappointing - forgiveness, sin, thankfulness, praise, prayer - have started to take on real meanings that I have found for myself. Now, here, in this moment outside this church in Senegal; I think that any sacred place is a place where you can go to let yourself reflect honestly. The main difference between spirituality and religion is that religion involves other people. Here, with the wind blowing across my face and tickling the pages of this journal, with the crunch of seashells every time anyone walks, with the persistently calm chirping of birds resonating off the tin roof of the church, with the throaty Wolof commands of a bossy child, with the thump of a ball bouncing off a concrete wall, with a baby staring at me from its mother's back, with tiny ants traversing the hilly terrain of my hairy legs, I feel spiritual. And here, with a group I feel comfortable being honest with, in a community of teranga, in a country that moves to the communal beat of drums mixed with greetings and couscous, I also feel religious.

Sunrise on the Ganga

Getting better acquainted with the program house and its library, i chose Hemingway's "The Sun Also Rises" as my first book to read in Varanasi. Reading acts as a comforting escape from uncomfortable or unusual situations. While for the most part i felt comfotably settled into Varanasi from the first day, a good portion of my reading came during my first night with my home-stay family in Varanasi.The following quotations are from the book:

          "'Nobody ever lives their life all the way up except bull-fighters.'" 

While i am not entirely familiar with the way bull-fighters live their lives, even after reading Hemingway's book, i can safely say that i have been living 'life all the way up' so far during the first week in Varanasi. I have already gotten a sitar, began studying Ayurveda (Indian herbal medicine), tried some stone carving, learned quite a lot about this city's history (through group lectures and activities), and made quite a few local friends. My expectations are high and ambitious for the coming months. 

"It is awfully easy to be hard-boiled about everything in the daytime, but at night is another thing."

This sentence taken out of context applies quite literally to what Varanasi feels like to me. During the daytime you are practically boiling; it is impossible not to break a sweat by just walking down the street during a sunny day in Varanasi. However, we have had some cool days, meaning cloudy skies, and the nights always offer a chilled atmosphere which is nice for walking around. But don't get me wrong, it can still be sweltering at night, just minus the the sun's heat.

                   "That is the secret. You must get to know the values." 

 It is no easy task walking around any place in India pretending not to be a tourist. It is evident to just about any local Indian, and even other Asian foreigners working in India, who the tourists are. When it comes to making purchases or paying for rickshaw rides, we are all conscious of the fact that we will be overcharged. The key is, as we have been taught by our instructors and various Indian tipsters, is to understand where everyone is coming from in India, and i don't mean which city. Everyday, people will bug us for a rickshaw ride,a boat ride down the Ganges, great discounts on best quality material, but if we were to accept every offer, chances are we'd go broke fairly quickly. I have learned to ignore and to say no, even though it is tough sometimes. It is an adoptable quality that comes gradually with time and practice; sometimes ignorance is nirvana.

"They're only dangerous when they're alone, or only two or three of them together." 

Everywhere you go, there will be some sort of cattle. There may even be just as many dogs roaming the streets, and while they are not dangerous if you don't bother them, the animals here are not domesticated and trained to be peaceful. Some animals though, act more like animals than others. It seems almost too common to see local Indians throwing trash anywhere on the streets, urinating in public, and as mentioned above, the vendors will bug you more than any dog or cow (though that is part of the culture). But to be fair, from my experience, whenever i had a group of two or three Indians approach me they were just being friendly. 

Lastly, "The Sun Also Rises" applies also to a group activity which has so far been a highlight of our stay in Varanasi, the Sunday morning sunrise over the Ganges river and boat ride; an incredible natural phenomenon that occurs everyday, all over the world, here, over the river that connects all of India's inhabitants. To experience it in Varanasi is something special; bahut sundar.

-Jon

            A close friend once shared with me a life lesson he learned through the Sufi practice of whirling, which is essentially a spinning meditation; “to whirl,” he explained to me, “you must soften your eyes and learn to let your body go. If you try to focus your eyes on any one spot you will surely get dizzy and fall.”  He concluded that in whirling, as in life, it is essential to let go of the urge to hold on and simply get lost in the act.

            As I boarded the plane to Kathmandu this friend’s words were very much present in my mind.  I had taken a semester off from college to escape the feeling that there was always something required of my every action – some product, or end goal. I decided that, instead (for at least the next three months), I would allow life to take me and teach me what it may.

            So I arrived, softened my eyes, let my body go and, three weeks in, found myself at seventeen thousand feet having successfully reached the top of Numala pass. Seventeen t-h-o-u-s-a-n-d feet! After ten or so days of trekking and a final incline that took the three other students who attempted the pass and I over an hour to ascend, I had reached the highest point that I had ever, and potentially will ever reach.  Yet, it was neither the physical beauty, nor the magnitude of what I had just accomplished that struck me once I had the chance to catch my breath (FYI - no asthmatic was ever intended to be that high); both were impressive, to say the least, but were nothing in comparison to the immense feeling of humility that came from the simple act of looking down to see fossilized shells at my feet, and then up to see a twenty-six thousand foot mountain towering over me. 

            The four of us would be lying if either of us had claimed to have ever, individually, accomplished anything else as great as reaching seventeen thousand feet, yet there, at our highest point, we were each offered a lesson in perspective.  Below us was a reminder that our short stay at the top of Numala pass was a fleeting second in the history of our surroundings; a reminder that at one point the very spot where we stood was not towering over the plane in which we otherwise exist, but was, instead, once underwater before being thrust above ground hundreds of thousands of years before our arrival.  And above us, a reminder that, even at the height of our success, there is always something greater than us. 

            So far, life here has taken me physically higher than I ever imagined I’d be, taught me a profound lesson in humility and impermanence, and now I’m off to spend the next ten days in a retreat at a Buddhist monastery. I think I like being lost.