Heyo Toubab, Give Me a Present!!!

  Toubab.  A word that will continue to haunt me and everything I do for the next year and a half.  In Senegal "toubab" is a term that generally means "Westerner," "foreigner," or "white person."  For Americans, pointing out differences, especially race, is an uncomfortable and generally avoided topic.  In Senegal the complete opposite is true.  In case you didn't know, I'm white.  It has been made glaringly clear how white, and therefore different, I am.

   What does this mean to Senegalese?  Toubabs are all super rich and keep American visas in their back pocket to hand out to everyone they meet.  (That was sarcasm.)  Like I've glossed over before, Senegalese culture is extremely giving and open.  If asked, they will usually give.  Some volunteers have a problem with the term toubab and what the perceived consequences of being a toubab.  We are often asked for money, or visas, or our hand in marriage, or even just our things.  Here's the thing: so is everyone else.  We toubabs are just much more awkward about it because we're not used to such blatant demands.

So what really bothers me?  It's not the word or the attention, it's the constant reminder that I am not from here and will never be able to fit in.  No matter how I acclamate to the culture or perfect my Pulaar, it is just too glaringly obvious that I was not born here.  Will they ever accept me? I'm not sure.

   I do think we are targeted more, but only because we're so visible.  I can now spot another white person from three blocks away.  This combined with the idea that all toubabs are rich will draw the talibes (Koranic students who beg on the street) and just regular children wanting un petit cadeaux.  It was super awkward at first, but now I just say no or I give them something.  The other day I was riding my bike through the streets of Kolda munching on some corn on the cob when a child yelled, "Yo toubab, okk kam tabano! (Hey white girl, give me your corn)"  I was full and the corn was not that good (fun fact, the corn here is the corn we feed our livestock in America), so I gave it to him.  He was obviously not expecting that, because his eyes lit up and he started running after my bike to get the corn.  Conversely, today someone asked me for my bike and I declined.  Sometimes I turn the tables on them and tell them that I'm their guest and they should be giving ME presents.  Sometimes this backfires, and they offer me the only food they have or the 100 cfa they've begged that day, which I might take for a second just to tease them and then give back extremely magnanimously.

In the words of my father, Stephen Boland, better known at Steve-o: "He who hesitates is lost."  Thanks, Steve-o, you really get Senegal.