An eco-village, a friend, and a gift from God

I’ve been away for a while, but I’ve been more present than ever.

We just spent the past week in a rural village called Bambey Serere. I don’t even know how to begin to describe my experience there. It was challenging and rewarding; exhausting and energizing; lonely and bonding all at the same time. I’m going to try and do this experience justice through my words, but honestly, words are so limiting of all that happened there.

Our main purpose of being in Bambey was to discover a way of life different from one we’ve experienced, but just as amazing (honestly even more so). We discovered a people who are so efficient in their use of resources and space. We discovered a people who are so welcoming and caring to each other and outsiders. We discovered a people who wanted to know us and share their world with us.

Bambey is an eco village started by this organization called REDES (RÉSEAU POUR L'EMERGENCE ET LE DÉVELOPPEMENT DES ECOVILLAGES AU SAHEL). REDES is an organization started by Dr. Ousmane Pame when he saw a need for a revitalization of his own village both economically and environmentally. The mission has since grown to try and create sustainable and self sufficient villages in the Sahel region of West Africa. Unlike other NGOs, REDES works from the bottom up, asking a community what it needs and working with the people to find the best solutions. They also connect villages with one another by creating common eco-spaces that villages in the same region can all access. One such space was what we worked on this past week in the Silan region. We built a fence to surround the couple of acres of land set aside for this eco-hub which will serve to teach the communities how to produce organic vegetables and create greenhouses.

The best feeling in the world is when you have dirt under your fingernails, socks filled with sand, and hands cramping from the grip of a shovel. These were the markers of a day filled with work, but not just any work; work with passion. This is what motivated me everyday to get up and begin the day; this passion to create a better environment and to learn from the community on how to do so. This was not a service trip we participated in to feel good about ourselves. As our professor said at the beginning of the trip, we were most certainly not there to help them; they were helping us.

We learned about community, decolonization, humility, and faith. We visited another community called the Baay Fall which is a sect of the Morrid brotherhood of Islam. They believe that work is their way of praying and showing faith. They devote their entire day to providing for their community, in whichever job is required of them. They grow their own produce, sustain themselves economically by selling beautiful clothing, and provide education for their youth. The unique aspect about the Baay Fall is that they used to be a community deplete of resources when men began migrating to urban centers to find work. In 1983, they finally began the path to revitalization by building wells, schools, and developing their economic infrastructure of creating and selling products. They are the true example of decolonization in practice by developing their own faith and practice within the infrastructure of Islam, and also by working from within to build their community. We met with a woman who had come from the West to move to the community, not really for any reason in particular. She said she just felt that it was part of her life journey and couldn’t imagine what her life would’ve looked like had she not moved. She had so much faith in her community and practice that it was truly inspiring. Imagine what our world would be like if everyone lived with such passion for their daily activities, and saw their work as serving a higher purpose than material needs.

This trip was also isolating and challenging. There were some moments that challenged our group, mentally and physically. There were moments where I thought we wouldn’t recover; that this was the beginning of the end for our once bonded group. But boy was I proven wrong. I believe that if anything, those tiffs brought us closer than ever and showed us that our relationships can transcend petty arguments. Some arguments weren’t petty and needed to be had; and because they were had, our relationships could grow even more.

It was isolating for me, as a Jew and also as a woman. We went to Touba one day, which is the holiest sight for the Morrid brotherhood. Unlike the Baay Fall, the Morrids in Touba are more orthodox in their practice. All the women had to wear layers of clothing to prevent any skin from being shown, even in the 100 degree heat. There were so many moments where just the pillars on the mosque were holding me up. There were also spaces I could not enter because I was not Muslim. Yes, I wasn’t the only one who stood outside, but it was still daunting to experience isolation because of my religion. There were also many instances where I would explain to people that I was Jewish or that I spoke Hebrew, and they had absolutely no idea what I was talking about. Just because I was white, they assumed I was Christian, something that happens often here. However, once I explain I’m Jewish, people’s expressions change. They are confused, and then cautious. They tend to not ask many questions and just move on to another conversation. I don’t think it’s because of religious intolerance, I think it’s simply a lack of knowledge, but nevertheless, it still stings.

This is a constant struggle I’ve been having as to whether or not my Jewish identity can play number one. Is it even worth it denying that I’m Christian when people ask? Is it worth it to face the confusion, which then follows with a brief lesson on Judaism? Is it better to just let people make their assumptions and go on living my life, praying in private in a low, soft voice so as not to attract attention to myself? Does the religious tolerance of Senegal include Judaism?

Wow, I can’t believe I just wrote down that question. I have asked it so many times in my head, but never have I written it down, making it visible for other people. I mean everything I’m learning here really speaks to me personally about my own faith and spirituality. I have developed such a strong connection to my faith, honestly more than when I’ve spent time in Israel. I think its this lack of community, this lack of expression of my religion, that has caused me to realize how much I need it in my life. Thus, I’m opening spaces for it to seep into conversation and for me to pray every Friday night. But is this enough? Are the spaces pointless if I’m not getting the excited, interested expression out of people? Is it worth it to pray by myself always if I'm worried others are watching me?

God acts in funny ways. I’ve found that its often when I’m at my lowest point, that God intervenes with a boost to bring me back up and realize something. This time, God brought my host brother from Bambey, Moussa. I met Moussa on the first day we arrived, when he had to walk me and my friend, Hannah, to school. Before we even asked if he would return to pick us up, he said he would be there in an hour to take us home. We honestly just thought we would find our way back with our other friends, but he didn’t even hesitate to offer his guidance.

From that moment on, I knew Moussa was going to be a special presence in our lives for the next week. Every night after school, we would all hang out and talk for hours about our dreams, our families, our friends, our “friends” (Moussa’s word for lovers haha). Never did I think that the second to last night of our stay, I would have the space to share what I had been waiting to share and receive the reaction I had so longed for.

Moussa had asked me before if I was Christian, to which I replied that I was Jewish, but the conversation ended there (as it usually does when anyone assumes I’m Christian and do not expect a different answer). But that night, Moussa asked me if I prayed, something no one here has ever asked. We began talking about our different ways of prayer and how we both had moments in our lives when we did not like to pray, or didn’t ever feel compelled to do so. The best part was how interested he was to learn from me, as I was from him, and how he was the one who started the conversation, asking me a very specific question.

Moussa was my gift from God this past week. He showed me that it is worth it to share my religion with others. It is worth it to pray, even if it is by myself. But I don’t have to keep quiet. I have as much a right to practice my religion, even if there is no one to practice it with. I shouldn’t keep quiet. I should educate those who seem confused, I should push past the weird glances and continue to explain Judaism and how in fact, it is similar in some ways, to Islam. I am going to try my best to connect with people on religion and not feel embarrassed that I don’t practice the dominant one. I am a minority, and these are challenges that come with being a minority, but I wouldn’t be the same without them.

I don’t think Moussa knows how much he changed my perspective on religion in Senegal. He has no idea that my thinking completely changed from that one conversation. I think what made me the happiest was seeing him look at a picture of a page from a siddur, and trying to understand what it said. He was curious, he wanted to know more than most people have wanted to know.

Through Moussa, God gave me the little brother I’ve always wanted, a guide to Bambey Serere, an inspiration (Moussa and his friends started a club where they help people in need in their community), a lesson to be learned, and most importantly, hope.

I most certainly plan on returning to Bambey to learn more from the community, and of course to see Moussa and his family. I truly didn’t think this past week would be as life changing as it was. I pray that Moussa will stay the same good guy he is, but something tells me I won’t have to pray that hard.

After all, he is a gift from God.

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