Sweet Community
Gambian community:
When I think about the essence of community, I think about the people of The Gambia, the small independent country nestled within Senegal, who live without many of the globalized conveniences or luxuries that we Americans are so accustomed to— readily available air conditioning, widespread fast food chains, developed roads, highly evolved technologies, branded clothing, long hot running water, large-scale department supermarket stores, etc.
Yet in lieu of all of these things, The Gambia possesses one of the strongest senses of community and family ties I have ever witnessed.
I think about the sweet Gambian family that graciously allowed us to stay in their rural compound full of 19 of the most vibrant kids I’ve ever seen and a whole lot of love, dancing and playfulness (shoutout Marissa for being a Peace Corps angel and letting us share in that experience, she’s doing amazing things).
Beyond the waning sunlight that melts into the baobab trees surrounding this small village, lies a calm, unlit compound where the jovial spirits of 19 children dance and hop around freely, so full of life that they light up like an orb amongst the darkness of the night.
Actual footage from a video, dancing around with the kiddos at their compound
Meal-time community:
I think about the traditional ways of eating in Morocco, Gambia and Senegal that also confirms their natural inclination towards community and connection. Meals are inclusive and shared among families as they sit around together.
In Morocco, we had family-style meals for breakfast and dinner everyday, with all the guests and volunteers. Every guest who was staying at the surf camp would undoubtedly love and swoon over the specialty that is sitting down and thoughtfully sharing a meal together.
All of these individual people from across the world, gathered around the table, sharing moments from their days, cracking funny stories, finding random coincidental commonalities with each other that suddenly bridged the gap of strangers, crossing into the highly cherished terrain of budding friendship. All while enjoying delicious, homemade food.
Having the opportunity to not only participate in that, but also constantly watch it unfold around me, never ceased to warm my heart.
In Senegal and The Gambia, families invite their neighbors over for meals, even if they don’t have a surplus to give out. Sharing, however minimal, is an incontestable aspect to their culture.
Relishing in the simple gift of shared space and proximity to each other. A true portrayal of the gift of food bringing people together.
We crave it without even knowing it sometimes.
An anecdotal experience of community in The Holy City:
I think about our spontaneous day trip into the city of Touba, Senegal.
Known as the “Holy City” becuause of its historical role in rescuing the society from colonial alienation after France’s rule, and returning it to Islam.
It is home to the Great Mosque of Touba in honor of the most influential Muslim sect/brotherhood in Senegal, the Mourides.
This mosque is one of the most angelic buildings I’ve ever seen.
However, when we first arrived, we did not yet know or realize the divinity of this city. Like I said, it was a spontaneous destination, a city we randomly decided to stop and stay the night in on our way to The Gambia purely due to its geographical location on a map happening to reside perfectly on our route.
On a whim, we hopped on a local city bus to roll into the Holy City of Touba. By then I’d been in West Africa for a while and was used to dressing modestly, wearing a long skirt and long sleeves. But I had not yet grasped the added significance of Touba’s deep-rooted holiness, and in turn, wore my hair uncovered, slightly unprepared.
Women and young girls around me on the bus were clothed in their ornate skirts and dresses, plated with vibrant patterns and floral colors that coordinated perfectly with their matching head scarves, and created the most beautiful, cohesive outfit uniquely worn by each.
Each woman appeared to me as an emblem of distinguished, classy beauty, not only with their elegant style, but also with their naturally cordial, elegant smiles that they’d so often flash me immediately when making eye contact.
So warm, so open, so inviting, so stylish!
I admired all of them.
Walking into the city, the moment we realized how majestic of a mosque this truly was…
As the bus approached the city, the ladies around me motioned towards my hair, untamed and loose, gently clueing me to cover or wrap it up.
Flushing with panic and fear of offending, I rummaged through my bag and remembered the trusty pashmina I always kept stuffed inside.
Perfect for such an occasion, I thought, as I quickly draped it around my head and tossed the ends over my shoulders. Now I was dressed for the occasion, an outfit fit for Touba.
The ladies around me beamed in acceptance at my new presentation, giggling, nodding, and giving me the ultimate validation and seal of approval— a thumbs up. Heck yeah, now I really felt like I was riding with the locals.
The bus ride was like a vessel for transformation, crossing the border from one culture to another, the local Senegalese ladies gearing me up and empowering me in preparation (quite literally).
They were so warm and gentle with my genuine cultural mishap, ushering me into their cultural space, never with judgement, but with support. It felt like they gifted me an extension of inclusion.
And in that moment, I wanted to be included in that— the grand convergence of graceful, kindred spirits, merging together to radiate authentic beauty and simple human grace. A notion of simple human grace like that is a reminder that we are all actually so similar and so connected, and truly all desire the same thing: inclusion.
Apart from that personal testament to inclusion and community, The Great Mosque itself represented a beautiful portrayal of community in its highest form. People praying together, people walking through freely, outsiders welcomed with warmth and reverence, it was all wonderful to see.
Meeeee with my outfit colors coincidentally coordinating with the mosque interior
“Rafet nga”, means ‘beautiful’ in Wolof, one of my favorite words.
I’ve tasted the sweetness of traveling from place to place, the invigoration of meeting new people all the time, but nothing will ever be sweeter than a reliable, loving community of friends and family that will support and include you no matter what.
We all long for human connection and a sense of belonging, and what good are all of these frivolous material things, if at the end of the day, we’re still lonely?