Night of the Living Crabs

Summer school comes to an end today. My first few weeks here I was kind of thrown into the end of it, so I will be starting with new students for the beginning of the official school year next week. Today was their graduation where everyone gets little certificates and the parents come in. We’ve been practicing a song about Senegal at the end of the past few classes, and the kids sang the words in English to the parents. It was all very cute. I feel good about the progress we’ve made over the past few weeks. I didn’t really know where the last volunteer left off, so sometimes I would plan a lesson and coincidentally it was something they already had learned, so I had to ad lib a few parts of class, but I could see that the kids were definitely improving. The adults as well, but they are worlds easier to teach than the kiddies. Here’s a picture of my kids class.

Last Saturday, the other volunteers and I decided to spend the night on the beach. We heard there was a campsite with a fence that would be a safe place for us to stay the night (a group of foreign people just sleeping on the sand with all their stuff completely unprotected is not a great idea in Saint Louis). When we arrived at the campsite, however, we discovered that the fence was roughly three feet high and structurally flawed in several places. I would say that it could have protected us from small children or little people, but actually, with some speed they probably could have pushed through it. As we laid on the “safe” side of the fence, I couldn’t help but point out to the other volunteers our illusion of security and how we were really only safe from thieves too lazy to make a high step motion over the barrier, also any animals not willing to find one of the many holes in the castle walls. We did only pay one dollar for our night’s stay, so complaining about anything seemed unwarranted, but the mere thought of sleeping on the other side of the fence was simply out of the question for some people. “Our stuff will get stolen” said one volunteer “Crabs will get us” said another. When asked to clarify the word “get” she struggled for another word and finally settled on “Attack. The crabs will attack us.” “What did you say?” I heard her the first time, but I made her say it twice, hoping that hearing herself say it a second time would smack her back to reality. It did not.

At some point a rift was formed in our group and you either had the gumption to stay, or decided to take a taxi home. Citing mostly crab-related fears, about 5 of the volunteers left via cab. The other 5 of us stayed at the beach, and a group of African drummers stopped by and played for us. They made a fire and danced around it while playing very rhythm driven music. I felt too self conscious to dance because I thought I would make a fool of myself. I also felt that whatever way I danced would seem patronizing to their culture. Like, “I’m a white kid from the states! This is how I’ve seen African people dance on the Discovery Channel, so I’ll just do that!” Some of the other volunteers had no such fears. Also, some liquid courage may have been involved…It was very nice, and I enjoyed some of the songs, but after about two hours of drums, you’re ready for another instrument to be introduced. Eventually they left. They found a way to detach the fence from its post so they wouldn’t have to make the high stepping motion over it, which completely shattered my perception of security that the bastion we were sleeping in had to offer. I used a mosquito net as a blanket and slept quite comfortably in the sand, using my bag of stuff as a pillow. We had talked about watching the sunrise all day, and we were really looking forward to it, but we all overslept, so we convinced ourselves it probably wasn’t that amazing anyway. I went swimming in the ocean in the morning and spent the rest of the day de-sanding my stuff/body. During our stay at the campsite, not one crab was seen.

Here is a picture of the drummers. Sorry it's so dark, I am still figuring out my camera.