//far flung//
Spring 2019
Spring 2019
On Public Religion and Awareness
in Senegal
Jenna Marks
The best feeling in the world is when you have dirt under your fingernails, your socks are filled with sand, and hands are cramped from the grip of a shovel. These are the markers of a day filled with work, but not just any work; work driven by passion. This is passion to not just create a better environment, but also to learn from a local community. This is the passion that motivates me everyday to get up and get to work.
The other students on this service trip and I had just spent the past week in a rural Senegal 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 communal all at the same time. Words can barely do justice to the experience.
Our main purpose of being in Bambey was to discover a way of life different from our own. The people we met were so careful in their use of resources and space; they were so welcoming and caring to each other and to outsiders.
Because I am white, it was assumed that I was Christian. After explaining that I’m Jewish, the expressions on the faces of my new friends change. They were confused, and then cautious. Afterwards, they tended not ask many questions. I don’t think it’s because of religious intolerance, I think it’s simply a lack of knowledge, but nevertheless, it stung.
This is a constant struggle I’ve been having as to whether or not to bring my Jewish identity to the fore. Is it even worth it denying that I’m Christian when people ask? Is it worth it to face the confusion, and then give 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 I have found in Senegal include Judaism?
I have asked myself this question so many times in my head, but never have I written it down, making it visible for other people, people so far away from me and the places I am writing about. 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, more than when I’ve spent time in Israel. I think it's this lack of community, this lack of space and time to express 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? Is it worth it to pray by myself always if I'm worried others are watching me?
Over my time here I have begun to understand that religion in Senegal is meant to be shared, regardless of one’s beliefs. For instance, we met an Imam the other day and he was not looking to convert us or make us believe in his worldview, yet he still wanted to show us his holy spaces and give us a glimpse of his devotion, never once fearing that we would defame it. It is this trust and hospitality, that truly characterize the people I’ve met in Senegal. If only we could learn just a little bit of this kindness back in the States. However, I still struggle to show my religion. Maybe it’s not that Senegal is unwelcoming, it’s that I’ve learned to see it this way from an American perspective.
Have you ever realized that every single person in the entire world who has a religion and practices that religion, prays? I know this is a "Yeah, duh" type of question, but I'm serious. We often forget this seemingly obvious fact. Even those who don’t follow a religion still pray. We all pray. We are praying all the time, even when we don’t realize it. Getting an “A” on an exam, we say “Thank God” in our heads. Meeting the love of our lives we say to ourselves “What did I do to deserve this person?” Hugging your best friend after not seeing them for months on end is a sign of thanks to whoever brought them into this world and into your life. We are always praying. Whether we know it or not, and sometimes whether we like it or not. Thus, is it really so hard to be in relation to those who might not practice prayer in the same ways we do? Once we realize that we all have this commonality binding us, maybe we can begin to take off our blinders, look up, look around, and no longer look down.
The other students on this service trip and I had just spent the past week in a rural Senegal 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 communal all at the same time. Words can barely do justice to the experience.
Our main purpose of being in Bambey was to discover a way of life different from our own. The people we met were so careful in their use of resources and space; they were so welcoming and caring to each other and to outsiders.
Because I am white, it was assumed that I was Christian. After explaining that I’m Jewish, the expressions on the faces of my new friends change. They were confused, and then cautious. Afterwards, they tended not ask many questions. I don’t think it’s because of religious intolerance, I think it’s simply a lack of knowledge, but nevertheless, it stung.
This is a constant struggle I’ve been having as to whether or not to bring my Jewish identity to the fore. Is it even worth it denying that I’m Christian when people ask? Is it worth it to face the confusion, and then give 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 I have found in Senegal include Judaism?
I have asked myself this question so many times in my head, but never have I written it down, making it visible for other people, people so far away from me and the places I am writing about. 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, more than when I’ve spent time in Israel. I think it's this lack of community, this lack of space and time to express 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? Is it worth it to pray by myself always if I'm worried others are watching me?
Over my time here I have begun to understand that religion in Senegal is meant to be shared, regardless of one’s beliefs. For instance, we met an Imam the other day and he was not looking to convert us or make us believe in his worldview, yet he still wanted to show us his holy spaces and give us a glimpse of his devotion, never once fearing that we would defame it. It is this trust and hospitality, that truly characterize the people I’ve met in Senegal. If only we could learn just a little bit of this kindness back in the States. However, I still struggle to show my religion. Maybe it’s not that Senegal is unwelcoming, it’s that I’ve learned to see it this way from an American perspective.
Have you ever realized that every single person in the entire world who has a religion and practices that religion, prays? I know this is a "Yeah, duh" type of question, but I'm serious. We often forget this seemingly obvious fact. Even those who don’t follow a religion still pray. We all pray. We are praying all the time, even when we don’t realize it. Getting an “A” on an exam, we say “Thank God” in our heads. Meeting the love of our lives we say to ourselves “What did I do to deserve this person?” Hugging your best friend after not seeing them for months on end is a sign of thanks to whoever brought them into this world and into your life. We are always praying. Whether we know it or not, and sometimes whether we like it or not. Thus, is it really so hard to be in relation to those who might not practice prayer in the same ways we do? Once we realize that we all have this commonality binding us, maybe we can begin to take off our blinders, look up, look around, and no longer look down.
//JENNA MARKS is a junior in the School of General Studies and List College. She can be reached at [email protected].
Photo courtesy of
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