I think Muslims, in general, have a very heathy attitude toward death. The first day I was with my family, my mom had to go out to offer her condoleances to a friend who had lost her husband. When I heard that I was like “Wow, that’s aweful – losing your husband” (you know, the typical response). But Moussou and her mom were both like, “Nah, you know death is as much a part of life as life itself. It’s to be celebrated. It’s a necessary beginning, a necessary end”… and that whole schpiel. But I actually felt like they meant it. You hear Westerners say that, but then when they lose someone close, their true feelings toward death come out.
We’re reading this book called “Ambiguous Adventure”, by a Senegalese author, in my Culture class. There is this very wise little boy, and he talks frequently about death. I’m surprised at how mature of an attitude he has toward it. I know it’s only a book, but I think it reflects, generally, the feelings of most Senegalese, and maybe most Muslims?
While I’m on the topic of religion, I want to point out an interesting fact I learned: While 95% of the population here is Muslim, and 5% is Catholic, 100% are Animist. It’s so true! People still visit marabouts and carry prayer necklaces aroud with them everywhere they go. I have a feeling that it is this animism that brings the Muslims and Catholics together, because I think that generally they don’t get along that well, and the Catholics, while they are proud and wear crosses in the openn, are a little shunned from the rest of society, and instead live off in a corner with their other Catholic friends.
Yesterday I went to visit my potential internship location. It’s a horticulture school in a suburb (which means poor area) of Dakar. Sidenote: There is a difference between a “cartier”, like where I live and go to school, and a “banlieu” (suburb). It seems that generally once you leave the city of Dakar and enter the suburbs it becomes more poor. Middle class to upper middle class people tend to live in the cartiers (obviously with exceptions) and poorer people in the suburbs. Anyway, so I had to go to a suburb about 40 minutes away from where I live. I was crammed into a car rapide the whole way there and the whole way back, and it was such a hot day! I felt a little chlostrophobic, but more than that, I wanted fresh air to breathe (instead of the smelly sweaty I was breathing in). Sitting there squished like a sardine amongst people, I thought about the fact that I have had no privacy since the moment I got here. Even on Sunday, when I was sick and decided to stay home from the family outing, Mama made Moussou stay home with me (she didn’t want a foreigner alone in the house, for whatever reason). Every night I put on my IPOD for a little while, and sing quietly as I fall asleep. What makes me realize most that I have no private space is that I haven’t been able to sing loudly in 3 weeks now. I miss belting it out!! I need to belt it out!! I can’t belt it out… here. I guess people here are so used to growing up with lots of people around, that they never develop the need for private space. They never experience having their own room, or having the house to themselves for even an hour. And they don’t have a basement or a 2nd floor to retreat to – there is only one common space, and boy is it common.
Maybe the fact that noyone needs private space is a reason for the great community support system that exists here. Neighbors here share leftovers, money, clothes. And the neighborhood watch system here is better than any I’ve seen in the West. Sure there is a justice system here, but it pales in comparison to the neighborhood watch system. Like, if someone is walking in their neighborhood and their purse gets stolen, it is the people of the community that will chase down the stealer, retrieve the purse, and beat the shit out of the culprit.
A very interesting cultural difference.
Death, religion and space
