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Welcome to Senegal: Le pays de la Teranga!

Published on by Caitlin TurkLeave a comment

Today marks the end of my fourth week in Dakar, Senegal! I cannot believe I’ve been here for nearly a month. From meeting my host family to bargaining in Wolof (the Senegalese native language) at the marketplace to bouts of diarrhea to eating ceebu jën and puff-puffs, I find it hard to believe I was in the U.S. merely a month ago. But perhaps I should start at the beginning. 

August 23, 2025: I was about to get in the car headed to Dulles International Airport. My sister had already left the week prior for her freshman year of college so she wasn’t with us, and—coincidentally exactly 9 months after we had started dating—I said goodbye to my boyfriend that morning. Feeling the twinge of tears prick my eyes, I gave him one last hug and got in the car. Only three more goodbyes left: my mom, dad, and younger brother, all of whom were in the car with me to the airport. We pulled away. 

Of course I was sad to leave! But for almost a year, I had known that MSID: International Development in Senegal was the right program for me. With a background in French language and an interest in African affairs, a language-focused and internship-oriented program was the perfect choice. In the 16 weeks ahead, I would spend one week in orientation, seven weeks in classes, one week on break, six weeks in an internship, and one week in a final seminar to conclude the program. Of course I was sad to leave, but I was so beyond excited to go. 

I don’t know how I could possibly encapsulate these past four weeks into a blog post, but I am certainly going to try!

On August 24th, at 7am, we landed in Dakar. I watched the land surrounding us—a beautiful contrast of red and green—roll by while we took a minibus from the airport to the hotel where we were staying for orientation. With AC and the five other new students with me, it felt like vacation rather than a four month stay.

The first few days were a whirlwind. We did orientation and one too many icebreakers before we coalesced into our cohort of ten (the six of us new arrivals and the four students who had been in Senegal since early September to do an intensive French program). We hung out at the SIT Center where we’d be taking classes and then the previous arrivals showed us the town of Mermoz, where we’d all be staying in Dakar. They also took us to Auchan, the big grocery store near us, to buy toilet paper and other necessities that our families wouldn’t provide. 

On day 4, we finally met our host families! Each of our host moms and some of our host siblings were hanging out downstairs in the SIT Center. All I knew of my host mom was one photo and her name: Adja Diop. Palms sweaty and trying to remember how to pronounce “Salaam maalekum”—the Wolof phrase to greet others—I went downstairs to meet my her. The second I entered the room, she exclaimed “Cati! Ça va?” She took my hand and motioned for me to sit next to her. She was wearing a long purple dress (my favorite color) and a purple headscarf that covered her hair. 

She helped me grab my suitcase and duffel and we walked along a dusty road for a mere two minutes before reaching my home for the next four months. She showed me the house and I kept telling her “C’est tellement belle” (it’s very beautiful)! She explained the Senegalese concept of “teranga” to me, detailing how Senegalese hospitality includes community and food and gifts. Maman Adja told me I should feel at home here and free to do as I would back home. She then said a phrase I’d hear nearly every day from her: “On est ensemble!” (we are together). 

My host family speaks entirely in Wolof to each other. Prior to arriving, I knew that only ~30% of Senegal spoke French, but I definitely didn’t expect Wolof to be the sole form of communication amongst my family members. As you might guess, I do not speak any Wolof whatsoever. However, I was fully prepared to speak in French as much as necessary. From 2016-2021, my family and I lived in Paris, France, and I was very excited to have my French to navigate myself through my Senegal experience. I did not expect to suddenly feel utterly lost in a country in which I do, in fact, speak the national language: French. 

Overnight, my second language had become my crutch for my third. My host mom would speak to me in French and my classes at school were in French, but the preferred form of communication for most Senegalese people is Wolof. I was initially disappointed because I really wanted to have more opportunities to improve my French. However, as soon as I began taking my Wolof class in week 2, I found that I LOVED learning a new language. 

I have not had the experience of starting to learn a language since I began learning French in sixth grade. Unlike French, Wolof has very few words that overlap with English or French. In French, I could mostly get by when I didn’t know a vocabulary word by adding a French accent to an English word and hoping for the best. In Wolof? Not so much. Each word I learned, I earned. We were taught Wolof in a combination of French and English, so my notebook has become a color-coded mess of languages. Sometimes in class I think in English and then the sentence structure more closely resembles French, so my brain switches languages. I truly do not think my notebook makes sense to anyone but me.

My jàngalekat (teacher) Sidy has been teaching Wolof for decades and is clearly so passionate about it. And he’s hilarious! On the first day, to explain the importance of pronunciation, he told us how he was once introduced as his student’s “jongalekat.” That does not mean teacher… It means “circumciser.” Every lesson has been just as entertaining since. 

The other students have also been amazing. We all take the Wolof class together as well as our Senegalese Historical & Cultural Context class, and then we each take a thematic course—mine is Human Rights. My favorite part of hanging out with the other students has been all of our adventures outside of class. In the past four weeks, we have: explored the city (via walking and Yango, the Senegalese equivalent of Uber), visited several markets (including the Marse Soumbédioune), attended the Senegal vs. Sudan soccer game (and subsequently got stranded for three hours when our driver ghosted us), walked all over the city (my favorite destination was the Monument de la Renaissance Africaine), swam at beaches (while wearing shorts because of the more conservative culture), been proposed to on multiple occasions (we’re all female), danced until 4am to celebrate a 21st birthday (most Senegalese clubs don’t even open until 2am), and helped each other through stomach issues (anywhere from diarrhea to constipation). It’s been a rollercoaster of experiences, and I could not have found a better group of girls to be with me on this adventure. 

That’s it! That’s my best attempt at (somewhat) succinctly summarizing my first four weeks in Senegal. So much more remains to be talked about, but it’s time for me to go eat dinner with my family! 

Ba ci kanam / À bientôt / See you soon, 

Caitlin

Confessions of a Week-Old Londoner

Published on by alexandrachoudhuryLeave a comment

During the 10-year construction of the Elizabeth Line in London’s tube system, the city found two plague pits scattered along the planned route, with about 65 skeletons across both pits. If you don’t know what a plague pit is, it’s a giant hole that people dug during the black plague in the 16th century to bury individuals en masse who were victims to the disease. Though the pits have been long sealed off, the discovery of such old remains in such recent times is a reminder of London’s long history that makes itself apparent at every turn. It’s something I’ve found myself noticing at every turn—there are buildings and little landmarks with some sort of tiny plaque explaining their historical relevance everywhere; even if the “significance” is just “the King farted here in 1763”.

The Elizabeth line is one that many individuals, including myself, will take on their journey from the Heathrow International Airport to get to central London. Although the thought of the plague pits isn’t a particularly happy one, the trains themselves are very pleasant. Quiet, efficient, and equipped with screens that display maps and stations, the line named after the late queen can be slightly misleading as to what you would expect from the rest of the London tube. Many of the trains are screechy and have graffiti all over them, and there are questionable stains on the seats (I’m looking at you, Central Line). I wasn’t really bothered by the old seats or spray paint on the doors, but I was surprised at how quiet the cars are, aside from the violent screeching from the tracks. British passengers tend to keep to themselves, and when you try to have a conversation in a quiet Circle Line car, it basically feels like you’re a Town Crier (Hear ye! Hear ye! My Oyster Card is running out of funds!)

London skyline from Savage Garden, a rooftop restaurant/bar near Aldgate
London skyline from Savage Garden, a rooftop restaurant near Aldgate that I went to with my flatmates

Now I’ve been in London for about two weeks. I’ve had little issue with navigating the tube thanks to modern technology (the TFL Go app, Citymapper, and my trusty Apple Maps). Compared to the car-centric United States, I’ve been content to let the trains take me where I please without having to worry about crashing a 5,000 pound vehicle all the time.

However, I am used to the privacy of a 5,000 pound vehicle. The rush hour in London is no joke. I made the mistake of trying to return to my flat from Oxford Circus at 5:00pm on a Monday. I am also used to the air conditioning of a car. Oh, air conditioning. How I miss you. The tube is really just a personal sauna disguised as a public transportation system. 

Life so far consists of using the Underground to get to Regent Street or Marylebone for various orientation events, and then some walking around and doing some sightseeing with my flatmates. Nothing is really in full swing yet for me in London, but things are already going by fast at DU. I’ve been texting some of my friends who are still at home, already telling me about obscene amounts of reading they have to do, or the state of campus in general. I’m feeling the DU hustle from abroad, too. I’m the Editor-in-Chief of the DU Undergraduate Research Journal (DUURJ), so I’ve got a lot of responsibilities—answering and sending emails, making the timeline for the year, managing submissions, and organizing our affairs with the Writing Center—that are only more difficult because of the time difference. Time travelling into the future via study abroad is vastly overrated when you are receiving all your emails at midnight when you’re just trying to sleep in your scratchy university-provided bedding. I’m very lucky that our editors are very capable and can handle pretty much anything while I’m abroad, or else my responsibilities at home would be eating at me more than they already are.

Another feeling that comes up a lot is the frustration I get when the emails start piling up in my inbox like the tube during rush hour. No one tells you how many emails you will receive while studying abroad. Reading through emails seems to have taken up more of my time than any orientation event I’ve had so far. There are emails about pre-arrival. There are emails about arrival. There are emails about pre-arrival to orientation. There are emails about pre-arrival to enrollment. There are pre-emails to the orientation and enrollment email. There are post-orientation emails about the orientation that are followed by three more emails about orientation events that could have just been one email. There are emails about pest control in the flat. There are emails about changing your schedule. There are emails about your internship. There are the emails from DU about on-campus events that I will not be attending since I am over 4,000 miles away. There are emails apologizing about typos in other emails. There are emails about emails about emails. The worst part is that in the tumultuous sea of Outlook, one email will have absolutely crucial information, and you *will* lose track of it. I nearly missed my virtual appointment to change my schedule this week because I couldn’t find the email with the link to the meeting. Being in a new country and figuring out how to do everything and wanting to have fun is very difficult when you have a constant stream of important information coming in on your phone, which makes you feel like you’re behind even if the email is just about a staff member coming to check your room for bedbugs (I do not have bedbugs, by the way. I would probably cry if I did). As a tip, try and mute your email when you’re out and about trying to enjoy your life, and read/answer them all at once when you’re at home.

This post is already getting to be quite long, so I’ll summarize some other things I’ve done so far: 

Cheese toastie at Queen Mary’s Gardens in Regent’s Park
Cheese toastie (or what was left of it) in Regent’s Park
Daunt Books in Marylebone
Me at Daunt Books in Marylebone
  • Been to some wonderful little stores and bookshops (Daunt Books in Marylebone has been my favorite. I bought the 25th anniversary edition of Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential)
  • Sweated through all my clothes dragging my bag of home goods from Primark back to the flat
  • Knocked on the doors of everyone in our building with my flatmates, attempting to make a giant group chat
  • Been absolutely flabbergasted at the price of doing laundry (seven whole United States dollars for the washer and dryer)
  • Spent a concerning amount of time on social media looking for things to do and places to eat (you could probably have breakfast, lunch, and dinner at different restaurants every day for your entire life in London and still never see them all)
  • Eaten a delightful cheese toastie from Pret a Manger in Queen Mary’s Rose Garden in Regents Park

So what do I plan on doing next? Hopefully, clearing out my inbox. And also starting my classes and internship next week. 

Thanks for reading!
– Alexandra