Here we observe the Olmsted Scholar defending freedom and winning hearts and minds in West Africa with a tape measure…
For those of you who completed an extensive military physical fitness test before ROTC or the academy, this entry might give you flashbacks. For me to get into Officer Candidate School, I wasn’t required to do half of these feats of strength. Instead, all I remember is some no-personality SWO lieutenant standing over me and laughing as I cranked out five of the worst push ups of my life. The site was indeed pathetic, but considering that I could do exactly zero push ups prior to preparing for that test, I had proven my motivation.
Fast forward to a role reversal where I am the dumb officer administering a fitness exam to a young and clueless hopeful. This time around, the circumstances are a bit different. The applicant was a Senegalese kid hoping to study in America, and I’m willing to bet that the old SWO LT from 1999 couldn’t administer his test in French like I did.
The battery of assessments was held at a local football stade (for the pure Yanks, that means soccer stadium). We showed up and were greeted by three men standing by to receive us. In true Senegalese fashion, I was introduced to the stadium manager, stadium director and some other people in charge who needed to be thanked on behalf of the U.S. military. Good politicking for sure, but a part of me still feels like the clueless young ensign who was an accidental guest of honor at a German Army officers’ mess back in 2000.
Back to the test. Before I post photos of this gorgeous Friday outside, I have to make a note of the support we received at the stadium. I stupidly only showed up with a tape measure, figuring I could wing the rest of the exam, West Africa-style. I suppose that I still could have done this, but really in Senegal this wouldn’t ever happen. For as much as I gripe about the things that frustrate me here, the best part of this country is the people. Maybe I just don’t expect much from people in general, but I am continually amazed by the displays of selfless humanity that always seem to pop up in Dakar just when I think that I have had my fill of everything and everyone.
Athletic equipment, basketball court, and cheering section were all in place for today’s mini-Olympic trials.
Mr. Fall, one of the stadium guys who had just handed me a proper stopwatch (and even provided some rudimentary training on its operation- click to start, click to stop). After shocking me with all the materials pulled from the gym in support of our test, I had just informed him that his group was more organized than the U.S. military.
Off we go, ready to commence. Moussa, our young applicant, wasn’t joking around nearly as much as we were; for some reason he was nervous. I really can’t imagine why- leaving for America will only change his life a tiny bit…
Being Senegalese, I figured Moussa would smoke the push ups. Imagine my surprise when his results left me believing that I could have done more than he did. Hey, at least I wasn’t laughing as he was knocking them out.
Poor kid, he had a spectator section throughout this whole ordeal. All that was missing was some hotdog and beer juice vendors.
Really this is a photo of me trying really hard not to space out and keep count of how many sit-ups he was doing.
A quick location shift to the track and all that was left to complete was the one-mile run. As we got to the track, someone came over with two small bags of water for Moussa. “Drink one of these now, and the other after you run.” This might seem stupid, but it’s another example of the nio far (“we’re in this together”) mentality that exists over here.
Moussa runs. He runs like he’s one of the dozens of Senegalese passing me out on the corniche each morning wearing flip flops or jelly shoes. Clocking in at under six minutes and being cheered on all the way, he is finally done with the examination. We wrap things up, thank the entourage and then duck into the director’s office to thank him once again. All told it’s been a nice way to spend one day in my newest least-favorite Navy uniform.
It takes awhile to get back to the office (Friday afternoon traffic in Dakar is the worst). I’m really slow on the uptake, but by this stage I realize that I also stupidly brought no water for Moussa to drink after he had just killed himself running like an African Olympian. Megan is clearly not Senegalese, and as a consequence does not always think of others in her daily life. No matter- this is Dakar, and almost everything you want in life can be had within five feet of your car in traffic.
Just as this kid will pick up much while studying at a U.S. military academy, I too am slowly (sometimes a little too slowly) learning a bit about how to be a better person over here.
We are crawling through Medina and I spot a boutique (like a convenience store) about 200 yards away. I grab some money, hop out of the car and run through the traffic to get to the store by the time our car catches up. I don’t realize how I ridiculous Iook (white girl in camouflage) until I ask the shop owner in Wolof for some water. He looks at me funny, and probably thinks that I just dropped in from the moon. I grab the bottle and thank him before dashing back into traffic to catch up with the car and give Moussa his drink. I no longer feel as stupid.
It was a fun day- definitely one where I learned a thing or two about basic human decency. Better late than never, right?