Land of Teranga

Senegal is known as the “Land of Teranga,” a Wolof phrase that roughly translates to hospitality. I felt this in so many aspects of my time in Senegal. Being home for a few days now, people keep asking me what the best part of the experience was, and my answer is always the same: the people.

From my host teacher, to the students, to community members, and every person I came in contact with welcomed me with incredible kindness and generosity. I was invited into homes and made to feel like a meaningful part of their lives. Even though we came from different cultures and spoke different languages at times, the warmth and connection I felt was universal.

One of the most memorable experiences was attending a cultural celebration at the school. We were gifted traditional outfits that a tailor had made specially for us. The event was filled with music, dancing, and an incredible drumming band. Students danced, laughed, and celebrated together, and it was impossible not to be swept up in the joy and energy of everyone there. 

Another unforgettable part of the experience was sharing meals with our host teachers and their colleagues. We gathered together in homes, sitting on the floor around large shared plates of food. These meals were about much more than eating. They were about community, storytelling, laughter, and connection. Even without a perfectly shared language, there was a feeling of belonging around every meal. I can't even describe how at home I felt despite knowing these people for merely a few days.

One day, we traveled to the place where the Senegal River meets the Atlantic Ocean. We knew we were having fish on the beach, but what that truly meant we didn’t fully understand until we arrived. We were welcomed into a local fisherman’s home to enjoy a fresh-caught meal with his family. We ate outside in what I can only describe as a “Swiss Family Robinson” type setup, surrounded by the sounds of the ocean and the warmth of the people around us. The fish was freshly caught, simply prepared, and honestly, some of the best I have ever had. But more than the meal itself, it was the experience, the conversation, the hospitality, and the generosity behind it, the not really knowing where we were going until we just showed up, that will stay with me forever.

My time in Senegal reminded me that some of the most meaningful connections happen through shared experiences, kindness, and openness to learning from one another. I left with memories that will stay with me forever and a deep appreciation for the spirit of Teranga that was shown to me every single day.

 

Teaching in Saint-Louis, Senegal

Teaching in Saint-Louis, Senegal, has been one of the most energizing, unpredictable, and meaningful experiences of my career. Over the course of a week, I observed, co-taught, and led lessons with anywhere from 25 to over 100 students (yes, at one time), ranging from as young as 6 years old to 22.

One of my favorite moments was observing a high school English lesson centered on the idea of freedom. The teacher used music by Akon (who I recently learned is from Senegal) as a bridge to help students listen, engage, and communicate in English. The song sparked powerful conversations about what “freedom” means in personal, community, and global contexts and how environmental challenges shape that freedom in everyday life. I also had the chance to observe a French lesson. Despite my “40 days of Duolingo French” level of understanding, it was clear the teacher was exceptional. It was a powerful reminder that multilingual learning is deeply embedded here as students moved fluidly between French, Wolof, and English in ways that felt both natural and culturally rooted. As a monolingual English speaker, this was also very humbling. 

While much of my time was spent at a high school, one of my favorite teaching days was at a private elementary school and getting to be back with the younger students. I brought storytelling into the classroom through a read-aloud of a Pigeon book, followed by a directed drawing activity. The goal was simple but impactful, build language through art, listening, and step-by-step instruction. Watching students’ confidence grow as they realized they could both draw and understand English directions was incredibly rewarding. I also handed out “Howie” cards from my school dog, which quickly became a favorite connection point and sparked so many smiles.

My U.S. partner teacher, Mrs. Zink, and I led several other lessons throughout the week. One student's favorite focused on comparing and contrasting schools in Senegal and the United States. Students asked thoughtful, insightful questions about schedules, uniforms, transportation, sports, and classroom routines. Prior to arriving, a group of 10th-grade students were especially curious about the differences between British and American English. That curiosity turned into a spontaneous collaboration with my British partner teacher’s class, where students created videos highlighting vocabulary differences, like “trunk” in the U.S. versus “boot” in England. It was one of those moments where global education truly felt global.

Throughout the week, I kept coming back to the importance of flexibility and responsiveness. Nothing goes exactly as planned and that’s exactly the point. Lessons might start anywhere from 10 to 60 minutes late (Senegalese time is very real), and teaching here means constantly adapting, listening, and learning in the moment.

And then, almost as quickly as it began, it was time to say goodbye. Leaving the school, our host teacher, and the community was harder than I expected. In a short time, we had built routines, relationships, and shared moments of laughter and learning. The warmth and generosity of the students and teachers stayed with me long after we left the classroom. I left Saint-Louis feeling both full and humbled, grateful for the experience, and aware of how much more there is to learn.

Saint-Louis, Senegal

Today I left Dakar for my host community of Saint-Louis (pronounced San-Loo-ee here in Senegal). Saint-Louis is about a five-hour drive from Dakar, so my partner teacher and I set out for our road trip bright and early. Despite being tired, we couldn’t keep our eyes off all the sights along the way. The terrain, landscape, and views were so different from what we’re used to—stretches of dry land, herds of animals, roadside markets, and glimpses of daily life unfolding in ways that felt both unfamiliar and fascinating. Here is a glimpse into what we saw…

Our host teacher met us at our hotel to greet us and get us settled in. We are staying at the historic Hôtel de la Poste, a place that feels like stepping back in time. Built in the 19th century, it was once a gathering place for pilots delivering airmail across Africa and has hosted notable figures over the years.

After settling in, we had a few hours before meeting our host teacher again for dinner, so I set out to explore the island of Saint-Louis. The city itself is incredibly rich in history. Once the capital of French West Africa, Saint-Louis is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site, known for its unique blend of French colonial architecture and West African culture. The narrow streets, colorful buildings, and ironwork balconies give it a distinct character, one that feels both vibrant and reflective of its past. It honestly felt a little bit like New Orleans.

As I wandered, I crossed over toward the Langue de Barbarie, the narrow peninsula that separates the Senegal River from the Atlantic Ocean. What I found there was striking. The beauty of the coastline was undeniable but it was impossible to ignore the visible impact of erosion and the overwhelming amount of trash along the shore. It was jarring. A reminder that alongside the beauty and history, there are very real environmental challenges facing this community.

In that moment, I had to consciously take off my “Western lens” and instead try to observe with curiosity and humility. There is so much complexity here, history, culture, environment, and daily life all intertwined. Today was not just about arriving in a new place, but about beginning to understand it, even in small, imperfect ways.

 

Dakar School Visits

Our morning started at John F. Kennedy High School, a public secondary school with a long-standing reputation, particularly for its role in the education of girls in Senegal. I was placed in a classroom with a masterful educator who, despite limited resources, had all students engaged in her English lesson. 

Given that English is a second language (many times the third or fourth language) for Senegalese students, she ensured all students understood the vocabulary, practiced their pronunciation, and knew how to communicate clearly. She had a great sense of structure in her classroom as well as lots of well-behaved students. Seriously, they didn't even whisper. They just tapped each other, but only if they needed to borrow a ruler or pencil. I'm hoping my students are reading this and taking notes 😊

Later in the day, we visited an elementary school in Dakar, meaning I was so excited to get to work with younger students. I got to join an English lesson for students who were 6 to 8 years old. So far, they have mastered greetings and questions such as "How are you?" Today they learned, "Who is your Mother" and "My mother is _____." I even practiced with them in the school yard, which is a large patch of dirt, after class got out. Even in classrooms with limited resources, there was no shortage of enthusiasm, participation, or joy in learning.

Across both schools, one idea continued to stand out: students here are already building global competencies every single day. They are learning in multiple languages, navigating different cultural contexts, and engaging with ideas that connect them to a wider world. It’s a reminder that global learning doesn’t require perfect conditions, yet it grows from experience, exposure, and opportunity.

In the afternoon, we gathered back at the hotel to prepare for our upcoming host community visits. The conversation shifted from observation to reflection: What are we noticing? What are we still wondering? And how do we carry these experiences forward in a meaningful way? Until tomorrow, as I am off to Saint-Louis!