Personal Essay: Third Grade Lessons

By Anna DeGoede MANAGING EDITOR

When I was in third grade, I lived in West Africa – specifically, Gambia, which is a tiny country bordered by another country, Senegal, on three sides.

At the time, I remember resenting it very much. My dad was teaching sustainable energy at the University of the Gambia, and brought the entire family – me, my mom and my brother – as part of the year-long experience.

I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. I hated being away from my friends, and I hated being in a country that was so different from the one I was used to – especially since I had only my family to really keep me company.

Now, I have come to understand that time in my life as an immense privilege and gift.

The people I met there have stories and histories that I will never fully understand myself. I cannot pretend to share their struggles or speak for their culture, but I can speak to what they taught me about the world.

My dad had a blog when we lived in Gambia where he recorded our experiences. For a very long time, I refused to contribute. Apparently, I ‘didn’t want the publicity,’ to quote my younger self, which is ironic considering my major now and the byline underneath my name that would suggest the opposite.

Consider this my long overdue reflection of my experiences and a tribute to the stories that will always deserve more words than can fit on a newspaper page.

In another life, I think that Keta, our gatekeeper, would be a wizard. He had a patience and a wisdom to him that I haven’t quite seen on anyone else. Many people called him “the little man,” because he was very short.

Every morning when I woke up, I could hear the rhythmic swishing of his broom as he swept away at our house’s yard. Whenever he saw my brother and I, he would smile and wave with a twinkle in his eye.

About Keta, my dad once wrote, “In the past couple of weeks, Keta has given us a basket and a promise to pray for us every day,” which I think encapsulates his spirit perfectly.

He was selfless and generous, even to a family he had nothing in common with – a reminder, I think, that even when you have endless differences with someone else, there will always be something you can connect on.

Jainiba, our housekeeper, was equally as patient with us. She was an extremely hard worker, always working to provide for her children. Even though we were most definitely better off in life, she was generous with her time and knowledge.

Some of our most unique experiences were because of Jainiba. She brought us to her family, threw my brother, Nate, his 11th birthday party and invited us to our very first Gambian wedding.

All the while, she looked out for us when we didn’t know what to do. In my own third grade homeschool assignment, I said, “Jainiba is our house cleaner, and she’s sort of our bodyguard, because she once walked Mom down to our house with a gardening hoe because there was a man following her.”

Though she had a no-nonsense attitude much of the time, once again, I think she is a great example of how generosity is not always monetary, but kindness to others is always free.

Beyond Jainiba and Keta, there’s Brewer, who sometimes went by the name “Obama” and loved to keep my dad updated on world news; Jainiba’s daughter Binta, who my mom still messages on Facebook; our favorite taxi driver Muhammad, who once tried to refuse payment because he was so kind … and so many more.

There are so many people that we met in that short time that my memories of them don’t fit into one article, though they are equally deserving of a place here. I wish there were more time to write about them, so you could learn as much from them as I did.

More than anything, my biggest lesson from my time in Gambia was how powerful humanity is. You do not need to speak the same language to share a meal with someone and you don’t need to be rich to have something worth giving.

If you’re interested in hearing more stories from Gambia, scan this QR code: