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Photo credit AramcoWorld
Jan. 28, 2026
I'll be the first to admit that I'm not very good with words- you'll never hear me profess to be an aspiring author. I love reading other people's words, so I'll try to keep my own as interesting as possible. Looking at the picture of a pirogue (see left), I think it's finally dawning on me that I'll be in Senegal in a couple months. As much as I want to be prepared, I won't stress myself about getting every single thing lined up; instead, I'll do what I can and be flexible with the rest. As I write this, I'm a week away from attending the Teachers for Global Classrooms (TGC) Symposium in Washington, D.C. I have SO many questions to ask! I am intensely curious about the world, and want to be as culturally prepared as possible. I've learned about a lot of the languages, the religions, the food (CANNOT WAIT TO TRY IT ALL), the concept of terenga, and the geography. But for those of you who have been, what can you share to help me get prepared for this trip? |
April 6, 2026
Less than a week to go! My bags are packed save for some last minute things, and it feels so surreal that we're at this point.
Our Senegal group is an *amazing* group of folks! We hit it off so well at the Symposium and our WhatsApp group chat has been active since then. We have shared reading suggestions, ideas for our students, and questions about all the vaccines. It's so nice to know that there are other folks going through this experience with me, and they're all so incredibly open and willing to share their thoughts.
Speaking of vaccines, if you're interested in this Fulbright program, please budget for vaccine costs. They will be out of pocket and could be a surprise amount if you're not ready. Plus, it's hard to find them! I tried my doctor, the infectious disease office at the local hospital, and our local health department... all to no avail. A neighboring health clinic had what I needed, luckily. All in all it took about 3 weeks to get the shot appointment set up and actually administered, at a cost of roughly $500 out of pocket, and another roughly $500 billed to insurance for those considered routine. Our group made note that none of us expected it to be that pricey (all of ours were about the same if not more), so I'm jotting it down here for you who may be reading this blog.
In less than a week, we'll be in Dakar and I almost can't believe it!
Less than a week to go! My bags are packed save for some last minute things, and it feels so surreal that we're at this point.
Our Senegal group is an *amazing* group of folks! We hit it off so well at the Symposium and our WhatsApp group chat has been active since then. We have shared reading suggestions, ideas for our students, and questions about all the vaccines. It's so nice to know that there are other folks going through this experience with me, and they're all so incredibly open and willing to share their thoughts.
Speaking of vaccines, if you're interested in this Fulbright program, please budget for vaccine costs. They will be out of pocket and could be a surprise amount if you're not ready. Plus, it's hard to find them! I tried my doctor, the infectious disease office at the local hospital, and our local health department... all to no avail. A neighboring health clinic had what I needed, luckily. All in all it took about 3 weeks to get the shot appointment set up and actually administered, at a cost of roughly $500 out of pocket, and another roughly $500 billed to insurance for those considered routine. Our group made note that none of us expected it to be that pricey (all of ours were about the same if not more), so I'm jotting it down here for you who may be reading this blog.
In less than a week, we'll be in Dakar and I almost can't believe it!
Commuters on a car rapide. I was fascinated by these vans.
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First Impressions of Dakar
After months of reading, planning, packing, asking questions, getting vaccines, meeting my cohort at the Symposium, and trying to imagine what this experience would be like, we had finally arrived. Not “getting ready to go.” Not “leaving soon.” But actually in Senegal. I don’t think I could have fully prepared for the feeling of arriving in Dakar. There is a particular kind of energy that comes with stepping into a place you have been thinking about for months. Everything feels new at once: the sounds, the signs, the traffic, the rhythm of conversations happening around you, the way people move through space. I found myself trying to take it all in while also reminding myself that I was not here to immediately understand everything. I was here to listen, observe, ask better questions, and learn. One of the ideas I had read about before arriving was teranga, often translated as hospitality. But even in these first days, I can already tell that translation does not quite capture it. Hospitality can sound like something polite or formal, like being welcomed into someone’s home. Teranga feels deeper than that. It is warmth, generosity, welcome, and a way of being in relationship with others. I do not want to pretend I understand it fully after only a short time here. I don’t. But I can say that I have already felt the difference between reading about a concept and experiencing even a small glimpse of it in real life. That has been one of my biggest reminders so far: reading matters, preparation matters, but experience changes the shape of what you thought you knew. At the Symposium, our group spent a lot of time talking about global competence and what it means to help students understand the world in more thoughtful and responsible ways. Those conversations felt important then, but being here makes them feel even more urgent. Global learning cannot just be about facts, flags, foods, and festivals. It has to be about people, relationships, complexity, and the willingness to sit with what we do not yet understand. As a French teacher, I came to Senegal with a lot of excitement, but also with a lot of questions. I have spent my career teaching students that French can connect them to the wider world. I still believe that. But being here also reminds me that language is never simple. French in Senegal is connected to education, government, opportunity, history, colonialism, power, and identity. Those layers are not abstract here. They are part of daily life. That is a lot to hold as a teacher. I keep thinking about my students. For many of them, my classroom may be one of their first sustained introductions to the French-speaking world beyond France. That is a responsibility I have always taken seriously, but this experience is already making me think about it differently. It is not enough to simply show students more places where French is spoken. I also need to think carefully about whose stories I am sharing, whose voices are centered, and what context students need in order to understand those stories responsibly. Of course, not every moment here is heavy or deeply philosophical. Some moments are just joyful. Meeting people. Laughing with my cohort. Trying new foods. Seeing the Atlantic. Noticing colors and movement everywhere. Trying to follow conversations and realizing how much language lives beyond the words themselves. I also keep laughing at myself because I wanted so badly to be “prepared,” and yet every day reminds me that preparation only gets you so far. There are things I could not have known until I was standing here, seeing them, hearing them, and feeling them for myself. That is probably the point. I did not come to Senegal to confirm what I already thought. I came to learn. And already, in just these first days, I can tell that this experience is going to challenge me in ways I did not expect.For now, I am trying to stay curious. I am trying to notice without rushing to explain. I am trying to be open to the fact that the questions I brought with me may not be the questions I leave with. |
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Learning to See Differently
One of the unexpected lessons from my time in Senegal had nothing to do with schools, language, or even global education. It had to do with the way I was seeing the country. Like many first-time visitors, I arrived in Dakar taking everything in at once. My eyes were immediately drawn to the things that looked different from home. I noticed the litter on the ground, the open-air markets filled with people, the unpaved roads, and the goats and cows wandering through neighborhoods. The traffic seemed chaotic, and every street corner offered something new to look at. Looking back, I realize I was seeing Senegal through a distinctly Western lens. I wasn't trying to judge what I saw, but I was unconsciously measuring everything against what felt familiar to me. As the days passed, something interesting happened. The things that had initially captured my attention slowly faded into the background. The litter didn't disappear. The roads didn't become paved. The goats didn't go anywhere. Instead, I simply stopped defining Senegal by those things. My attention shifted to the conversations happening in the markets, the greetings exchanged between neighbors, the students walking home from school, and the rhythms of daily life that had been there all along. What had changed wasn't Dakar. It was me. By the end of the trip, I realized that if someone had asked me to describe Senegal, I probably wouldn't have started with what looked different anymore. I would have talked about Sophie and her students. I would have talked about the teachers who welcomed us into their classrooms, the people who patiently answered our questions, and the generosity we experienced throughout our visit. I found myself remembering faces and conversations much more vividly than roads or buildings. That shift in perspective also changed the way I thought about language. As a French teacher, one of the things I was most excited about was hearing French spoken in everyday life. I certainly did hear French, but I also heard Wolof everywhere I went, along with other languages that reflected the incredible linguistic diversity of Senegal. Conversations moved naturally between languages in ways that challenged some of my own assumptions about what it means to live in a French-speaking country. The more I learned, the more I realized that French occupies a complicated place in Senegal. It is the language of government, education, and opportunity. It also carries the legacy of French colonization. Before this trip, I think I wanted those ideas to fit neatly together. Was French a bridge that connected people across cultures, or was it a reminder of a painful colonial history? By the end of my time in Senegal, I realized the answer wasn't either-or. It was both. That realization stayed with me because it reminded me that the world rarely fits into simple categories. People can value French while fiercely protecting Wolof and other local languages. Schools can prepare students for global opportunities while also celebrating Senegalese identity. A country can embrace parts of its history while continuing to wrestle with other parts. Those tensions don't have to be resolved in order to be understood. As teachers, I think we sometimes feel pressure to provide our students with clear answers. We want to explain cultures in ways that are organized, understandable, and easy to remember. Senegal reminded me that some of the most important lessons are found in complexity. Rather than trying to simplify another culture, perhaps our job is to help students become comfortable asking better questions and recognizing that multiple truths can exist at the same time. When I boarded the plane home, Senegal hadn't changed. The markets were still busy. The roads were still dusty. The goats were still wandering through neighborhoods. But I was looking at those things differently. I had stopped seeing a place that was unfamiliar and started seeing a community filled with people living ordinary, meaningful lives. That may be one of the greatest gifts of travel. It doesn't just introduce us to new places. It changes the way we see the places, and sometimes it changes the way we see ourselves. |
Typical traffic
Onions and tanks
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Elementary classroom
Excitement to answer questions
Some of us touring a school
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Learning Together: A Look Inside Senegalese Schools
If you've ever traveled with a group of teachers, you know that we can't help ourselves. We walk into a school and immediately start noticing everything. How are the classrooms arranged? What are the students wearing? What's hanging on the walls? How does the teacher interact with students? What resources are available? How do students move through the hallways? Our first school visits in Dakar were no different. Before coming to Senegal, I knew I wanted to learn about the country's educational system, but I also knew I needed to be careful not to view everything through the lens of "better" or "worse." One of the goals of the Teachers for Global Classrooms program is to develop global competence, and that means resisting the urge to immediately judge another educational system based on your own experiences. Instead, we were encouraged to observe, ask questions, and understand the context in which learning takes place. That mindset completely changed the way I experienced these visits. One of the first things I noticed was the pride students took in their schools. Uniforms gave each campus a sense of identity, and despite the normal sounds of students laughing and talking between classes, there was an overall feeling of purpose. Students greeted visitors warmly, often eager to practice their English while patiently helping us navigate our French. As teachers, we sometimes joke that schools are the same everywhere. After spending time in classrooms in Dakar, I think there's more truth to that than I realized. Students still laugh with their friends. Teachers still find creative ways to capture attention. Teenagers still look both excited and slightly nervous when visitors walk into the room. Learning still depends on relationships. Of course, there were differences as well. The school day looked different than what I'm accustomed to in Georgia, and class sizes were often larger than what I experience in my own classroom. Resources varied from school to school, and it became clear that teachers were constantly adapting to meet the needs of their students with the resources they had available. What struck me most, though, wasn't the differences. It was how often I found myself thinking, "That feels familiar." Watching a teacher encourage a hesitant student to participate. Seeing classmates help one another understand a concept. Listening to students enthusiastically answer questions. These moments reminded me that education is deeply human. Regardless of language or country, teachers are trying to do the same thing: create opportunities for students to learn, grow, and imagine futures that may not have seemed possible before. One of the highlights of our visits was having the opportunity to speak with both teachers and students. They were curious about our schools, our students, and what education looks like in the United States. Their questions reminded me how easy it is to make assumptions about one another based on movies, social media, or news headlines. Those conversations became a chance for all of us to replace assumptions with authentic dialogue. As a world language teacher, I was especially interested in hearing students move between languages throughout the day. French served as the language of instruction, but it certainly wasn't the only language I heard. Wolof flowed naturally through conversations among students, and many people spoke additional languages as well. Seeing multilingualism as an ordinary part of daily life was a powerful reminder that language learning is not simply an academic exercise. Around the world, multilingualism is often a practical necessity and a lived reality. The visits also challenged me to think about what it means to prepare students for a global world. In Georgia, we often talk about helping students become college and career ready. In Dakar, I was reminded that another important goal is helping students navigate increasingly interconnected communities while maintaining strong connections to their own languages, cultures, and identities. As our we finished the last school tour in Dakar, I realized I had filled pages of notes—but very few of them were about curriculum or instructional strategies. Instead, they were about people. About conversations. About curiosity. About the smiles that transcend language. About the realization that while educational systems may differ, the heart of teaching remains remarkably similar. I came hoping to learn something about schools in Senegal. What I didn't expect was to leave thinking just as much about my own classroom back in rural Georgia. Seeing education through another country's lens has a way of making you look at your own school with fresh eyes. That's one of the greatest gifts of international experiences like this...not that they provide all the answers, but that they help us ask better questions when we return home. |
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Teaching Together: Finding My Way Back to the Classroom
I expected my time in Senegal to change the way I thought about global education. I didn't expect it to change the way I thought about myself. If I'm being honest, I'd been questioning myself as a teacher for a while before this trip. I still loved my students, and I still believed deeply in the value of language learning, but the daily joy of teaching had become harder to find. Maybe it was burnout. Maybe it was simply one of those seasons that many teachers experience but don't often talk about. Whatever it was, I didn't feel the same excitement walking into my classroom that I had earlier in my career. I certainly didn't expect to find it again halfway around the world. Before we ever left for Senegal, my fellow Fulbright participant Joy, a history teacher from Georgia, and I had been paired with Sophie, an English teacher in Diamniadio. The three of us spent several weeks talking through WhatsApp, planning what we would teach, discussing our students, and deciding what materials we should bring from the United States. By the time we arrived at Sophie's school, it felt like we already knew each other. When we finally met in person, the hugs came naturally. There was something special about finally putting a face and a voice with the messages we had exchanged. We were no longer teachers connected through an app. We were colleagues who were genuinely excited to learn from one another. One of the biggest surprises of my time in Diamniadio came when we first stepped into a classroom. I realized how badly I wanted to teach. I wasn't excited because I was visiting another school or checking another item off the Fulbright itinerary. I wanted to meet students. I wanted to build relationships. I wanted to get up in front of the room and teach. That feeling caught me completely off guard. Joy and Sophie taught the intermediate English students together, using Halloween in the United States and Tamkharit in Senegal as a way to spark conversations about culture. I loved the idea behind their lesson because it reflected something I believe deeply about language education. Language is never just about vocabulary or grammar. It is a way to understand people, traditions, and different ways of seeing the world. I spent my time with the beginning English students, and I felt at home almost immediately. Novice language learners have always been my favorite. There is something incredibly rewarding about helping students realize they can communicate in a new language with just a handful of words and phrases. Our lesson focused on likes and dislikes. We talked about favorite foods, sports, music, hobbies, and school subjects. Students interviewed one another, practiced asking and answering questions, and gradually became more comfortable speaking English. It wasn't a fancy lesson. In fact, it looked remarkably similar to the lessons I teach in my own beginning French classes in Georgia. As I walked around the room listening to students talk with one another, I realized how familiar it all felt. Some students eagerly volunteered every chance they got. Others hung back until they gained a little confidence. Friends encouraged one another, laughed together, and celebrated the small victories that language teachers notice so quickly. It reminded me that one of the greatest joys of teaching novice learners is watching the moment when students stop worrying about getting everything exactly right and start focusing on communicating. Somewhere during the first lesson, I stopped thinking about myself. I wasn't wondering if I was doing a good job or questioning whether I still belonged in the classroom. I was simply teaching, and I'd forgotten how much I loved that feeling. Throughout our time together, students asked about my family, my school, and what life was like in Georgia. They were curious about American teenagers, and I couldn't help but smile because I knew my own students would have asked Sophie many of the exact same questions. Curiosity has a way of bridging cultures long before language proficiency catches up. Joy, Sophie, and I also spent time talking about our classrooms, our students, and the lessons we had taught. Like teachers everywhere, we swapped stories, shared ideas, reflected on what had worked, and laughed about the moments that hadn't gone exactly as planned. It struck me how quickly those conversations came. We teach in different countries, different languages, and different educational systems, but our conversations sounded exactly like the ones I have with colleagues back home. Looking back, I expected my time in Diamniadio to teach me something about education in Senegal. It certainly did. I learned about another school system, another curriculum, and another group of wonderful students. But I also learned something about myself. Somewhere between planning lessons with Sophie, laughing with beginning English students, and watching teenagers discover they could communicate in another language, I rediscovered something I hadn't realized I'd been missing. I remembered how much I love teaching. That may not have been the lesson I traveled to Senegal expecting to learn, but it is one I'll carry with me long after this trip is over |
Sophie teaching the beginners. I was amazed to see she opens her class very similarly to mine
Teaching again
Joy and Sophie team teaching
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Arriving at Gorée
A beautiful island
Learning from our guide
The Door of No Return
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Gorée Island: Holding Contradictions
When I think back on my visit to Gorée Island, one of the first memories that comes to mind isn't the island itself. It's the ferry ride. I was genuinely excited to be on the boat. I love being on the water, and as we made our way across the Atlantic toward Gorée, I found myself taking in the skyline of Dakar, feeling the breeze, and simply enjoying the ride. I had been so caught up in the excitement of taking a boat to a beautiful island that I hadn't fully considered where I was going or the history waiting for me when we stepped ashore. I felt a little foolish afterward, realizing how lightly I had approached a place that holds so much weight for so many people. Like so much of Senegal, Gorée refused to fit neatly into the expectations I had carried with me. The island is beautiful. Narrow streets wind between colorful homes covered in bougainvillea. Artists display their work outside small shops. Children play in the streets. Neighbors greet one another. People live there, work there, and proudly call it home. Our guide certainly did. As he shared the history of the island, it was obvious how much he loved his community. He wasn't simply reciting historical facts. He was introducing us to his home. That mattered to me because it reminded me that Gorée is not frozen in time. It is not simply a memorial to the past. It is a living community where people continue to raise families, celebrate milestones, and go about their daily lives. That perspective challenged me because I realized how easy it would have been to think of Gorée only through the lens of its history. As we walked through the Maison des Esclaves, those realities became impossible to separate. The building overlooks the Atlantic Ocean, and from the outside it almost blends into the beauty of the island. Standing inside, however, I found myself imagining the lives forever changed within those walls. Walking toward the Door of No Return, I couldn't stop thinking about the millions of people whose futures were forever altered by the transatlantic slave trade. It is difficult to describe what it feels like to stand in a place where such profound suffering occurred while, just outside, life continues much as it always has. I spent much of the visit trying to reconcile those competing realities. How could a place be so peaceful and so painful at the same time? How could an island so closely associated with unimaginable tragedy also be a place where children laugh, neighbors chat on street corners, and artists proudly display their work? By the time we left, I realized those weren't contradictions that needed to be resolved. They simply existed together. That realization stayed with me long after we left the island because I began noticing the same complexity throughout the rest of my time in Senegal. French connected me to people I otherwise could not have known, yet it also carries the legacy of colonization. Schools prepare students for global opportunities while also celebrating Senegalese identity. Daily life reflects both long-held traditions and a rapidly changing society. Again and again, I found myself letting go of the need for simple explanations and becoming more comfortable with complexity. I think that's one of the greatest gifts travel can offer. It reminds us that places, like people, cannot be reduced to a single story. Gorée is not only a place of unimaginable loss, just as it is not only a beautiful island in the Atlantic. It is both. Understanding that didn't make the history any less painful, but it did make me realize that honoring a place also means recognizing the fullness of its story. As I thought back to that ferry ride, I realized the biggest change hadn't been what I learned about Gorée Island. It was how I had learned to see. Earlier in the trip, I had begun to recognize my own Western lens. Gorée challenged me to take that one step further. It reminded me that some of the most important lessons aren't found in choosing between competing truths. They're found in learning to hold them together. That is a lesson I'll carry back to my classroom, not because I have better answers now, but because I have better questions. |
The Stories We Tell
One of my favorite parts of each day in Senegal happened after we returned to the hotel. Before going to bed, I would sit down with my phone and look back through the photos I had taken that day. I had promised friends, family, and colleagues that I would share my journey while I was traveling, so each evening I found myself sorting through dozens of pictures and trying to decide which ones best represented what I had experienced.
At first, it seemed like a simple task. I would choose a few photos, write a short caption, and post them. The longer I stayed in Senegal, though, the more I realized it wasn't that simple. Every photo told one story, but it left countless others untold. I could post a picture of colorful pirogues along the beach, but that wouldn't tell anyone about the fishing families whose livelihoods depend on them. I could share photos of bustling markets, but a picture couldn't capture the conversations, the sounds, or the relationships that made those places feel so alive. I could photograph the beauty of Gorée Island, but a single image would never convey the weight of the history that exists alongside everyday life. The more time I spent in Senegal, the more aware I became that every photograph represented a choice. Every story I shared also meant there were other stories I wasn't sharing. As teachers, we make those same choices every day. We decide which images to show, which texts to read, which historical events to emphasize, and which voices to include. Those decisions shape the way our students understand the world, often long before they have the opportunity to experience another culture for themselves.
Before traveling to Senegal, I had taught about the country for years. My students knew where it was on a map. They knew that French is an official language and that French arrived through colonization. Those are important pieces of information, and I still believe students need to understand that history. What I realized in Senegal, however, is that knowing those facts is very different from understanding what they actually mean.History is not something that happened and ended. It continues to shape the present.
Throughout the trip, I found myself thinking about the role of French in a different way. French allowed me to communicate with teachers, students, guides, and community members. It opened doors that otherwise would have remained closed to me, and I was deeply grateful for that. At the same time, I couldn't ignore that French is also the language of colonization in Senegal. It carries a complicated history that continues to influence education, government, and daily life. Those realities are not in competition with one another. They simply exist together.
Before visiting Senegal, I think I was looking for cleaner explanations than the country was willing to give me. I wanted to understand whether French represented opportunity or colonialism, whether Gorée was a place of beauty or sorrow, whether Senegal was traditional or modern. Again and again, I discovered that the answer was almost always "both." The longer I stayed, the more comfortable I became with the idea that some of the most important questions don't have simple answers.
That realization has changed the way I think about my own classroom. My students trust me to introduce them to places they may never visit themselves. That is a privilege, but it is also a responsibility. It isn't enough for me to tell them that French spread through colonization or to point out where French is spoken today. I want them to understand that every Francophone community has its own history, its own identity, and its own relationship with the French language. Those stories deserve more than a single sentence in a textbook.
Looking back, I don't regret any of the photos I shared while I was traveling. They captured real moments that mattered to me, and I'm grateful to have those memories. I also understand now that they were never the whole story. In many ways, these blog posts are my attempt to share some of what the pictures couldn't. More importantly, they are my reminder that every place has layers, every story has context, and every culture deserves to be understood with curiosity rather than certainty.
When I return to my classroom, I know my lessons on Senegal will look different. The facts haven't changed, but I have. I hope my students still learn where Senegal is, what languages are spoken there, and how French became part of its history. More than that, I hope they learn to ask questions, to look beyond the first story they hear, and to recognize that understanding another culture is less about finding simple answers and more about developing the humility to keep learning.
One of my favorite parts of each day in Senegal happened after we returned to the hotel. Before going to bed, I would sit down with my phone and look back through the photos I had taken that day. I had promised friends, family, and colleagues that I would share my journey while I was traveling, so each evening I found myself sorting through dozens of pictures and trying to decide which ones best represented what I had experienced.
At first, it seemed like a simple task. I would choose a few photos, write a short caption, and post them. The longer I stayed in Senegal, though, the more I realized it wasn't that simple. Every photo told one story, but it left countless others untold. I could post a picture of colorful pirogues along the beach, but that wouldn't tell anyone about the fishing families whose livelihoods depend on them. I could share photos of bustling markets, but a picture couldn't capture the conversations, the sounds, or the relationships that made those places feel so alive. I could photograph the beauty of Gorée Island, but a single image would never convey the weight of the history that exists alongside everyday life. The more time I spent in Senegal, the more aware I became that every photograph represented a choice. Every story I shared also meant there were other stories I wasn't sharing. As teachers, we make those same choices every day. We decide which images to show, which texts to read, which historical events to emphasize, and which voices to include. Those decisions shape the way our students understand the world, often long before they have the opportunity to experience another culture for themselves.
Before traveling to Senegal, I had taught about the country for years. My students knew where it was on a map. They knew that French is an official language and that French arrived through colonization. Those are important pieces of information, and I still believe students need to understand that history. What I realized in Senegal, however, is that knowing those facts is very different from understanding what they actually mean.History is not something that happened and ended. It continues to shape the present.
Throughout the trip, I found myself thinking about the role of French in a different way. French allowed me to communicate with teachers, students, guides, and community members. It opened doors that otherwise would have remained closed to me, and I was deeply grateful for that. At the same time, I couldn't ignore that French is also the language of colonization in Senegal. It carries a complicated history that continues to influence education, government, and daily life. Those realities are not in competition with one another. They simply exist together.
Before visiting Senegal, I think I was looking for cleaner explanations than the country was willing to give me. I wanted to understand whether French represented opportunity or colonialism, whether Gorée was a place of beauty or sorrow, whether Senegal was traditional or modern. Again and again, I discovered that the answer was almost always "both." The longer I stayed, the more comfortable I became with the idea that some of the most important questions don't have simple answers.
That realization has changed the way I think about my own classroom. My students trust me to introduce them to places they may never visit themselves. That is a privilege, but it is also a responsibility. It isn't enough for me to tell them that French spread through colonization or to point out where French is spoken today. I want them to understand that every Francophone community has its own history, its own identity, and its own relationship with the French language. Those stories deserve more than a single sentence in a textbook.
Looking back, I don't regret any of the photos I shared while I was traveling. They captured real moments that mattered to me, and I'm grateful to have those memories. I also understand now that they were never the whole story. In many ways, these blog posts are my attempt to share some of what the pictures couldn't. More importantly, they are my reminder that every place has layers, every story has context, and every culture deserves to be understood with curiosity rather than certainty.
When I return to my classroom, I know my lessons on Senegal will look different. The facts haven't changed, but I have. I hope my students still learn where Senegal is, what languages are spoken there, and how French became part of its history. More than that, I hope they learn to ask questions, to look beyond the first story they hear, and to recognize that understanding another culture is less about finding simple answers and more about developing the humility to keep learning.
With a baobab tree. Joy and I *may* have become obsessed with them
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The Country I Didn't Know I Needed
When I applied for Fulbright Teachers for Global Classrooms, I knew I wanted to travel to a French-speaking country. I will admit, though, that I had my heart set on a different placement. I had imagined myself somewhere else entirely, and when I found out I was going to Senegal, I had to shift my thinking pretty quickly. That is not to say I was unhappy. I was excited and grateful, but Senegal was not the country I had already built up in my mind. I had to start learning, reading, and preparing for a place I did not know as well as I thought I should. Looking back now, I am so thankful it worked out that way. Senegal gave me more than I knew to ask for. It gave me Sophie, Joy, and the students in Diamniadio, who reminded me how much I still love teaching. It gave me Dakar, a city I first viewed through my own Western lens before slowly learning to see differently. It gave me Gorée Island, where beauty and pain exist together in ways that still challenge me. It gave me a more complicated understanding of French as both a language of connection and a language tied to colonization. If I had gone where I originally hoped to go, I am sure I would have learned a great deal. But I do not know that I would have been challenged in quite the same way. Senegal pushed me to think differently about language, history, representation, and my role as a teacher. It reminded me that global learning is not about finding simple answers. It is about becoming more comfortable with better questions. Coming home, I keep thinking about how often we think we know what we need. I thought I needed one kind of experience, but Senegal offered me another. It was not the trip I had pictured at first, but it became the trip I am deeply grateful to have taken. I still have more to process, and I know these reflections will continue to shape my teaching for a long time. For now, I can say this with certainty: Senegal was exactly where I needed to be. |
Guiding Question & Reflection
Guiding Question:
How do Senegalese schools and communities view the role of learning additional languages in students’ futures, and what might that teach us about the value of world language education in the United States?
Reflection:
Before traveling to Senegal, I was interested in understanding how schools viewed the value of learning additional languages, particularly in comparison to the United States, where world language study is often treated as an elective rather than an essential part of a student's education. In many U.S. schools, students can complete their education, enter the workforce, and participate fully in society while speaking only English. Because of that reality, many students see language study as beneficial, but not essential.
In Senegal, I saw a different relationship between language learning and opportunity. Students learn languages not simply because they are required for school, but because languages can shape their access to education, employment, communication, and future mobility. French remains central to schooling and many professional pathways, while English is increasingly valued as a global language connected to business, technology, and international opportunities. In that context, language learning is not just another academic subject. It is connected to students' ability to navigate their society and imagine future possibilities.
One of the things that surprised me most was how matter-of-fact the value of learning English seemed to be. During school visits and conversations with educators, English was consistently discussed as an important part of students' futures. There did not seem to be much need to convince students that another language was worth learning because the connection between English and future opportunity seemed obvious. As a world language teacher, that immediately caught my attention. In my own classroom, I often find myself helping students see language study as more than a college admissions requirement. In Senegal, that conversation didn't seem necessary in the same way.
The more time I spent in Senegal, the more I found myself thinking about French. I already knew that Senegal was a multilingual country and that French existed alongside Wolof and many other national languages. What changed for me was seeing where French fit. It was the language of schools, government, and many professional settings, but it wasn't always the language I heard in everyday conversations. Seeing that firsthand helped me think about French less as the language of Senegal and more as one language within a much richer linguistic landscape.
That also brought me back to English. French and English occupy very different places in Senegal's history, but I found myself noticing that both can open doors. I couldn't ignore the irony that many students in Senegal viewed learning English as a way to create more opportunities for themselves, while my students back home often ask, "Why do we even need to take this class?" or tell me, "I'm not going to college, so I don't need a language class." I found myself thinking about that contrast over and over throughout the trip.
When I first wrote my guiding question, I expected to come home comparing two educational systems. In many ways, I did. What I didn't expect was to leave questioning some of my own assumptions. Throughout the trip, I kept coming back to the irony that many students in Senegal viewed learning English as a way to create more opportunities for themselves, while many of my students back home question why they should learn another language at all. Before Senegal, I probably would have dismissed those comments much more quickly. Now I find myself wondering whether the global dominance of English has shaped the way Americans think about language learning in ways I hadn't fully considered. I still believe learning another language has tremendous value, but I also better understand why many of my students don't immediately see it the same way.
How do Senegalese schools and communities view the role of learning additional languages in students’ futures, and what might that teach us about the value of world language education in the United States?
Reflection:
Before traveling to Senegal, I was interested in understanding how schools viewed the value of learning additional languages, particularly in comparison to the United States, where world language study is often treated as an elective rather than an essential part of a student's education. In many U.S. schools, students can complete their education, enter the workforce, and participate fully in society while speaking only English. Because of that reality, many students see language study as beneficial, but not essential.
In Senegal, I saw a different relationship between language learning and opportunity. Students learn languages not simply because they are required for school, but because languages can shape their access to education, employment, communication, and future mobility. French remains central to schooling and many professional pathways, while English is increasingly valued as a global language connected to business, technology, and international opportunities. In that context, language learning is not just another academic subject. It is connected to students' ability to navigate their society and imagine future possibilities.
One of the things that surprised me most was how matter-of-fact the value of learning English seemed to be. During school visits and conversations with educators, English was consistently discussed as an important part of students' futures. There did not seem to be much need to convince students that another language was worth learning because the connection between English and future opportunity seemed obvious. As a world language teacher, that immediately caught my attention. In my own classroom, I often find myself helping students see language study as more than a college admissions requirement. In Senegal, that conversation didn't seem necessary in the same way.
The more time I spent in Senegal, the more I found myself thinking about French. I already knew that Senegal was a multilingual country and that French existed alongside Wolof and many other national languages. What changed for me was seeing where French fit. It was the language of schools, government, and many professional settings, but it wasn't always the language I heard in everyday conversations. Seeing that firsthand helped me think about French less as the language of Senegal and more as one language within a much richer linguistic landscape.
That also brought me back to English. French and English occupy very different places in Senegal's history, but I found myself noticing that both can open doors. I couldn't ignore the irony that many students in Senegal viewed learning English as a way to create more opportunities for themselves, while my students back home often ask, "Why do we even need to take this class?" or tell me, "I'm not going to college, so I don't need a language class." I found myself thinking about that contrast over and over throughout the trip.
When I first wrote my guiding question, I expected to come home comparing two educational systems. In many ways, I did. What I didn't expect was to leave questioning some of my own assumptions. Throughout the trip, I kept coming back to the irony that many students in Senegal viewed learning English as a way to create more opportunities for themselves, while many of my students back home question why they should learn another language at all. Before Senegal, I probably would have dismissed those comments much more quickly. Now I find myself wondering whether the global dominance of English has shaped the way Americans think about language learning in ways I hadn't fully considered. I still believe learning another language has tremendous value, but I also better understand why many of my students don't immediately see it the same way.
Global Education Guide
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