"The closest of the people to Allah is the one who starts with the greeting of "salam." - Abu David
His name is Mohammed, a stout man no taller than 5'11. His face was round and smooth without much facial hair. His fair was cut low and his edges were clean. The fluorescent lights illuminated his rich dark skin. Mohammed spoke this mezcla of french and spanish that triggered a sensation of home. We sat down together in his shop, "Salam", a knock off store less than two blocks from my church. The name sat on the sign in between the Senegalese flag and the Argentine flag as if it was salam (peace) that united the two. Who would have thought that I could find salam in Grand Bourg?
I first approached Mohammed two or three weeks ago as I was making rounds around the town's center. I read the sign as if it was a safe haven. This is familiar. With my head held high I stumbled into the shop.
-"Hola! Hola, como estas?"
-"Bien y vou?"
-"Bien gracias! Perdon, pero sos de Ghana o Senegal?" (Maybe I was not as familiar as I thought)
-"Senegal, jaja, y vou?"
-"Oh duh! Claro, todos las persona son de Senegal! Jajaja, soy de Estados Unidos. Bien, perdon estoy muy extrano."
It was a short encounter and a silly one at that. I thanked him and walked out of the store. He was not the first African person I saw in the province nor would he be the last. In fact, just about every train stop there may be one African man vending knock off watches and other jewelry items. I have only seen one African woman in Grand Bourg with her hair also wrapped like mine. They were rarities here but not completely absent. Yet never did I ever see my African kin in large groups.
It took a while but I finally returned to Salam. I was curious if he knew of any local tailors or places where I could purchase more West African fabric. He tired to sell me some tye dye pants. I looked at him with the "you gotta be kidding me" face and repeated, "Senor, de verdad?" (Sir, really?). "Yo quiero mas autentica ropa. Ropa con diferente colores. Faldas, vestidos. . etc. Hay una personas aca en Argentina que puede cocer?" I started to show him pictures of my other dresses and skirts. Then he told me about his friend coming to visit next month who can bring some things over.
The conversation then transformed. "You're the one who came in and asked if I was from Ghana or Senegal right?" he said with his heavy Senegalese accent. We began to talk about our journeys and how we both ended up in Grand Bourg. Mohammed has lived in Argentina now for four years. All of his family is back home. His day consists of work and sleep. He explained to me that he is from Dakar, the nation's capital. With an unstable economy and a lack of job opportunities he knew he had to leave in order to support his loved ones. Mohammed made it clear though it was solely for money unlike his more rural counterparts that have fled because of war. "Where else have you been?" I asked. Unlike many of the other Senegalese people I have met, Mohammed came straight to Argentina but he had always dreamed of coming to the states. He told me ever since he was a little boy he wanted to go to the U.S. but it is quite difficult to enter. For now, Argentina will do. I told him how impressed I was that he had a stable business while other African immigrants vend their faux items on tables in the street. For four years in another country living in an unfamiliar language, this was quite an accomplishment.
He offered me his stool for a seat as our conversation continued to unfold. Every few minutes he would walk outside to check on passing people viewing his table. Inside the store we were surrounded by handbags and clothing. The walls were white with shelves covering the walls. A mannequin stood in the window surrounded by wallets, watches, shirts and jewelry. It was a small space, roughly 9ft x12ft. There was no music playing, just the sounds of the lively people in the streets and cars rushing through the traffic light.
When he walked back in Mohammed asked how I felt about Grand Bourg and living in Argentina. At this point we had both let our guards down and just jumped right into how much we miss our food from home. Finally, someone who understands me. But we make due with what we have. Sigh.
Mohammed asked "What is your job here in Grand Bourg? You said you work at the church?"
-"Yea, I'm a vicar. Like a pastor kind of? Wait do you know what is a pastor?"
-"No, I'm not familiar."
-"Perdon, Ok so an Imam, yes?" He nods his head. " A pastor is a Christian Imam. I am a student of the pastor."
"That is great. God Bless."
-"Si, Inshallah!"
-"Ah, inshallah, si si!"
We continued to exchange Arabic phrases as a sign of solidarity. We still share one God. Yet I began to wonder if there is a space for him and our other Muslim kin to worship in la Provinicia. Do they need a safe space for prayer? Since I have been here I have not been able to locate a mosque but maybe that may not be a priority either. It was getting late and I realized he had a shop to tend. "In a week come back and ask if I spoke to my friend about the materials" he said. "Perfecto! Gracias." We exchanged good byes in a mix of spanish, english and french, again sharing signs of solidarity and appreciation of each other's heritage. Peace be upon him.
As I reflect on my encounter with Mohammed I continue to reflect on my other Senegalese experiences abroad. Last time I was in Europe I had met an abundance of Senegalese people in Spain, Italy and France. Most of them were venders in tourist areas and on the streets like in Argentina. When I was in Spain I approached one about going out and places to eat. By the end of my journey I had been introduced to the Senegalese community of Barcelona, ate fresh Senegalese food, and learned a bit more about some of the West African politics. Though French is their colonizer's language and the language taught in their school system, Senegalese people living in Europe easily spoke two to three other European languages. The Mohammed I met in Barcelona spoke French, Spanish, some Italian and some German mainly because of his migration journey. In addition, there are some ethnic languages in Senegal that he was fluent in as well. In these encounters some shared their migration journeys moving from Italy to Germany to Spain. They shared some of their present living conditions and told me about their families back home.
These encounters were not exclusive to Europe either. In fact I had met a number of Senegalese people in my travels around the east coast as well. In my senior year of college, my History professor was a Senegalese man who was educated in Paris. When I moved to Philadelphia one of the first people I met was my tailor who imported fabrics straight from Senegal. Even when I had moved to Atlanta for a short period of time many of my Uber drivers were Senegalese who were working in other industries as well. Each time I was met with salam. It is blessing that my brothers and sisters continue to cross my path as we are all travelers of the world. Though mine is in privilege and there's is in necessity, these realities have never disrupted salam. For them I am thankful. Mashallah.
#ReclaimMissionary
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