Heart of Darkness

The other night Joe and I were sitting in a boulangerie, surrounded by Middle Eastern men watching football who leapt out of their chairs at every exciting play. We had just finished an afternoon of visiting and drinking bloody marys with Peace Corps volunteers (thanks Steve!) at the regional office and decided we weren't quite ready to go home yet. We inevitably began to talk about visiting France, which is where we're going after this Senegalese adventure is finished. It is funny how I am always moving on mentally to the next thing, even when I have just begun my time here. I realized it isn't all that different from the way I usually regard trips and adventures (I often look forward to winter break at the beginning of fall semester for instance), but it is funny that the same forward-looking ideology is prevailing while I am still getting adjusted to living in Senegal. But that discussion wasn't nearly as profound as what we discussed next. As it turns out, both Joseph and I have a fear of the dark. It isn't as though I cry when the lights get turned off (which is lucky given how often the power goes out here), but I associate darkness with all things 'bad.' I try not to walk alone at night, I often think critters (mountain lions, lynx, etc) are stalking me or ready to jump out when I am alone in the woods at night, I always keep my body under my blankets or on my bed, etc. I realized this fear of the dark mostly because it directs my behaviors here as well. I am told to always take a taxi home. Even walking the block from my taxi drop off and my house makes me think that people are following me (as an aside: sometimes they are. I know this fear isn't altogether unwarranted, but I still laugh to think of how I instantly turn on my cell phone's flashlight when the power goes out). Especially as a woman, my family has instilled in me an extreme wariness of being outside. It took a trip across the Atlantic to realize that this association between the dark and evil things existed long before I came here. I have realized that while this wariness of dark areas is oftentimes a healthy, proactive measure to keep myself safe, I am a product of a culture that doesn't see value in darkness. I have grown up in suburbs, where streetlights almost never go out. In big cities, the darkness is seen as a venue for muggings and assaults, dangerous for people, especially women, to linger long. Some of this fear of the dark is warranted and necessary, but my inability to walk in a park without checking over my shoulder or spend the night outside without wondering what kind of animal might sneak up on me is a product of my tendency to overanalyze and my lack of experience being in dark, peaceful places. I didn't grow up in the big woods of Minnesota (although I really wish I had) and I don't spend very much time outside after dark. It's funny how inconsistent my responses to the dark are too though. I can go camping and be in the woods without fear (except when animals play with the tent zipper, that is really scary), but I can barely sit in my own darkened room without thinking I will see a face outside. This post has made me feel like people will think that my fear of the dark is a big problem. It really isn't. This fear is by no means debilitating. In fact, the older I get the easier it is to brush off my heebie jeebies and march triumphantly onto a darkened path. But in order to do that, I have had to admit to myself that I am not altogether comfortable being in the dark. Yes, the universal fear of 5 year old children has stuck with me into my twenties. Oh well. I can't be the only one.