The mango trees are huge. I feel like the only time I see a mango tree is when it is growing over a wall, looming lush above the concrete blocks and rough mortar. There are so many walls here. The mangos dangle like Christmas ornaments and we gaze at them from the street below. Overripe fruits fall and split open. The ubiquitous red dust clings to their exposed flesh, shockingly wet at the end of this dry season.

I am in The Gambia. It is mango season. Standing on our roottoop terrace, I gazed down at the street below to watch a wandering goat nibble a plant in our neighbor's yard. I keep having to tell myself that I am in Africa. It is too strange to believe. Africa is on the other side of the world. Africa is something in my history books and National Geography. Africa is not a place that I can be, but here I am.

A few of us walked to the Serekunda market today for the first time. We were a tubab parade. Eventually, we will be able to leave the house with only one or two others, but not yet. We are still finding our feet. Until then, we are quite a sight to see, all of us pale and gawking.

I try to smile and wave at the children. I feel less comfortable with adults, usually just nodding at them and smiling. Maybe once or twice, I managed a shy "saalaamalekum." If people greet us, they usually say "hello" or "how are you." We got hissed at a fair amount. I gather that it's the Gambian equivalent of a catcall. There were so many men at the market and on the streets. Where are all of the women?

There are stories here of rich white women taking Gambian men away with them to Europe and America, taking them away from poverty. These women give men money, gifts, sex. How are these men to know that I am not here for that? I am, in their eyes, a rich white woman who can make their lives better, if I just bothered to notice them and help them out.

I am being harrassed through a simple misunderstanding. How frustrating.

We had our first language lesson today. I plan to work very hard to learn to speak. I feel that being able to talk will improve the situation enormously. Until I can speak, I can't even try to fix this misunderstanding. I can't begin to hear these people. I am not here to stare at them. I am here to live with them. I am here to understand that they are not "them."