Peter Forberg

Today I saw Americans. I see Americans everyday, but the quietly neurotic Americans that I see everyday have gone through several rounds of vetting to end up as the type of people who decide to take a break from their intensive studies at an elite private university by floundering about in a completely foreign African nation instead of downing wine at a French vineyard under the guise of cultural immersion for academic credit on their parents’ dime. We aren’t the standard fare, despite our flaws.

I’ve never really thought about Americans abroad aside from those who actively choose to go into fields like foreign service or humanitarian aid. They’re the kind of people I would routinely dismiss as too deeply invested in the “project of American globalization” to care much about their roots, having anticipated that they would spend their working lives far from home. I did not expect, however, that on the shores of the western most point in Africa would wash up the type of flag-toting, freedom fries-munching, drawl-slinging homebodies who are somehow miffed that the country they have found themselves in isn’t the home of giant balls of rubber bands or kittycorner fast food restaurants. Instead, it is a developing nation without the capacity to accommodate rigid Western sensibilities.

I have to assume that such generalizations are incorrect, and in fact believe the majority of Americans abroad really do know what they’re getting themselves into and are, by all accounts, really quite lovely people. But really quite lovely people don’t make for good blog posts, so here we are.

I went to the embassy for a town hall. I went to the embassy for a town hall, and I’d like very much to say that it was a beautiful building, which is true, and I’d like very much to say that it was a big beautiful building that I was not allowed to photograph, which is also true. The provided images come from Google. Thanks Google, for being allowed to photograph the embassy.

our lovely embassy

While waiting to get my passport checked at the gates to the embassy, I was joined by my fellow patriots whose particular New World quirks I had so regretfully forgotten. A woman, pale skin impeccably unburnt by the everlasting sunlight, wore a large, traditional African necklace, surely a sign of her cultural transformation, while a few spaces behind her stood a man in a floral Hawaiian button-up with khakis and a large sun hat ready for some R&R on that fabled beach of swaying palm trees. At our feet, a small dog whose malnourished form was more akin to a hungry coyote crept through the crowd, flies circling his pockmarked hair which was torn around the edges. As a soft whimper emerged from his haggard frame, the Senegalese guests and the embassy employees gave the pup a wide berth, but naturally the kind-hearted American teenagers in line bent down to show him some love as ticks dropped from his back. Luckily, a wizened security guard snapped at the dog until he eventually limped away into the streets.

After a quick trot through a metal detector, I was in a little outdoor conference room where about 60 American citizens sat on folding chairs and shook hands with the ambassador, who was, from my limited exposure, incredibly kind and incredibly intelligent.

Let me pause here to say that I am not a fan of US imperialism. However, I am a fan of the United States working with foreign nations, especially those who have been mistreated by the West, in order to collaborate on projects that will increase the quality of life for the average citizen, and if in accomplishing this goal, private corporations profit in order to generate more jobs for these nations, that is not a bad thing. In fact, some might even say that a mutually beneficial exchange between the Senegalese economic sector and the US private sector moderated by the federal government is all in all good.

This should not, however, come in the form of KFC. Despite 500 million dollar deals for increased electrical infrastructure, the ambassador earnestly began his list of accomplishments by reminding us that Dakar is now home to the ultimate experience of “finger licking delicious” [sic] chicken, a true marriage of the US’s entrepreneurial spirit and Senegal’s…chicken.

After the ambassador, we were introduced to the head of regional security, who began his speech with a “howdy” and I’m going to stop myself here. I originally wrote unflattering depictions of these various diplomats. This is unfair. Everyone there seemed incredibly thoughtful about the work that they are doing; that they resemble extras for a Scarface remake is more indicative of the white world’s traditional imperialist role rather than its current humanitarian manifestation. They spoke of education, energy infrastructure, and health care. They seem like good people, and I admire that they have, by choice or assignment, began working for the people of Senegal by way of what I’m sure is an unforgiving bureaucracy called the State Department. Let not my youth excuse my perennial cynicism.

This is getting long so I’ll cut to the chase: there was a Q&A. This Q&A affirmed what I’ve long believed to be true. I am destined to be an expat. Early on, a woman innocently asked about a new law that seems to require American citizens to get a Senegalese driver’s license. Later, a man would stand up and, as if billed to perform a Netflix exclusive set at Madison Square Garden, joke endlessly about how these crazy Senegalese drivers were suddenly supposed to evaluate his 30 years of near perfect driving experience, mocking their lax attitude towards vehicular child safety and the driving patterns of car rapides, which are a completely unique and viable transit option that does occasionally stop in the middle of the street without warning. Granted, driving in Dakar is a nightmare. Roundabouts simulate the experience of being the silver sphere in a pinball machine, one-ways are unlabeled if even official, and curbs are only for those with a less imaginative understanding of the laws of physics. Importantly, however, this is what driving is in Senegal, and no one, not a single Senegalese person, is going to change the way they drive because an American drives differently.

Another man who might as well have been airdropped in from Nashville, asked the public affairs officer point blank if the embassy had a “soft power plan” for getting “real American music” to the people of Senegal. Now, while I can empathize with living in a foreign country and having no one to talk about Led Zeppelin with,1 this frustration has not once granted me the cognitive dissonance and sense of superiority to assume that it is the United States Federal Government’s prerogative to proselytize the Senegalese public with Eric Clapton’s sweet licks. For anyone not familiar with “soft power,” a refresher: it’s cultural brainwashing. A short list of people familiar with soft power is provided here:

racist colonizers

Notably, Peter Gabriel is big in Dakar.

Our last American business owner abroad has caused me no personal offense. He was just wondering, after having filed company and personal taxes in Senegal for the past few years, whether or not he should also be filing taxes in the US. The short answer is that he may very well be required to file those taxes in the US, in which case, he did just admit to a room of federal employees that he has inadvertently been committing tax evasion. To him, I raise my glass.

I have no more jokes. I have only this plea: if you are at any point planning on moving to another nation, remember that that nation existed long before you came, and it probably likes the way that it has existed, and if it doesn’t, it is the people who live there who will decide if red lights are a necessary good or “Born in the USA” should become a cultural icon. But until that shift occurs, you might just want to stay at home.

1I do not listen to Led Zeppelin, nor will I now.

US at the embassy