Starting with my very first week in Yoff, every time I cross the threshold of my house, I breathe that sigh of relief only “home” can elicit. What I have discovered, in my limited experience of three months, about true Senegalese hospitality is that it is not explicit and bears none of the obsequiousness often encountered with American hospitality, if such a term exists. Yes, I am paying the N’Doye/Sambs. But my role is not that of a tenant. Yes, I am a foreigner, a toubab. But I am not a novelty. I am a guest, but not an outsider. I’m just one of the kids. Granted, my frequent confusion and bizarre toubab behavior inevitably make me a pretty funny kid. But I have never felt gawked at by those in my family. To my knowledge, we have never offended each other. We respect each other’s differences whether they can be attributed to nationality, religion, wealth…I have never really cared to classify them as they are hardly an obstacle. Truth be told, the cultural differences were most manifest in food and umm…the bug population. I suppose the role of the television set presents another stark difference. And the fact that Binta, who is around the house almost more than N’Deye, is a prostitute adds another (and often colorful) dimension to my home life. But I care deeply for every member of my family. N’Deye especially. She exudes a rare and beautiful vibrancy. More so than the physical house, I find comfort in N’Deye’s chuckle and wise eyes. Gosh, I’m getting nostalgic already. Moving on.