Many Hands for One Tree

I never thought that planting a tree could be such a process, endearing and inefficient. Oh, it can. The idea was that the villagers would plant trees, one in front of each house, so that each family would be in charge of the care of a tree, and thus provide shade for the house and the street–a noble and worthy plan. But when an entire village with one shovel and one pick tries to help dig the hole, put the sapling in the ground and water it, one must admit that there is such a thing as too many hands. Many hands do make light work, but too many hands do NOT work!

I spent last week in a rural village in Northern Senegal, Guédé Chantier. This village will later be the location of our service projects, so this visit was meant as an introduction to the people and the possibilities there. The first morning we helped with the project of planting the trees. Now, not only were there about twenty of us, but there were also at least one hundred villagers keen on being involved. So, with a wheelbarrow full of young saplings (which at least five people tried to push) we made our way from house to house. One (or four) people dug the hole, another (or many others) put the tree in the ground a few people followed behind with a bucket of water. It was an extravagant affair. To me it was hilarious, but also touching to see the sincerity of all the villagers.

What became very clear to me after this activity was the strong sense of community in the village. Coming from my home, I credit myself with understanding a bit about community. I take for granted that I share food and kitchen appliances with my neighbors, that grocery shopping always takes longer than anticipated because of the conversations I strike up in the aisles and that my bank tellers know me (and my dog, for that matter). But Guédé Chantier gave me an entirely new concept of community. These people live for each other. Their activities are part of network that keeps them and their village alive. They do not choose their lifestyle as they would a pair of jeans, like many of us have the luxury of doing. It is a necessity.

We in the West pride ourselves on our individuality. Here in Senegal, that concept is largely foreign. Having tried in vain to explain to my Senegalese classmates my need for occasional solitude, I have come to understand that family and community are more important than all else. The project of planting the trees was a perfect illustration of this.

So, while my eye, trained to detect the efficient from the inefficient, could see the many ways to improve this project, they were irrelevant. I may credit myself with living a communal life. However, it is a life built on a foundation of individualism. The community I encountered in Guédé has not been spoiled by self-awareness. They understand what I never will. It does take all to plant a tree.

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