Keeping with current trends, I decided to post my final thoughts an entire month after my return. Yes, this was a conscious decision that had nothing to do with the holiday season, the largest snowfall this winter, the general ecstasy of being back home or my incurable tendency to procrastinate. Totally deliberate.

In truth, I may have been avoiding this capstone to my trip, however trivial it may actually be, because I've been waiting for everything from the past four months to soak itself into me in the convenient form of a clever summation. No such luck. Senegal, when I am able to convince myself that it actually happened, remains a mess of smells, sounds, sights, insights, frustrations, joys and unforgettable times and faces jumbled in my memory. Am I glad I did it? Absolutely. Do I miss it? Distantly, momentarily and yes, indefinitely. A few days ago I was rummaging in my own kitchen for something to eat, and I actually craved ceebujen. I thought of the evenings during Ramadan and Khadi's burning-hot kenkeliba tea when I tried to brew my own and it just didn't work. I began singing a children's song that had been stuck in my head before I realized it was one of Bebe Fa's. I ate a bowl of chili last night for dinner that, before Senegal, would probably have been too spicy for my liking. I hardly tasted it at all. I randomly say things in Wolof. Degg la.

A few days ago I attended an all-school convocation at the Lamont School of Music featuring the ever-talented dance troupe of Cleo Parker Robinson. For us music students, they demonstrated several different techniques that they learn as a studio. One of them was "African dance." Not expecting it to resemble the distinctive style of Sabar, I was surprised by the wave of recognition that passed through me as I watched the dancers' fluid movements. I had relived many parts of my trip before then: while sharing my written thoughts, exhibiting my photos or recounting an anecdote. Back in the music building though, back on campus, back in America, my home, I watched the familiar dancing before me and realized that Senegal is in my blood. It will always be. It has become a part of my life and a part of my being and will pulse through my veins in characteristic rhythm wherever else life takes me.