(Originally written while in Sénégal, things happened – very
à la sénégalaise – preventing me from
publishing this post then…)
In my white anglo Westside Vancouver childhood,
government-mandated French in schools (and on our morning cereal boxes) was
such that « C`est la vie! » was
a straightforward, happy exclamation, like Doris Day’s Que sera sera in our mothers’ time. We were as sheltered from
disease, dying, and death as possible. And none were “life”.
No doubt it is Faith in Allah which makes it all so
different in Senegal. And the fact that each is a weekly occurrence in
communities of large families where one actually knows the son of the cousin of
one’s mother’s great aunt’s brother (same mother, different father)… makes it
hard to ignore a reality that is so ever-present.
When our friend killed himself, his best friend (both
white atheist Frenchmen), said « C`est la vie », his eyes red
with mourning. He’s lived there even longer than I had, and although we all say
Insha’Allah, his declaration seemed
sincere, not just a social convention.
And even more so for believers.
Growing up we went to church and catechism classes,
though none of our friends did. My parents were practising Catholics but they
were the exception even then. I’ve never before lived surrounded by believers
so I can’t say Muslims are more this way than other believers. I just know that
in Senegal, Disease Dying Death, are definitely Life.
