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The night was dark, lit only by a few flickering candles. The sizzle of the pot lingered in the background as my mom cooked dinner. My four little siblings surrounded me in a circle, as we danced the Hokey Pokey together under the stars, and I laughed at the wonderful strangeness of my life. I arrived in Senegal knowing none of the language and little of the culture. Three months later, I moved to a town in the middle of the country, knowing more of the culture and just enough language to survive, to live with a Wolof family. I was terrified to meet them. When the car pulled up in front of what was to be my home for the next two years, I felt a sense of anticipation and excitement. I’d heard stories of volunteers being welcomed with dancing and drum circles, everyone thrilled to see them. I walked into the dusty compound, and no one was there. Then my host dad came out, and greeted me, and showed me my room, and let me get settled. I was so disappointed. I had hoped that I would instantly bond with my host family, that we would become friends, and they would welcome me into their lives. After a few weeks there, I resigned myself to the fact that it wasn’t going to happen. Don’t get me wrong - my host family was very nice, and very welcoming. But both my host parents were busy a lot and we didn’t have time to talk. We were all kind of hesitant around each other, trying to be respectful of the other’s culture, not wanting to be the one to take the first, awkward steps. I first started to bond with my host dad when I started understanding his dad jokes. One night at dinner, my little sister Kine asked what the name of the dish was, and glancing at me with a smile, he told her “Kine.” After that, I couldn't help but notice that he teased me all the time. He was always trying to get me to agree that his friends were rude, or tell my little siblings that there wasn’t any dinner. My host mom was harder to get to know. She was quiet, and was always busy cooking or cleaning. I started sitting with her while she cooked, chopping or peeling things in the sweltering kitchen, and trying to learn how to cook Senegalese dishes. Somewhere among the stews and the vegetables, she opened up, and once we got to know each other better, we had conversations about everything from the tooth fairy to baking cakes. My little siblings were easiest to get along with, once they stopped being scared of the strange white person in their house. They loved to play hand-clapping games, and hear me sing songs, and send messages to my family in America. Which is how I ended up doing the Hokey Pokey with them under the stars, while my host mom looked on and laughed. When my time in Senegal came to an end, I wasn’t ready to leave. My little siblings had come to trust me and came to me when they were scared of the dark. My host dad and I had great conversations together, and teased each other all the time. My host mom truly cared for me, and shared her passion for cooking with me. Somehow along the way, without realizing it, I had found a family. It’s crazy, and kind of amazing, that after two years in Senegal, I was just as sad to leave as I was to leave America. I never expected to become as close to my host family as I did, but they welcomed me into their hearts, and I brought them into mine. At the end of the day, we really did feel like a family. I think my host dad said it best: “When you go home, we’ll stay in touch because the world is nothing, and we are connected.”