Day 2 in Senegal: Rethinking Education, Language, and Decoloniality

Our first full day of training in Senegal was nothing short of fascinating. We began with a thought-provoking presentation from a representative of the Ministry of Education, who introduced us to the concept of talibéism. While many—including myself—have associated this term with the heartbreaking image of children begging on the streets, the presentation offered a broader and deeper view of its origins and meanings.

Curious to learn more, I stumbled upon this article from Harvard Law about the plight of talibé children. But the presentation today reminded us that the original Arabic root of the word speaks to something much richer: a lifelong learner. The Ministry is now reclaiming this definition and using it as a guiding principle in their efforts to reimagine Senegal’s entire education system—from primary schools to universities—within the vision of their 2050 framework. Their goal: to undo the colonial legacies embedded in the current system and chart a new, revitalized course rooted in local culture, languages, and histories.

Later, our conversations shifted toward decolonizing study away programs. One of the most powerful questions posed was, “What language do you live in?” Not “What languages do you speak?”—but live in. It was an invitation to reflect on how language shapes our worldview, how it structures power, and how some languages are celebrated while others are silenced in our institutions.

That conversation hit hard.

We were challenged to think about how English, French, and Spanish—languages of colonizers—dominate global education and communication. English, in particular, was described as “the greatest reach of colonialism”: a language so pervasive that native speakers can travel nearly anywhere in the world and still be understood. But at what cost? What does it mean for indigenous and local languages to be excluded, erased, or seen as “less than”? And what responsibility do we have—as educators, students, or program leaders—to acknowledge and challenge that reality?

We then engaged in an activity around language policy design for study abroad programs. Should students be required to learn the local language? Is it enough to speak their own? What if they’re only staying for a short time and don’t see the “value” in learning a new language? These questions don’t have easy answers, but they force us to ask: What is the true purpose of study away? Is it immersion? Cultural exchange? Personal growth? Education? Adventure?

To cap off the day, we had a brief but meaningful Wolof lesson. While French is Senegal’s official language, Wolof is the actual language of the people—spoken by over 80% of the population. It felt incredibly grounding to learn greetings and basic phrases in Wolof, even if just for a few minutes. It was a reminder that language is not just about communication; it’s about respect, connection, and cultural acknowledgment.

This first day had me reflecting deeply—not just on education abroad, but also on what it means to “decolonize” learning back home. For those of us based in former colonial powers like the U.S., how do we dismantle colonial legacies embedded in our own curricula? Are we bringing in diverse voices and perspectives—not just in name, but in substance? Are we committed to introducing students to knowledge systems from beyond the Global North?

These questions don’t have simple answers. But perhaps that’s the point. Critical reflection isn’t about having everything figured out—it’s about being willing to wrestle with the complexity.

If today is any indication, the rest of this week will be transformative.