So if anyone's interested in what I've been doing the past few weeks, click here:

http://pcsenegal.org/malaria/velingara.html

There you have it. We've only distributed to a tiny, tiny percentage of the district of Velingara, so there's plenty of long, frustrating days of work left to do. When I think about the work, I'm less than excited for the weeks to come. What I am excited about, though, is the prospect of malaria being reduced in Velingara, a region that is very near and dear to my heart. So there it is. I'm a slave to mosquito net distributions but I'm happy to be a part of something this big and potentially life changing. Peace!

Now here's an approach to development that works! I recently learned about this non-profit called Appropriate Projects. Here's an excerpt from their website:

Appropriate Projects is an initiative of Water Charity, conceived to slash through the red tape and get projects done immediately.Access to safe water is a human right, and we are fighting to achieve this goal for every person on this planet. We will not sit around while people are dying and suffering from illness due to lack of water, contaminated water, and unsanitary conditions.We use appropriate technology, meaning that the simplest and least-expensive methods are utilized to bring about the biggest impact at the least cost.We do not deal with studies, reports, evaluations, nitpicking, reviews, administration, overhead, talk, delays, processes, procedures, format, overseeing, micro-directing, or excuses.We start with the understanding that there are about 8,000 Peace Corps Volunteers stationed in over 74 countries around the globe. Each Volunteer is living in a city or community making a great contribution toward world peace.Each Volunteer is competent and dedicated, having gone through a rigorous selection process, and having trained for the tasks to be done.Each Volunteer has identified crucial projects that will affect the lives of those around him, but remain undone due to lack of funds.Each Volunteer has the skills and capacity to manage the projects and funds, and complete the projects on time and within budget.The projects submitted to Appropriate Projects by Volunteers are small, but they indeed have a big impact.At the same time, there are millions of individuals around the globe who would like to do the right thing, to help those in need, and to make the world a better place to live.Your contribution will bring to being a needed project in a distant place. It will affect the lives of individuals and communities, by letting them have the necessities of life.

I just want to go ahead and say that I like the way this organization works. I've been working in "international development" here in Senegal for almost 2 years now, and I've done my fair share of work with national and international government organizations (ie USAID, UNICEF) as well as non-governmental organizations (ie World Vision), and no matter what organization I work with, I always find something to critique. Some programs work fairly well, and I only see a few minor things I would change if I could. Other programs make me loose my faith in the possibility of international development. Appropriate Projects, however, seems pretty ideal to me.I've been pretty bad at keeping this blog updated recently, and that's mostly because I've been so busy with work here lately. To make a long story short, I've been working the past several months on writing a proposal and organizing the community to build 2 "real" classrooms for the primary school in my village (the current ones are made out of millet stalks- not an ideal situation). It's taken a lot of persistence and patience, but my proposal finally got approved by The Powers That Be, and construction should start within the next 2 weeks. Thanks to my relentless persistent harassing of the good people at World Vision Senegal, they finally caved in and built latrines for the school.The World Vision people, however, drew the line at latrines. There's a nice hand washing station in the nice World Vision latrines, but, guess what, NO WATER. No well = no water. Not their problem. Whatever, I am just thankful for their help with the latrines.I'm at the end of my service here, so I don' t really have the time to write another grant and go through that whole song and dance again to get a well for the school. I'd originally just given up on the idea (hey, at least they're getting a school!) and thought that maybe my future replacement might (hint hint) want to do a well construction project. But then...I found out about Appropriate Projects and learned that the well idea could definitely become a reality for my village in the little time I have left there.Today, I submitted the proposal for the school well to Appropriate Projects. My humble request to you all is that you go to to the website and learn more about this innovative organization. I believe in the work that they are doing and give them my stamp of approval as an organization that one can give money to without worrying about their money getting lost somewhere in the abyss of the international development machine. And, of course, helping people achieve access to sanitary water is a cause to get behind.Barring any major faults on my part, my proposal should be up on the website in a few days. You can donate directly to my project (the total for the entire well for the school is $500) from here: Check it out, give some money, everybody wins. Please and thank you!

I just made the best holiday newsletter ever with the Merry Newsinator from Plaid! You can too. Share with friends and spread love like salt on an icy sidewalk.

http://www.merrynewsinator.com/5lo

Guess what? Ramadan starts this month.

I don't have to like it, I don't have to enjoy it, but I do need to prepare for it, and that involves me typing this pathetic blog post in a desperate attempt to gain your pity, which ideally will manifest as Ramadan survival care packages being sent my way. I have no shame.

For a variety of reasons, I have decided not to partake in the melodrama lose-lose transaction that is otherwise known as Ramadan. I (somewhat) fasted last year (for about 2 weeks) and can say firsthand that my experience during Ramadan last year was sub-optimal at absolute best, and that's even a stretch.

Last year, partly because I wanted to score bonus points with my family and partly because of the unique opportunity I have here to learn about Islam (nearly upwards of 95% of people here are Muslim), I decided to attempt to participate in Ramadan and all of the madness that goes along with it. In order to legitimately fast according to the rules in the Quran while also avoiding what I feared to be significant health damage to my already malnourished and angry body, I simply learned to be duplicitous in my fasting. Although the rules about fasting during Ramadan are few and simple- no consumption of food, water, or even spit (yes, spit) from sunrise to sunset- I decided to be a maverick and interpret the rules in my own pampered, pagan way, since after all, that's what I am.

I decided right from the get-go that waking up before sunrise to eat breakfast with my family was just not something I was even remotely interested in. I mean, I'm not even Muslim, for crying out loud. And it's pretty much common knowledge to anyone that knows me that I get very angry when my sleep gets arbitrarily interrupted. I classify religious dogmatic practices as "arbitrary," and as such, I choose to continue my normal morning routine: wake up, make coffee, make breakfast, prepare to exit my hut and face the world.

This, of course, is cheating; but that was the best effort I was prepared to make. I cannot fathom any reason that could ever possibly motivate me to follow all of the fasting rules for Ramadan with any degree of seriousness, but found it was best to pretend otherwise.

During Ramadan, I cheated in the mornings and legitimately fasted for the rest of the day: I would wake up at a decent hour (after sunrise, of course), eat oatmeal and drink coffee within the confines of my hut, and then exit my hut and fast for real with everyone else in my village until sunset. Well, I guess I never really took the "can't even swallow your own spit" rule to heart, mostly because in addition to being the most ridiculous rule within the entire idiocy that govern a Muslim persons life (with a few exceptions) during Ramadan, it also just seemed tedious.

I fasted in this manner for about a week. It wasn't so bad, really. It sucked pretty badly not being able to drink water, given the fact that this is AFRICA and, in general, GOD AWFUL HOT ALL THE TIME, but I wanted to push myself, so I held out.

For the most part, the fasting I did was bearable. Much to my surprise, it didn't lead to my immediate death, which was a nice victory. I felt like crap from head to toe much more frequently as the days wore on, however. My self-imposed deprivation also put me permanently on edge. Moody, angry, depressed, nauseated- you name it. I was a pleasure to be around, I'm sure. Yet all of that melodrama was not even the worst part of this lose-lose cultural exchange; it was just the most depressing part.

The element of this fiasco that proved to be the most demoralizing happened at the end of the first week. Upon exiting my hut one morning, the first person I saw skipped all morning greetings (that never happens) and immediately asked me, "what's wrong with your face?" Nobody wants to hear that first thing in the morning. Or ever, actually. I never look in the mirror when I'm in the village, so the fact that there was something gross on my face was news to me. When I finally located my mirror, the sight I saw was -at that time- gross enough to be the worst of all the other "ugly face explosion" atrocities that I had encountered in this country. My entire face was covered in a disgusting heat rash. Apparently my body decided to get back at me for depriving it of the all-too-important source of life that we call water. Looking at my disgusting face and knowing that I did it to myself was definitely a low point. Right then and there, I decided that I would lift my ban on drinking water during the day, but I would only drink water in secret. I don't think I was fooling anyone, but for the rest of the time that I claimed to be legitimately fasting, I would periodically "go to the bathroom" throughout the day- "going to the bathroom" being code for "pathetically chugging water in the privacy of my douche." I am happy to report that my face healed, in time, with no permanent damage, unless of course you count the damage done to my ever-shrinking dignity.

All in all, my diabolical fasting experiment proved successful for about two weeks (if "success" can be measured by survival). Forced starvation and dehydration made me a crankier, scarier person than I already was. It's not uncommon. Turns out, it happens to lots of people. By the end of the month, the people in my village were just grumpy, mean, annoying, and impatient, significantly more so than usual.

Ramadan is the harvester of sorrow. There. I said it. It's true. My opinion has not decreased in intensity over the past year whatsoever.

So that's get's us to the present. Ramadan will most likely start August 21st, depending on what the moon decides to do. I am not looking forward to Ramadan in any way, shape, or form. Shocker, I know. I do not plan on attempting to fast, nor do I plan on lying to anyone about it. People will give me shit, but I just don't care.

I am already mentally preparing myself for Ramadan: I know I won't be able to get much work done, I know that I am going to be annoyed with Senegalese people and Senegal in general, and I also know that I am probably going to go hungry, since lunch is going to be a difficult meal to come by for the entirety of Ramadan. Like it or not, this means that in all likelihood, I will often be forced to fast, anyway.**

Unless, of course, my loving friends and family in America (that's you all) take pity on me and send me Ramadan survival care packages. I know it's pathetic to so shamelessly petition like this, but I'm not above begging.

There is a handy dandy wish list on the right column of this screen with plenty of ideas for potential care packages. It's not terribly expensive to mail large envelopes, and there are also two different sizes of international flat-rate boxes at the post office. Anything helps. Thank you, in advance. Thanks for caring about my mental and physical well being, and thank you for reading this post of shameless begging and (hopefully) not judging me too much for it. Finally, thank you for putting up with me. Every little thing- letter, package, phone call, ect- means so much to me and brightens my life in a very significant way. So, thanks for everything you all have done for me in the past, and thanks in advance for anything in the future.

Hope everyone is happy and healthy and enjoying the last few weeks of summer!

(Sidenote: Luckily for me, I can afford to loose a few pounds. I'm not in the red zone, so it's not like I'm going to starve to death, as much as I might be making it out to seem that way.)

Here's how you get to my village: 2 hour car ride, bike 20K on a paved road, then bike 5K on a really quality bush path. The entire bike ride is gloriously flat, the road never floods, and there are approximately 2 patches of sand/mud on the entire journey that could be considered less than pristine.Here's how my friend Daniel get's to his village: Yes, that's me in the picture. Yes, I'm fording a river. No joke. That's how you get to his village: fording a river and biking 30K up a mountain. Geez.

When Daniel and I were getting ready to leave Kedougou for his village, he said, "make sure you wear clothes you don't care about, because you'll be filthy by the time you get to my village." I said, "Ok" out loud, but what I really wanted to say was, No fing shit, Daniel. I didn't forget that this is Senegal, you know. Normally, filthy just means "covered in sweat and dirt/mud." For Daniel, however, "filthy" means "chin deep in ambiguous river water."

Anyway, after biking a few kilometers, we reach the river. I looked for a bridge of some sort, but was suprised when I didn't see any. "What do we do?" I ask. Daniel, the most positive person I've ever met, just smiles at me and says, "we cross it." Oh, right, right, we cross it. Sounds like a good idea. I stare blankly as Daniel sets down his bike, holds his backpack over his head, and begins to walk to the other side. I'm alarmed when I see that the water is all the way up to his chest. He's several inches taller than me, and it seemed very likely that the water would be over my head.

Figuring that there was only one way to find out, I put my ipod/phone/camera in the top of my backpack, put my backpack on my head, and carefully made my way to the other side. I was so very happy to find out that the water didn't go over my head, which insured that my iPod- and the rest of my lesser important things- made it safely to the other side. Thank God.

Daniel was already back on the other side at that point, and I watched dumbfounded as he lifted his bike over his head and began to make the trek back. Shit. We have heavy mountain bikes, by the way. I realized that there was no other way to cross and that I had to be strong enough to do this myself. So, I get to the other side, attempt to lift my bike over my head, but can't do it myself. This is going to suck, I correctly predict. Luckily, there was a kid on the bank that helped me get the bike over my head.

I then began to ford the river, wholly aware of the absurdity of the entire situation. My arms shook a lot but managed to hold out, much to my surprise. I had been certain that I didn't have the strength or endurance to carry my bike like that all the way to the other side. Certain. I usually have a fairly realistic gague as far as realizing what I am and am not capable of, so it was a pleasant surprise to be wrong. I simply had to make it, and I did.

I joined the Peace Corps largely because I wanted to become more capable and self-reliant in life, in general. It's really important to me to be able to know that I can take care of myself. I was in no way prepared for the obstacles it would take here for me to learn these lessons, but I've been here for almost a year and a half, and I've survived. Thrived, even. It took fording a river for me to realize how far I've come, but it was a happy realization.

Anyway, the fording of the river is really all I wanted to write about. The pictures from the rest of the trip- which include an amazing waterfall and views from the top of a mountain- are here:http://picasaweb.google.com/AmberGPatterson/Dindafello

Malaria season has arrived, and so pretty much all of my work right now is devoted to malaria-related activities. The 20,000 nets that Peace Corps Senegal collectively raised money for have finally arrived in Dakar and are being brought out to our sites every day. Our country director recently sent an e-mail saying that he and my boss, the Health Education program director, presented to the USAID and CDC US-based President’s Malaria Initiative team this week, and they said that Peace Corps Senegal volunteers are doing more than any other group of PCVs in the world to fight malaria deaths and illness. That's pretty cool, right? Our country director has done a great job of collaborating with other NGO's. We are working with USAID, NetLife, Against Malaria, Malaria No More, and World Vision to hopefully be able to achieve universal coverage in health districts all over Senegal. He even said that there's a good chance that through this coalition it might be possible to have enough resources for a universal coverage campaign this year for the entire health district of Velingara, which just so happens to be my health district. I'm so excited for the next couple months. Malaria-related work is the area I am most passionate about here, and it is also the most fulfilling work I do. I just got a call saying that the nets for my village are being delivered tomorrow, and I couldn't be more excited! Well, actually I could maybe be a little more excited, and here's why:

A few days ago I went to my friend Jessica's site, Malem Niani, to help out with her mosquito net distribution. She had 1,000 to distribute, and so 2 other volunteers and I went there to help her out. She organized everything really well, and so it seemed like it wouldn't be that tough of a job. Man was I wrong. Her town has 2 neighborhoods, one has mostly Pulaar people in it, the other with mostly Mandinka. Jessica and the two other girls that came all speak Mandinka, so I was put in charge of doing the Pulaar half. There was one other girl that came with me to help, but she was just a friend visiting Jessica who obviously didn't speak Pulaar and so couldn't really do that much. Jessica's host father and another health worker from that town were also supposed to help me out with crowd control and whatnot, but they did not do anything that I would even remotely think of considering "helpful."

Here's how the distribution was supposed to go: I had a list of every head of household in the Pulaar neighborhood with the corresponding number of mosquito nets requested for each family. There was a little math involved, but nothing a first grader couldn't do. There was a column on the right with the total number of nets each family needed, a column on the far left with the number of nets each family received during a recent national distribution which gave mosquito nets to pregnant women and kids 5 and younger, and then a blank column in the middle. A + X = C. Not exactly rocket science. Sounds easy enough, right?

Logistically, we had a table to sit at in a fenced in area that would have been perfect for limiting the number of people in my face at any given time, but Jessica's dad and the health worker didn't agree. While we were still setting up our demonstration net and getting everything ready, people started wandering into the gated area where we were. I told them that we weren't ready yet and kindly asked them to wait outside, but in a trend that was doomed to happen over and over again, nobody listened to me. You know who they would have listened to? The two Senegalese men who were there for just that reason. So, I asked Jessica's father to ask the people to wait outside, and he responded by saying, "oh, it's ok, we haven't even started yet." It was the first battle in the people of Malem Niani's war against me.

We got everything set up, and I tell them that we should start. Well, not without Jessica's dad taking the paper from me and telling me how to do my job. I tried to stop him, but he ignored me. He seemed to be of the opinion that because I'm a woman and he's a man, he is automatically the authority and I automatically am incompetent and inferior. It's a nice feeling, really, to work with people who think you're an idiot. Happens all the time. Anyway, after he tells me how to do my job we decide to back outside and get started because, hey, the Senegalese people are already there.

As I walk back out to our table, I see at least 50 Senegalese people hanging out in the closed off area that I had planned to use as a barricade so that this exact situation would never happen. There's no way I could have got that many people out of there without the help and authority of Jessica's dad and the health worker, but they are both socializing with people and I can't even get them to look at me. As I take stock of the situation, the one singular phrase that went through my head was "Holy fing shit." However, those were not the words I spoke. I just sat down, looked around, and attempted to take control of the mob. I don't know why I thought it would work, but I attempted to get the mob of people surrounding me on all sides to form a line. That was a bad choice. Now that I'm thinking about it, I've been here for almost a year and a half, and I have never seen Senegalese people form a line. The closest thing I've ever seen to a line here is at the bank. There's a guard with a gun in there at all times, and he even has to hand out numbered tickets to get people to not swarm the poor tellers there. The guy with the gun can't even get them to line up by his own authority, yet I still tried. I guess it's just the American in me. The reason I wanted to barricade them in the first place is because I didn't even consider the remote possibility of allowing everyone in at the same time and thinking that they might be orderly in any way.

I immediately realized that I had no control over these people, so I just decided that I might as well get started. It can't be that bad, I thought. I looked up and asked the first person I saw for the name of their head of household, which proved to be more difficult than it seems. First of all, it was often the women or kids that came to pick up their family's nets. No matter how many times I said, "head of household's name only," people still would tell me names that weren't on the list. So, I'd ask if they were absolutely sure that the name they gave me is the name of the head of their household and then check the list numerous times, just to be sure. At this point, I realize that the person in question is just giving me the wrong name, but Jessica's dad is sitting on my right, and the health worker is standing behind me, and they both repeatedly insist that I just look harder. Say the name I'm looking for is Amadou Diallo. The list was in alphabetical order by first names, so all I had to do was look on the first page. The Senegalese men I was surrounded with did not seem to grasp the concept of alphabetical order, and therefore repeatedly yelled at me to look at the other pages, for chrissake. I finally got on as much of a roll as was possible, but iit was still way more difficult than it should have been.

An executive decision was then made by Jessica's dad, who, of course, knows what's best, and I am ordered to just start calling out each name on the list. I mean, by that point basically every person on that list was jammed all around me, so it seemed that it couldn't possibly be any worse of a method than the one we were currently using.

What ensued can only be described as unadulterated chaos. [Jessica came over to check on us at one point and was horrified at what she saw. She took the above pictures but was too overwhelmed by the mob to really capture the insanity of the situation.] I started yelling out each name, and would say it twice just to make sure that everyone heard me, or at least had the opportunity to hear me if they weren't engaged in their own conversations. For reasons I'm not quite sure, Jessica's dad was in a very big hurry. Senegalese people, especially those who live in rural areas, are never in a hurry. Literally never. This guy, however, was. I tried telling him to calm down, but by that point had learned that his ears were inaudible to my voice. In what I can only believe had to be an attempt to see just how much I could take, he then begins to alternate screaming at me to go on with yelling at me to slow down. I couldn't do anything right. It was without a doubt the most needlessly stressful experience I have ever had in this country. I found myself just wanting to take a nap right then and there. But I (of course) didn't do that. I could always sleep later, after I finished crying.

I could go on and on describing the ensuing maelstrom of events that continued to kick my ass that day, but I think I've said enough. Suffice it to say that it was a full-on horror show that made me want to thow things. Things like daggars at all of the people who didn't respect me because I'm a woman, or because I'm young, or whatever other myraid of reasons they might have had. By the end of it all, I barely had a voice, had absolutely no love in my heart for Senegalese people, was seriously questioning why I ever came to this country in the first place, and, for the first time in my life, was so stressed out that I wanted a cigarette.

The good news, though, is that I know that soon I will be able to laugh about it all. Sometimes, when it seems like things couldn't possibly suck any more, I just tell myself that eventually I will be able to laugh about whatever the situation is. And it's true. For example, at one point during all of the madness, I just couldn't take being yelled at anymore and decided to stop everything and count to ten. Out loud. In Pulaar. God, those people must have thought I was crazy, but at least the yelling stopped and I got to take some deep breaths. It certainly was not fun to have to remind myself to breathe. And think rational thoughts. But now, it's already pretty funny to me.

The one thing that I still am frustrated about, though, is how nobody said thank you at all that day. They didn't realize or appreciate how many people went in to making this happen for them, and it really bothered me. It made me realize that I am somewhat skeptical of the effectiveness of a program that hands out free nets to people, whether they want them or not. Yes, insecticide-treated bed nets can protect people from being bitten by malarial mosquitoes while they sleep, thus significantly lowering malaria infections and deaths. No one is disputing that. Of course the over 20,000 nets that we Peace Corps Senegal volunteers are bringing into our communities will make progress on malaria, but I can't help but wonder if giving out mosquito nets like Santa Claus is just too easy. Last year, mosquito nets didn't arrive at all to the entire region of Tambacounda, so people had an excuse for why they didn't have one. This year, mosquito nets are coming, inschallah (God willing). I just want these nets to get to those who both value them and need them.

Maybe my doubts are unfounded. Yes, I am personally delivering enough mosquito nets for every single sleeping space in my village. Yes, they may not in fact value their mosquito nets as much as ones they would have purchased with their hard-earned money. But guess what? I'll make them value their pretty new nets! I will make sure that every single net that you all helped raise money for is properly hung and utilized. I will harass them until they realize it's less annoying to sleep under a mosquito net than be bothered by my incessant nagging every night. I guess that's where this Against Malaria strategy wins and other aid agency's fail; whereas the majority of aid administrators and celebrities blindly give hundreds of thousands of nets away every year to god-knows where, Against Malaria nets go to specific communities where their effectiveness or lack thereof can be evaluated.

Now that I've had a few days to think about the distribution in Malem Niani and my upcoming distribution in my village, I've calmed down a lot about things. My mosquito nets will be here tomorrow, and I'm so excited! The driver is going to take them to my village tomorrow, and I will probably start distributing the nets on Thursday, that way I can have time to help out other volunteers in the region who have much larger distributions to do. I've decided that I'm going to go door-to-door to distribute the nets, rather than doing it all at once. I figure my village is small enough for that to be a feasible option, and by doing it door-to-door I will be able to make sure people hang their nets correctly and do mini health talks with each person. This way I will also be able to make sure that they don't have any standing water (mosquitoes breed in water) and that their compounds are swept clean (mosquitoes also like to hang out in dirty compounds).

After I get done handing out the nets, I am planning on doing a big health talk with the whole village about all things malaria. I'm going to show them how to make homemade mosquito repellent lotion and give lots away as party favors.

Thank you to all of you who helped raise money for these nets. My village is going to be so very happy, too. Check back here in a week or two and hopefully I will have pictures and video posted of my distribution. And thanks, again for making all of this possible.

Happy (belated) 4th of July! I went down to Kedougou- a city a couple hours south of Tamba, if that means anything to you- for their annual 4th of July party, and it was a really fun time. Alan, one of the Kedougou region volunteers, organized a 5K for the morning of the 4th. There was a pretty solid turnout by volunteers and Senegalese people alike. Just to clarify, when I say Senegalese people, I mean Senegalese men. I think that the day a Senegalese woman participates in a race alongside Senegalese men and a bunch of toubabs (whitey's) is a ways away.

Anyway, as we all predicted, the Senegalese people dominated. The guy that won finished in like 8 and a half minutes. That. Is. So. Fast. I was a long ways away from the finish line at that time, but I'm told that it was several minutes before the second person finished. 14 Senegalese people finished before an American finally crossed the line. That is just domination. Oh, and, that guy, Alan, just happened to be the guy who organized the run because he is a crazy runner and has done several triathlons and I think even marathons, too. Whereas my goal was to finish without dying first from my hangover or heatstroke, Alan was in it to win. But (of course) it's not like the finishing times for the majority of the rest of us volunteers really mattered, since we didn't really view our shot of winning and/or beating Senegalese people with any degree of seriousness, we were not clutch. I guess I just am not giving the Senegalese people enough credit, but I was pretty surprised that they did so well.

So, after the rest of us finally finished, Thomas, another Kedougou volunteer who helped organize everything, got on the microphone and talked about when Independence Day was, how many states there are in America- not 52, which a surprising number of Senegalese people will argue- and other bits of random American history. Then we had an awards ceremony. The prize for first place was 3 (live) chickens, and I think the Senegalese guy was pretty stoked about that. The other winners all got Obama paraphneillia; flip flops, t-shirts, hologram belts. Yes, I said Obama hologram belts. Isn't that awesome? There is so much Obama stuff here it's borderline ridiculous.

Anyway, after the awards ceremony Thomas spoke a little about what the Peace Corps is and the different kinds of work we do in that area. Then, we gave away little American flags, which I promptly saw someone begin to use as a tooth stick, the things that they use to brush their teeth here. We also gave out neem cream, which is a homeade mosquito repellent. All in all, I think the run was a great idea. The Senegalese people had a good time, got some free stuff, and learned a little about America and the Peace Corps. Not bad.

The rest of the day/night was devoted to partying back at the Kedougou regional house and celebrating America. The link to the pictures is here:http://picasaweb.google.com/AmberGPatterson/4thOfJuly#

Hi everyone! I hope this post finds everyone in good health and spirits. It's been a while since I've posted anything on here and I figured I should post something just as proof that I haven't fallen of the face of the earth.

As you all know, I was in America from the end of April to the beginning of June. I wish my visit could have been under happier circumstances, but I was still happy to get to do some fun things and see much missed family and friends.

It was pretty surreal being home. I mean, I had been totally immersed in Senegalese culture and was thus in various stages of shock at being suddenly thrust back into America. I stayed with my mom and marveled at how easy life seemed with round-the-clock electricity and all the water and television I could want. Even though Oklahoma in May gets decently hot and humid, no one seemed to smell. I took sightseeing tours of supermarkets, oohing and aahing my way up and down the aisles after more than a year of deprivation. It seemed both normal and unreal to transition back to life in America and all its urban-sprawling, soul-killing efficiency. It was great to sleep in my amazingly comfortable bed, but I oddly missed going to bed when the stars were clear above my stick bed and waking up to a rooster crowing, often while staring right at me about 2 inches from my mosquito net. At the end of the day, regardless of the unexpected news that sent me back to Tulsa so abruptly, I was so very happy to be able to attend Ashley and Amanda's wedding.

After more than 2 months of being out of my village, it was great to get back. I think they were shocked that I actually came back, but I guess I can't really blame them for that. As soon as one person from the village saw me approaching on my bike, everyone ran out to the bush path to greet me with, "Bintaje arii!!" (Binta came!) over and over again. Binta is my name and Bintaje is a term of endearment that they always use whenever I return to the village, even if I just left for the day. Given that I had been gone for a considerably longer time, everyone came out to greet me, some women danced, and everyone greeted me in the most heartwarming way. Every person that greeted me made sure to say, "Yo Allah yaafi Allah yurmi," which means, "may God forgive him and comfort him." They all knew that my dad had passed away, and I really appreciated their sincere blessings. At the risk of sounding too Koombaya, I truly felt that I had finally come home. I just am so lucky to have been placed in Kountanto (my village). I honestly feel at home when I'm in the village, because it's not just this place that I happen to live and work in; it's my home. I really love the people there and I'm fairly certain the feeling is mutual, which is certainly far from the situation with certain "family" members of mine in America. My family in Kountanto knows more about family- love, compassion, respect, generosity, ect- than several people who, as the result of what can best be called a technicality, I happen to share DNA and a last name with.

I showed everyone pictures I had brought back from Ashley and Amanda's wedding and they were very impressed. Senegalese people LOVE pictures. There's a whole routine that goes along with how they view pictures: First, they touch the people's faces in the picture. They then point to each person and start by asking if the person in question is me. It's so funny because more often than not, they are pointing to a man when they ask. It was borderline acceptable when they would do that to pictures of Michael and I because all of the pictures I have of us are of me with long hair and Michael with, well, Michael hair. You just do not see men with shaggy hair here, so I guess it threw them off to see such pretty hair on a man. Anyway, after they figure out which one is me, they ask who everyone else is, in terms of familial relationship. Pulaar's have ridiculously huge families, and I am constantly getting introduced to "my sister's dad's second wife's niece" or something equally mind boggling. As I've said, I have a tiny family in America, so when we get into "second cousin once removed" terrority, especially in another language, my eyes start to glaze over. Very early on I realized that it would save me time and confusion to just tune out when anyone explains their relationship to anyone, least of all me. I just have a quick daydream, wait for them to finish, then say, "Ohhh, I get it now" and then aknowledge that this person is family. Anyway, so when they asked me who, say, John, my dad's sister's husband, was, I mumbled some indiscipherable Pulaar and then just said, "you know, family." They had some pretty funny comments about the pictures that I certainly found amusing and think that the involved parties might get a laugh out of:

-picture of Ashley, Amanda, Brenda, Bill, mom, and I : after I had just explained who everyone was and how we are related, one of my host sister's points to Amanda, who she clearly identified as the bride, and then to John and asks me, "is that your brother?" Geez.-solo picture of Ashley and Amanda: "He doesn't have any hair! Just like [controversial Senegalese President who changed election laws so that he could, in theory, stay President until he dies] Abdoulaye Wade" to which I respond, "yes, exactly the same as Abdoulaye Wade." They then looked at his clothes and said, "wow, your brother is patron (rich)." I got a good laugh out of that.-picture of Flowers and I: I found myself having the exact same conversation with one of my host brothers as I had with so many people, most notably Amanda's mom, at the wedding: "Who is that?" "My friend Matthew""Just a friend?""That's what I said""But maybe in a few years....you know...he could be your husband"-One of my friends told me that my dress was very pretty and then asked if I brought it back to the village. I told her that no, I didn't bring it to the village because it is just a little to risque, showing my scandalous knees and all. I asked her what she thought people would do if I ever wore that dress in the village, and she matter-of-factly answered, "they would probably cry." She said it completely straight faced and without any sarcasm. She really meant it, and that makes me laugh a lot.-I'm fairly certain that at one point someone pointed out my mom and identified her as my brother's wife. Now that's just weird.

Anyway, that covers the high points. The link to my pictures from the wedding is here:http://picasaweb.google.com/AmberGPatterson/AshleySWedding#

Enjoy!

I've been in Senegal for over a year now and I haven't asked for any money from you all, my generous family and friends, the entire time.  Well, that was fun while it lasted but all good things must come to and end.  

AgainstMalaria.com has agreed to sponsor Peace Corps Senegal for 6,500 bednets.  On Monday I got the exciting news that my village gets to be a part of this distribution!  So, with the help of AgainstMalaria.com's generous price-matching program, we are getting mosquito nets at the bargain price of $2 each.  My village needs 138 mosquito nets, which means that I am responsible for raising $276.  And that's where you all come in.

Did you know that nearly 3,000 children die every day in Africa from malaria? Three thousand kids! That's a 9/11 every day!  How much money would it take to stop a preventable 9/11 from happening every day in Africa?  I think I can safely say that it's way more money than you or I or anyone we know has.  But if all of you can get behind this cause and give what you can to it, the aggregate amount and its effect will be significant.  Nets are a simple, life saving solution, but we need your help to provide them to those in need.  $2 to buy, distribute, and educate...so little to save a life, and you can help.  

You can donate directly at www.AgainstMalaria.com/AmberPatterson

If you all can help me raise the $276 for my village, there are other volunteers who could use your help, too.  We are all grouped together and you can make a general donation at www.AgainstMalaria.com/PCVs6500.

Thank you in advance for your help! 

By now it's no secret; I'm not so great at this whole blogging thing. I keep saying that I will start writing posts more frequently and apparently that is just one big lie. I'm working on it, I promise. I will write more often. Inschallah. Anyway, here's what interesting/productive things I've been up to since my last post:

-> In early February, I assisted Laura, my site-mate -aka the volunteer who is my closest neighbor- in 3 day sexual education training, unofficially known as "Project Combating Unwanted Teenage Pregnancy in Middle Schools using Peer Educators." Basically the teachers at the middle school selected the best and the brightest students from each class to attend the training and then act as peer educators and thus pass on their knowledge to their fellow students. I wish I could say that this was my idea, but it was all Laura.  Sustainability is a big concern for all of us as Peace Corps Volunteers. The great thing about this project is that instead of Peace Corps Volunteers individually doing trainings, the peer educators will, thus hopefully creating a sustainable situation in which students can train students every year, even after Laura and I are gone.  

Anyway, the training covered the following sex ed topics: adolescence and puberty, the menstrual cycle, family planning, STDs and AIDS, techniques for leading a health talk, and parental responsibility.  We implicated the health post nurse in the project by inviting her to teach certain sessions and bring condoms; the other sessions were led by teachers and Laura.  For the rest of the school year, Laura and I will meet with the peer educators to plan sensibilisations (trainings) for their own classmates.  We assigned one sensibilisation topic and a date each month.   

All in all, it was a really successful training. Honestly, Laura deserves most, if not all, of the credit for this entire project.  My role during all of this was not as much to relay information but to make sure that the sessions were participative and inciting discussion. Also, I really just wanted to be there so that I can plan another training like this one by myself next year. ->Mosquito net distribution project.To make a long story short, for some reason, incompetence is my guess, when mosquito nets were distributed to health centers in Senegal last year, the entire region of Tambacounda just got left out. What that translated into was that during the rainy season, one of my main jobs was to encourage people to buy and use mosquito nets. Well, even if I did manage to convince people to use mosquito nets, it didn't matter because they couldn't by them anywhere. Not the best situation. 

So, Trever, who is an urban health volunteer here in Tamba, took matters into his own hands and somehow got connected with an NGO in America that is going to send us mosquito nets for next year (for free!). In order to get numbers, though, we all had to do community surveys to get exact numbers of beds/sleeping spaces for each household in our villages. I got the numbers for my village in, and if all goes according to plan, my entire village will have brand new mosquito nets in time for the rainy (malaria) season. I'm pretty excited about that.

->WAIST (West African Invitational Softball Tournament) Lots of great pictures here: http://picasaweb.google.com/AmberGPatterson/WAIST2009#

February 13-16 was WAIST in Dakar.  It was pretty much spring break for Peace Corps Volunteers from all over West Africa. It was really fun because the volunteers from each region in Senegal had their own team, complete with ridiculous themes.  Our theme was “Peace Corporate” and just about everyone, myself included, looked preposterous. Volunteers from other West African countries had their own teams and themes too, also mostly ridiculous and/or inappropriate. In case you’re wondering, team TambaGou (our team) didn’t win a single game.  Our priorities were more along the lines of having a good time...It was a lot of fun, as you can probably tell from the pictures, but it was kind of a culture shock to be around so many Americans for so long. I can't express it, but by the end of the tournament, I was just ready to go back to the solace of my village.

Judging from the pictures, one might get the impression that it was just a week of out of control partying and a break from any "real" development work. Though that's a fair presumption, we did manage to combine having parties and raising money for SeneGAD, the gender and development organization of Peace Corps Senegal Volunteers.  One night the US Marines in Senegal hosted a date auction/party at their house; we auctioned off several of our more brave Senegal volunteers, and the bidding wars that ensued raised hundreds of dollars for SeneGAD.  The next night, the Dakar region volunteers rented out a great club in Dakar for all of the West African volunteers to attend.  They charged an entrance fee and worked the bar, with all profits going to SeneGAD.  It was such a fun party. So many people were there, and everyone was drinking heavily, and though it sounds weird to say, the money raised from our excessive drinking at that party raised more than $2000 for SeneGAD.  All of this money will go to help funding things like girls scholarships and leadership camps. At least now don't feel as guilty about leaving my village for a week long drinking binge. =)

->HIV/AIDS Life Skills WorkshopThis workshop was really amazing. I have pictures posted http://picasaweb.google.com/AmberGPatterson/LifeSkillsAIDSWorkshop# and I just don't have it in me to write any more right now....I will write more later, inschallah.

That’s about all I can muster right now, but I hope that everyone is healthy, happy, and safe. I love and miss you all!

PS Jilliann is coming to visit me in approximately 2 weeks and I couldn't possibly be more excited about it!! 

So it is still technically the "cold" season here and guess what the temperature is? 100 degrees. Awesome. Not very cold, right? That's what I said.

With that in mind, some friends and I are biking to The Gambia today for soft serve ice cream. It's about a 40 kilometer bike ride from my village to The Gambia, but if all goes well, it will be worth it. However, nothing is really going as planned. I was supposed to meet 3 other volunteers in Velingara, a town 20 kilometers from my village, this morning at 11. From there we were planning on biking the remaining 20 kilometers to Basse, The Gambia. However each of the 4 of us have had some difficulties getting here.

As for me, as I was biking out of my village to the school this morning to meet my French tutor, I got a flat tire. Great. So, I walked my bike about 3 kilometers to the school and was very late for my French lesson. After the lesson I was planning on bikng here (Velingara) to meet my friends, but instead I had wait on the side of the road for a car to take me and my broken bike here. When I finally arrived, I paid someone to put air into my tire and happily went to meet my friends. About 15 minutes later, though, I realized that in my absentminded rush to meet my friends, I left my backpack at the bike place. So, I turn around, walk all the way back to the pike place, get my backpack, and go back to meet my friends. Unfortunately, however, as I was walking away, my tire immediately went flat again. I was very annoyed and very hot at this point. I met one of my friends, who told me that she had forgotten her passport in her village and was contemplating biking back to get it. The two other people we were waiting on were having transport difficulties and said they wouldn't be here until this afternoon. So, to make a long story short, we had time to kill. At the present moment my bike is being repaired and will hopefully be fixed by the time we all are ready to leave here.

As for the ice cream, aside from transportation issues, we also have to hope that the electricity came on today in Basse for the guy to prepare it. Apparently the electricity only comes on from 6am-10am and 6pm-10pm there. So, yesterday we had to call the guy and tell him that we were coming and make sure that he knows to prepare the ice cream. Additionally, we called him this morning to remind him again, because apparently he has to prepare the ice cream in the morning when the electircity is on and then wait for the electiricty to come back on in the evening to serve it. The elctiricty often doesn't come on at all here for no good reason, so we are placing a pretty big bet on the fact that the electircity comes on both times today and stays on long enough for this guy to make and serve the glorious ice cream.

Since we have to wait until the evening to have the ice cream, we are going to have to spend the night there. Luckily there is a Peace Corps house there that we can stay at for free. Tomorrow, after biking back here, Im going to go to my friend Holly's village to help her with a mosquito net project we are doing here. Unfortunately my internet time is running out, but I will write more about the mosquito net distribution project we are doing next time I come to the internet.

Hope everyone is having a great week!

Hello all!I've been really busy lately and haven't had much of a chance to write any new blog entries.  In lieu of a blog, here are some links to pictures I have recently posted:

http://picasaweb.google.com/AmberGPatterson/December2008

http://picasaweb.google.com/AmberGPatterson/Christmas2008NewYears2009

Enjoy!  PS if you are reading my blog and would like me to continue writing it, please let me know. Thanks and hope everyone is having a very happy new year!

I know it's a little late, but I just wanted to wish everyone a happy Thanksgiving! I also would like to write a little about my pilgrim-style Thanksgiving experience here.

So, there were 3 main options for big American-style (what other style there is, I don't know) Thanksgiving celebrations here in Senegal; the Peace Corps regional houses in the North and in Kedougou were both were planning big dinners, or we were all also invited to dinner at the Ambassador's in Dakar. I was planning on going to the one closest to me in Kedougou, but the day before just didn't really feel like making the journey and honestly just felt indifferent about the whole Thanksgiving celebration here. My friends Josh and Tracy also felt the same way, so

we decided to stay here and cook our own Thanksgiving dinner.

The cooking was interesting; we didn't have much to work with as far as making "traditional" Thanksgiving dishes with ingredients from the market. Also, Tracy and Josh are both vegetarians, and I'm not a pilgrim, we didn't have a turkey. I lack the know-how and desire to go through the process of "live turkey in the market" to "Thanksgiving feast turkey on the table." Those skills are required here just as much as they were for that first Thanksgiving, and I'd rather just go without.

The celebration of Thanksgiving is not just about eating good food, though. It's also about giving thanks and being with people you care about. With that in mind, we decided to invite some guests to our celebration: Sara, a woman who is doing research for a Fulbright here and her husband, our favorite guard El Hajj, and two other Senegalese men, Pap and Ibrahaima, who are not only great friends but also very helpful to Tamba volunteers in a variety of ways.

I've never really done much of the "lets all say what we are thankful for" in past Thanksgivings, but this year I was all about it. I began the giving of thanks by saying how thankful I was to be surrounded by so many great friends: thankful to be in the same region as Tracy and Josh, thankful to learn about and be able to help Sara's Fulbright research, and especially thankful for the special relationships I have formed with the Senegalese people we invited.

I then went on to say that I'm thankful for this entire Peace Corps experience- the highs and the lows- and for the personal growth phase I am going through right now. I'm thankful for friends and family that haven't forgot about me and make sure that I know it. I'm thankful for so very much, I could go on and on, which is also something to be thankful for. Eventually I stopped being sentimental and let everyone else have their turn, and it was just such a touching experience to go around the table and hear what everyone was thankful for. Spanning nationality, religion, and culture, and so much more, there were general things that we all gave thanks for- the families we were born in to and the families we have made, health, food on the table and love in our hearts.

This was my first Thanksgiving away from home, and I expected it to be hard for me, but having dinner with so many interesting, dynamic people from such different backgrounds really felt like the true spirit of Thanksgiving to me. What I want to say is that this Thanksgiving was the first time that I have seriously thought about how much I have to be thankful for. It's taken me almost 9 months, but I am finally becoming energized and engaged and comfortable here. What I've learned recently is that the frustrations, disappointments and heartaches I experience here will eventually be made up for by the fascinations, euphoria's, and revelations. I'm in the fascinations, euphoria's, and revelations stage right now and couldn't be happier.

Much love to all of you, and Happy Thanksgiving!

So far, any health work I've done in my village has been very informal and not very well received. Even if I have helped educate people in my village about health topics, I really haven't ever felt like I've made that big of a difference in their lives. I recently was able to do some very fun and fulfilling work outside of my village, helping my closest neighbors Sara, Sharon, and Erin do a girl’s leadership camp in Koumpentoum, the departmental capital of Tamba. The three of them had written and received a grant for this camp and subsequently planned most of it all before I even arrived to Tamba, but even though I wasn't a part of the initial planning stages, but I was able to help with its implementation and it was very gratifying, to say the least.

The idea for doing a girls leadership camp stemmed from The Michele Sylvester Memorial Scholarship Fund program, which is funded by friends and family of Peace Corps Senegal who are committed to girls' education in Senegal, many of which have experienced the real circumstances when it comes to girls education here. In short, there are many economic, cultural, and social barriers that keep girls from attending and succeeding in school. UNICEF estimates that almost two-thirds of women age 15 and up in Senegal are illiterate, and that only 16 percent of Senegalese girls finish elementary school and go on to secondary school. With that in mind, scholarships are awarded at the middle school level only and are based on the girls' GPA, motivation, need, and location. Each girl receives a grant of 25,000 CFA (app. US$ 50) to help with school supplies, uniforms, and other school-related costs. The whole application, interview, selection, and awarding of scholarships process is done exclusively by Peace Corps volunteers. Approximately 30 scholarships are awarded annually throughout Senegal, enabling the recipients to have access to continued education and all of the possibilities that come along with it.

After the scholarships were awarded, Sara, Sharon, and Erin were looking for a way to further interact with the girls who had been nominated but didn't win. They chose to do a girls leadership camp to motivate and encourage all of the girls involved in the nomination/scholarship process in their studies. There were a total of 20 girls invited to the camp; 12 girls from Koumpentoum and 8 girls from Kuchaba, a town 30K into the bush from Koumpentoum. The broad goal our camp was simply developing and encouraging life skills such as communication, decision making, thinking, managing emotions, assertiveness, and self-esteem building.

Special thanks to:

Sara's parents in America for having 50 shirts made and sent for the camp.

Front: Girls Leadership Camp, Koumpentoum 2008

Back: Girls Education: To Give Them The Power To Pursue All Of Their Dreams

Thanks also to:

-Some of Sara's previous co-workers for sending 2 whole boxes of notebooks for the girls. -Katherine Suri and members of The First Presbyterian Church of Mountain View, CA for their generous donation of pens, pencils, and stickers.

All of these donations were greatly appreciated by all involved and allowed us to make gift packages for all of the girls. Thanks for your help!)

On the first day of the camp, the girls arrived and received their gift bundles of t-shirts, pens, pencils, stickers, and notebooks. We then introduced our panel of successful women, which included a midwife, teacher, leader of the girl’s academic excellence club in Koumpentoum, and radio station technician. These women then each talked about the obstacles they had faced, how they were able to overcome them in order to get to where they are now, and their plans for the future. After that, we had a question-answer session with the girls and the women on the panel. I think this discussion was really motivating for the girls because the women on the panel were all from the Koumpentoum region and had similar upbringings. Their success showed the girls that they too have the same chances for personal liberation of unprecedented dimension and opportunity.

The next session was basically an introduction to the topic of gender and was led by Erin, a volunteer whose drive and dedication to the development of Senegal makes her not only a great role model for fellow volunteers (aka me), but also for the girls at our camp. She began by describing the difference between "sex" and "gender roles". We then handed the girls "gender cards" with words such as: control, strength, caring for the sick, violence, work, money, cooking, religion, intelligence, leadership, ect. We told them not to look at their cards until we said "go!" at which time they were to tape their cards in what they thought to be the appropriate area on a board we had made that had "Female" and "Male" on different sides. She then asked the group if everyone agreed on the placement of the cards, which sparked debate among participants regarding how the culture views certain activities in terms of gender. After asking the opinions of all participants, most of the cards were eventually moved to the area in between "Male" and "Female," an area that nobody had even originally thought to be an option when they originally decided where to put their cards.

Erin ended the session by having the girls list some of the gender roles expected of men and women in Senegal. They then discussed challenges to current gender roles and ways to foster change within the community and culture. I think it was a really great session and helped the girls to realize that gender is determined by culture- it is how the community wants you to behave and think based on whether you are a man or a woman. Complete changes in attitudes about these issues probably didn't happen from this session, but it at least formed a base for the beginning of the girls' thought processes around these issues and how they affect their lives and futures.

After this session, Michele, Sara, and I went to pick up lunch and made were laughed at by all of Koumpentoum as we walked from the cook's house to the community center we were using for the camp. White girls with bowls on their heads are always an entertaining sight for Senegalese people.

For the last session of the day we showcased Elle Travaille, Elle Vit! (She Works, She Lives!), a documentary produced by Peace Corps volunteers highlighting achievements made by five women from poor families. The objective of the film is to promote, among young Senegalese girls, the idea that it is possible for everybody to succeed, regardless of their family’s financial situation. USAID loaned us a projector and it was so amazing to watch the girls- many of whom have never watched or seen a TV- see this documentary. It is very well put together and interesting and I would highly recommend it to any of you all who are interested in this topic. It's in French but there are English subtitles, and the website is http://www.peaceonlyproductions.blogspot.com/.

After the video, we had dinner and then had a dance party, which was lots of fun for all involved; Senegalese people love to dance and also love forcing American's to join in, and then laughing at/with us for our lack of rhythm. The second day was amazing because Awa, who is the culture/homestay trainer for the Peace Corps in Thies, came all the way to Koumpentoum to lead sessions for the day. I cannot explain how much I personally love Awa.

We have a special bond; she helped me through some issues I had during training, installed me into my village. But my love for Awa is beside the point. She is one of the women featured in Elle Travaille, Elle Vit! , and it just a great role model and motivator for young women.

She led sessions on developing life skills such as good communication and negotiating, making appropriate decisions, thinking through the consequences, and delivering assertive messages. She split the girls into groups and gave them hypothetical situations- a father refusing to let his daughter continue going to school and arranging an early marriage, rape by a family member, ect. - and had them perform skits based on how they would deal with the given problem. These skits and following discussions really helped the girls develop critical thinking skills and taught them a number of alternatives in dealing with difficult situations.

After Awa's sessions, we had a recognition ceremony for all of the girls at the camp. We invited their families, gendarmes (police), teachers, principals, religious leaders, and other community members. Erin led most of the ceremony and began by thanking everyone for their support and talking about the importance of girls’ education and empowerment. She then recognized each of the girls, and then two of the groups with the best skits preformed their skits for the audience, followed by all the girls singing a song about women's empowerment. After all of that, some of the teachers and community members made brief speeches and thanked us for our work with the girls and just thanked us over and over again, then thanked the Peace Corps, then thanked America, and one teacher even ended his speech with, "viva America! Viva Obama!" which I thought was a nice touch.

It was just really nice to hear all of these important people say thank you to us and that they appreciated our work. It's just not something you hear very often here, and even though I didn't even play that big of a role in the whole camp, it was still the most heartwarming, "maybe I am doing some good here, after all" feeling. I can't really explain it but I really think it's true that as a volunteer, you get just as much as you give out of your work.

The rest of the photos from the camp are posted here:

http://picasaweb.google.com/AmberGPatterson/GirlsLeadershipCamp#Hope all is well with you all and keep in touch!

So. I shaved my head, as many of you know. Contrary to what some of you may be thinking, no, I haven't completely lost my mind. I know, I know, the odds aren't exactly in my favor: remote village in Africa, no electricity/running water/cell phone reception, nearest white person/person that speaks English 45K away, ect. BUT, for the time being, I am clear headed and in touch with the real world. Well, most of the time. Anyway, since it is kind of a radical thing to do and some of you may be interested, I thought I would write a little bit about it on here.

First off, I have no idea why, but ever since I found out I was going to be coming to Africa, I always joked that I wanted to shave my head. I really can't explain why that idea ever came into my mind, but I never seriously thought about it more than thinking it would be cool to do.

In May of 2007, 3 months before I was originally supposed to come to here, I cut 10 inches of my hair off for Locks of Love. My hair was really long at the time, and I figured it was a good idea to cut my hair off before I came here. Anyway, I absolutely hated my hair that short. The great thing, however, was that any time I got upset and felt ugly, I just reminded myself that I cut my hair for a good cause that I really believed in. Here's the basic info about Locks of Love from their website:

Locks of Love is a public non-profit organization that provides hairpieces to financially disadvantaged children in the United States and Canada under age 18 suffering from long-term medical hair loss from any diagnosis. We meet a unique need for children by using donated hair to create the highest quality hair prosthetics. Most of the children helped by Locks of Love have lost their hair due to a medical condition called alopecia areata, which has no known cause or cure. The prostheses we provide help to restore their self-esteem and their confidence, enabling them to face the world and their peers.

So, even though I hated how I looked then, I just kept telling myself that my hair will always grow back, but for the with alopecia areata, theirs won't. So, I got over it. As an added bonus, a few months later, my mom donated her hair, too.

Fast forward to Senegal. For the first few months, as many of you know, I really wasn't happy here and came very close to ET'ing (et = early termination) on several occasions. I always said, though, if after IST (in service training) in August, I went back to my village and was happy and felt confident that I would be able to stay for the full 2 years, I would shave my head. Well, I had some ups and downs and plenty of "am I doing any good here? is this worth it?" moments, but I got through all of it and feel stronger because of it.

The biggest contributing factor to me shaving my head was simply because here in Senegal, my hair was a hassle and nothing more. This is what washing my hair in the village would entail: rationing water for a few days and saving up enough to wash my hair (no way was I going to pull and carry more water on my head just to wash my hair: that's hard work), then shampooing and conditioning it via bucket bath, and then beginning the battle that was combing out the various knots/dreds that had formed since the last time I had washed my hair. Oh, and to add to the fun, being naked and thus a huge target for mosquitoes, flies, bees, and the like during the whole ordeal.

The other reason I wanted to shave my head was the fact that I have only attempted to wear my hair down on two occasions in this country, and have only succeed once because it's just way too hot to have hair on your neck here. Yes, some people with long hair do wear it down here, some even on a daily basis, but for me, I would just rather be a little bit cooler and have my hair up than sacrifice my comfort in order to feel pretty and have my hair down, you know?

So anyway, the other day I was washing my hair and being grumpy about it, when I had a brilliant the brilliant idea to shave my head and be Britney Spears for Halloween. I mean, I needed something to motivate me to turn thought into action, you know? I thought about it for a while, and then the thought came to me that my hair was probably long enough to donate to Locks of Love. When I came to Tamba, I measured checked the Locks of Love FAQ and measured my hair, and sure enough, my hair was long enough. So, with a lot of moral support and a little booze, I made up my mind to do it. That night my friends took turns cutting my hair off (and into a mullet, then a rat tail, just for fun, too), and then the next day two of my good friends went with me to the barber shop to buzz the rest off.

Everything happened so fast, I didn't really have time to freak out about much of it. I did cry when I looked in the mirror after my friends cut it all off. I freaked, felt like I had just made myself so ugly, and was really angry at myself for doing it. That had to happen at some point though, right? Anyway, I eventually got it out and that was the end of the tears. The next morning I woke up and my first thought was that I didn't want to look in the mirror. I then proceed to have a pep talk with myself and promised myself that from that point on, I wasn't going to say or think anything negative about my hair. It wasn't easy and I definitely slipped a few times, but I have really been making an effort to stop beating myself up so much in my head about my hair, body, competence, ect. Sometimes I really can be my own worst enemy and it has got to stop. One of the main reasons I joined Peace Corps was to work on myself, especially my self confidence.

It's crazy how hair affects not only our appearance but also our identity. I am trying to find my true self, and not being confident in my looks or who I am is not going to be part of that true self. I finally have come to realize that there is no duality in life, there is no separation, only the whole. I can't be strong and independent and still beat myself up about my appearance. Slowly I will rebaptize self-inflicted negativity as self-confidence.

I read this quote recently and it really rang true to me:

“If I am not for myself, then who will be for me? And if I am only for myself, then what am I? And if not now, when?”

So, that about covers everything. Only one person so far has asked me if I'm a man or a woman, so that's a plus. At the end of the day, hair is just hair and I'm happy I did it.

Here's the link to the pictures of it all:

http://picasaweb.google.com/AmberGPatterson/ShavingMyHeadHalloween2008#

I posted some so pics from my friend Sara's Birthday party in Tamba.

http://picasaweb.google.com/AmberGPatterson/SaraSBday#

Part of me is hesitant to write about the challenges I have been faced with this month in any specific sense. Part of me wants to keep what I write on here as positive and un-bitchy as possible, but another part of me is all it’s my blog, I can post whatever the hell I want, I can abstain from posting whatever the hell I want, I don’t owe anybody anything. Furthermore, it's a good story and ultimately a good example of the kind of adversity that I came here to experience- the kind that truly tests me. Here goes:

The village I live in is probably typical of many rural villages in Senegal and the rest of Africa. The people in my village are isolated from most outside influences, and this isolation manifests itself in completely unpredictable ways. In broad terms, the isolation of rural villages here provides avenues for world views that are both specialized and universal, and it has particularly validated world views that are patently unreasonable.

For example: In my village, without exception, parents buy special necklaces called gre-gries for their babies. These necklaces are purchased from the local witch doctor and are believed to protect the babies from harm. No problem there, right? Well, one day I was told matter-of-factly by someone in my village that gre-gries are much more than good luck charms: This person claimed that if someone shot a gun at a baby wearing a gre-grie, the bullet would "bounce off." What?! Luckily, gunshot wounds don't really pose a threat to babies here, but I would hate to see that theory tested. I said something to that effect, in an attempt to shake some logic into this person, but everyone else within earshot backed this person up and thus prompted a spirited debate about the "powers" of gre-gries. It was me against the village, and logic was no argument for them. They claimed that "people they knew" had actually seen the invincible shield qualities of the gre-gries against gunshot wounds. A mind-numbing percentage of Pulaars actually believe this, and our debate went on for several minutes, finally ending in a stalemate when I realized that I had absolutely no chance in changing their minds about what is ultimately a harmless, though completely illogical, belief. At the end of the day it really just bothered me that I had to prove something this elementary. And prove it to people to whom I could never hope to convince.

That's just a glance into the absurdity of Pulaar beliefs, but what about the folks who actually take this crackpot logic as irrefutable fact? I spend a lot of time with them, and I can honestly say that most of them are decent, well-intentioned people. The other day I found out that in some cases, they're just dangerously deluded.

This particular day started out like any other day during Ramadan. For me, this meant sitting under the tree in my compound all day attempting to appease the people in my village by socializing with them. What actually happens, though, is they talk over my head while I daydream and pretend to be intrigued with whatever they are saying, which I'm pretty sure isn't fooling anyone, since they all continue to discuss daily the all the progress I am failing to make in my Pulaar.

ANYWAY, I was just sitting there, not paying attention, when my host father came up to me and told me he wanted to show me something in my next door neighbor, Mama Igne's, backyard. He is always doing this sort of thing, coming up to me with this goofy look on his face and then proceeding to show me something insignificant that he thinks I will be amazed by. Sometimes it's an empty Fanta bottle he found, sometimes it's a dirty potato someone gave him; it's always something completely random but it's kind of endearing because I can tell that he thinks that seeing these things will make me happy because he thinks they will remind me of home.

So, with this in mind, I followed him into Mama Igne's backyard and obeyed when he told me to walk towards her douche area. Much to my horror, that tricky bastard had me walk right up to what appeared to be the brand new home of a bunch of big, scary snakes. For reasons I'm not really sure of, I didn't freak out that much. I sort of just abruptly turned around and got the hell out of there. Actually, now that I think about it, I wasn't that scared because I was positive that my dad was for-sure immediately going to get his machete and kill every last one of them.

If you're like me, when you see snakes, especially snakes in Africa, you want them dead. So, when I asked what I thought to be the perfectly logical question, "Well, aren't you going to kill them?" I was shocked when he said no. I then asked every other man that was in our compound at the time the same question, and when they all said no, I realized that things were about to take a turn for the worse.

What I could never fathom, and still can't, really, is the reason why nobody would kill the snakes: Pulaar people, at least the ones in my village, believe that if they kill a snake, their cows will die. To put this in context, it is worth noting that Pulaar people are herders. Owning a cow is the only real source of wealth any of the men in my village will ever have. Therefore, cattle are often the top priority. Maybe I'm overly sensitive, but I couldn't help but feel personally insulted when I found out that cattle even outrank me. That's a bitter pill to swallow.

I should have known it would be futile, but I attempted to reason with them. I mean, here's a fact of life: There are 9 different types of deadly snakes in Senegal. Yes, deadly. Especially for children and especially for people in remote villages -like the one I now call home- that are hours away from emergency medical care.

What's so disquieting to me is the fact that the only thing separating me from these snakes is a shoddy bamboo fence that is barely taller than I am and often falls down when it rains. Considering that, and the fact that getting over what I believe is a perfectly reasonable fear of deadly snakes is not on my "Personal Growth While In Senegal" to-do list, those were awfully depressing circumstances.

So, I thought, clearly there are problems here.

But it gets worse.

The thing I couldn't stop wondering about was how everyone universally decided to believe this farfetched madness. I don't wonder how they came up with this belief, because that query clearly has no answer. However, I still wonder why everyone decided to go along with it. How could everyone agree on something that could not be justified by anyone?

Finally, I can't take it anymore. I needed to process all of this, so I decided to go into my hut and write in my journal about everything and hopefully calm the F down. Instead, I walked into a full-on horror show when I set foot in my hut and saw something that was about 100 times scarier than the snakes I just saw- a prehistoric looking creature, about 3 feet long, probably 20 pounds, what I could only describe as either a freakishly huge lizard or a small crocodile. A few days later my friends in Tamba informed me that this monstrosity was actually called a monitor lizard, but that's actually beside the point. The point is, I walked into my room in an attempt to calm down, already mildly outraged about the current snake situation, only to find this huge, scary crocodile-looking thing come out from under my desk.

Now, I know that it might be called a monitor lizard, but this creature acted nothing like the lizard he is supposed to be. All of the lizards I have come in contact with in Senegal are great because they are horribly skittish and run as fast as they can away from any human they see. Not this guy, though. There I am, trying to ascertain the relative danger of the situation, and this freak is just staring me down. This is the only time my life that I have ever truly been paralyzed with fear. I mean, this is a problem few Americans will ever face: What do you do to avoid what you feel will be certain death? If you try to run, he will certainly be able to catch you, and then do god-knows what. For all I knew at the time, this thing probably was capable of any combination of breathing fire and engulfing me in flames, eating me, beating me to death with his tail, and probably many more unthinkable atrocities. There is no protocol for this kind of situation.

I faced the problem like a man and yelled for my older brother. I doubt if this kind of domestic exchange is common in places that are not rural Africa.

Anyway, my brother sees how freaked out I am, and given that he knows there are lots of snakes in the very near proximity of my hut, he is annoyingly hesitant to even come to my hut. Honestly, I really thought that Pulaar men were made of tougher stuff than this. He finally puts his shoes on and walks over to my hut. He asked me what was in my hut, but my speech had temporarily left me. Furthermore, even if it hadn't, I didn't know what this thing was called in English, let alone Pulaar. All I could muster in Pulaar was, "it's big, I'm scared." Finally he gets to my hut and sees it, and tells me that I shouldn't be scared.

At this point, I'm so pissed that I'm actually balling my fists in anger. I say, "I don't care if I shouldn't be scared, get it out!" My brother finally gets a stick and shoos it into my backyard and finally out of my douche area, through the same hole in my fence that the fer apparently entered through.

Now, I don't think of myself as overly prissy, but it bothered me to find this creature hanging out in my room. I was especially annoyed by the fact that my host father didn't seem to believe that the hole in my fence was big enough to bother fixing. I finally threw a temper tantrum as best as I could in Pulaar, and he compromised by shoving an old piece of wood in the hole, which of course was the most half-assed job ever.

That night, I was too scared to take a bucket bath, use the bathroom, or sleep outside. Since I don't have screen doors on my hut, I felt that the only safe decision for me was to sleep inside with both of my doors shut. It was ridiculously hot, I was paranoid, and didn't sleep at all. Furthermore, I was way too scared to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Somehow, though, I managed to not pee my pants and hold it until the morning. Well, at least I've been warned. From here on out, every casual trip to the bathroom has been turned into a scary game of snake/monitor lizard roulette.

The next day, I came to Tamba and have been here ever since. I have bought supplies to get screen doors made, and hopefully that will happen very soon after I go back tomorrow. The thing is, I'm still scared to go back. I just don't feel safe at all. I thought that spending some time here in Tamba would help me to relax and not be so stressed out about everything, but it really hasn't. The fact of the matter is that when I think about going back to my village, it makes me want to cry. I'm sure everything will be okay, but right now I just don't know.

So, that, in a nutshell, is The Story With The Snakes. Not that, you know, any of you were wondering but I felt the need to get it off my chest.

There. That’s better.

Maybe I'm just a big baby, but I honestly don't feel like I'm blowing this out of proportion. I am just going to keep telling myself that I'm tough. I can take it. Even the worst, crazy-filled, stressed-the-hell-out day. I'm lying to myself, of course, but I'm just going to abide by the fake-it-till-you-make-it philosophy.

Happy Ramadan!

Today is the first day of Ramadan for the roughly 1 billion Muslims in the world. Being raised in a Christian family Oklahoma, the "buckle of the Bible belt," my knowledge and experience of Islam is embarrassingly scant. That said, all I really know about Ramadan is what I've learned about how it applies to me and will affect my life and work here in Senegal, but I hope to learn much more about it while experiencing it this month in my village.

Ramadan is one of the 5 Pillars of Islam, meaning that every Muslim- with some exceptions- is required to fast from sunrise to sunset for the entire month. It sounds partially feasible to fast from food all day, right? That's what I thought when I heard about Ramadan until I found out that the Koran also requires Muslims to fast from water as well during Ramadan. Let's think for a minute about where the majority of the worlds Muslim population is located: The Middle East and Africa, places where the environment is harsh and life is generally not easy- aka in the desert. Never in my life before coming to Senegal have I had to be this consciously diligent about my water intake. I drink water here like it's my job. I sweat so much here that if I don't drink at least 3 liters of water a day I get a huge dehydration headache. I know I'm a pansy from America and that as a general rule Senegalese people are on average 500% more hardcore than I am, but they also have not had a lifetime of good nutrition and proper medical care, either. No matter who you are, nothing good can come from not eating or drinking water all day in the desert.

The thing that shocked me, though, is that apparently nobody cheats. Maybe my thoughts will change after experiencing Ramadan in my village, but everyone I've talked to about Ramadan in Senegal has told me that cheating just isn't an option for Muslims here. What's more is that people who are not required by the Koran to fast during Ramadan- pregnant and nursing mothers, children, the elderly, menstruating women, sick people, ect.- often still fast. The Koran lays out who exactly isn't required to fast, but it's not really a Get Out Of Jail Free card; those people are required to "make up" Ramadan when they are well, but they have to do it before the next Ramadan. The problem, then, becomes that nobody wants to make it up all by themselves. During Ramadan it is easier to fast because everyone else is fasting. When you have to fast alone, though, I would imagine that it sucks that much more because in addition to everybody else is eating food and drinking water all day long in front of you, there's also no sense of community suffering and motivation.

There are many obvious health concerns for people fasting when they are not supposed to. I have been told that they are many miscarriages after Ramadan because pregnant women often still fast. Children who decide to fast become that much more malnourished and unhealthy. Breastfeeding mom's often don't have enough nutrients to produce milk to breastfeed their babies, therefore resulting in more malnourished babies and potentially a higher infant mortality rate. You get the point. It simply isn't healthy for these people to fast, but they often do anyway, often to detrimental results.

The main problem I have with Ramadan is that many people in rural areas of Senegal don't even know anything about Islam. Because 95% people here are Muslim, it's easy to see how one would be Muslim just because that's how it's always been for their family and for their village. In the big cities in Senegal and pretty much everywhere in Northern Senegal, there are Koranic schools and Mosques everywhere. Parents often send their children to Koranic schools in these areas to learn about the Koran and how to read, speak, and pray in Arabic. I can only really talk about what I've seen in my village, but from my experience there it is pretty much safe to say that nobody there except for maybe 1 or 2 old people know anything about the Koran or Islam. They don’t go to Koranic schools and thus haven't learned how to speak Arabic, which means they don't know how to say the 5 daily prayers, which I can only assume from what I've seen and heard means that they don't do them. If they don't do or know how to say the 5 daily prayers (another one of the 5 Pillars of Islam), why do they find it necessary to put themselves through what I can only assume is the sheer torture that is Ramadan. I just don't get it. I mean, it's the same thing with lots of Catholics in the States during Lent. I've known tons of people who claim to be Catholic but never go to mass or confession and really don't practice anything their supposed religion preaches, but as soon as Lent comes, they are talking about what they're giving up for Lent. I didn't understand it then and I don't understand it now.

I could very easily go off on a tangent about people blindly following religion and never thinking for themselves, but I will save that joy for another day. I just wanted to write a blog before Ramadan to let you all know what's going on in my life this next month.

As for me, I plan to attempt to fast for a few days or maybe even a week, depending on how well my body holds up. I will not, however, fast from water; that's just crazy. The main reason I want to attempt to fast is because I've been told by other volunteers their fasting really helped them get close to their host families and villages, not to mention giving them some street cred in their village. I definitely want to get closer to my family and my village, and if fasting for a couple days during Ramadan will help me do that, I'm all for it. Also, when in my life will I ever get to experience Ramadan in Senegal again? A big reason for my joining the Peace Corps was to gain perspective of how people live here, and there's no better way to get that perspective than from doing the things they do.

One night during IST, I left the training center and went to my homestay in Thies. When I turned down my street, though, there were hundreds of people in the street and it looked like something bad was about to go down. The children were screaming "TOUBAB!"-the equivalent of "whitey"- at me much more than usual and they seemed really riled up. I had to walk my bike because there were so many people in the street. En route to my house, I saw this seemingly crazy guy with all kinds of trippy face paint and a really weird costume. I also heard music and drums, but it just sounded like Senegalese music that people play every day.

When I finally got home, I asked my family what was going on, but I didn't understand what they told me. One of my host sisters decided to show me what was going on, so she took me to this area that was blocked off by a huge tarp. This was where the madness was occurring. There were hundreds of people in this blocked off part of the street watching the crazily painted and costumed men dance and just be crazy. At some point, I got yelled at and told to leave because apparently it cost money to get in. Anyway, so I got money and paid them and then went back in.

The guys that were dancing were just plain scary. There were all kinds of crying children in the crowd, and I was pretty frightened myself. The painted men kept coming over my way with an apparent agenda of "let's scare the whitey." I tried to just act unaffected and tough, but I still had no idea what any of this was all about. The guy that was singing sounded like he was singing the songs that the mosque plays on it's speakers all the time. I thought that it was maybe a celebration for a particular Muslim brotherhood, (there are lots here, with people very proud of their Iman and corresponding brotherhood) but my family said it wasn't about religion and just kept asking me if I was scared. I thought to myself, "should I be?" Since I had no idea what was going on and my family couldn't explain the madness to me in a way that I understood, I was kind of freaked out. A little while after it got dark, the singing and dancing ended and everyone went home safe and sound. Random.

The next day at the training center, I showed one of my Senegalese friends the pictures and asked what the madness I had just experienced was all about. Culture? Religion? Nope. She pretty much told me that it was the travelling Senegalese circus. There is a cultural element to it, though. I guess in the past, when there were still lions in Senegal, they would bite humans and then the humans would go crazy- probably from rabies- and take kids from their parents and then make the parents pay to get them back. Anyway, that process continued and evolved into what is now the Senegalese circus. The preformers used to "steal" kids from their parents during the circus, but I guess about 20 years ago in one of the performances a kid actually got killed somehow. Anyway, now it's mellowed out slightly. The pictures are pretty cool, though.

Here's the link to the album with these pictures:

http://picasaweb.google.com/AmberGPatterson/IST

And here's a link to some videos I took:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3D_aw_wztFo

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8UP2uLL2XLU&feature=related

I also posted new photos in the Fara album:

http://picasaweb.google.com/AmberGPatterson/Fara

and Tamba House album:

http://picasaweb.google.com/AmberGPatterson/TambaRegionaHouseFun

Enjoy!

Every time my mom calls me, she always asks, "have you thought about what you're going to do for your big project?" To which I tell her that I'm not going to have just one big project, but rather many different projects during my next 2 years here. Oh, and then I also tell her that I have absolutely no idea what I'm going to and that the mere thought of beginning health work in my village overwhelms me in every possible way.

Up until this point, I haven't been expected to begin any work in my village. The first 3 months at site (my village) were just supposed to be for getting to know the community and improving my Pulaar. This past month was In Service Training (IST) in Thies. IST was great and I feel like I learned a lot of important things that will hopefully be useful to my village during my service. The scary thing, though, is that I am going back to my village in a couple days and will finally be expected to actually implement those things. I mean, where do I even begin? Furthermore, I still can only communicate with the people in my village at the toddler level, at best. How am I supposed to be holding health classes and conveying useful information? I know that my language skills are improving every day and that I can't really do that much formal work until I am better at communicating in Pulaar, but I want to be ready now.

The first 3 months at site, I didn't feel guilty about just concentrating on learning Pulaar and not doing any work, but now, when I return to my village and am expected to begin working but can't because my Pulaar isn't good enough yet, I feel like a slacker. Good news for me, though; the month of September is Ramadan and since my village (along with 95% of Senegal) is Muslim, they will be not eating or drinking water from sunrise to sunset and will pretty much be tired all the time and not interested in doing anything in addition to their daily work. From what I've heard from volunteers that were here last year for Ramadan, I'm pretty much off the hook as far as health work goes during Ramadan, which will be ideal for me. I plan to spend Ramadan really working on my Pulaar and conducting an informal survey of the 450+ people in my village to get a better idea of their wants and needs. I plan to ask each family about how many children they have, their ages, how many children of theirs have died, which of their children are in school, if the family has a mosquito net, and if they have a proper latrine. These questions are all related to project ideas I have.

For example, I have been told that the infant mortality rate in my village is much higher than the Senegal average. There are many problems that stem from or contribute to infant and child mortality. In most cases, infant mortality in Senegal is due to dehydration from diarrhea. Dehydration is also because mothers here don't usually exclusively breastfeed their babies because they don't know that breast milk is 90% water. Because children die in large numbers, households tend to overcompensate and have more children, often leading to very large families. Too poor to invest in the education of all of their children, families can only educate one child, usually the eldest son.

With these issues in mind, if I can convince new moms to exclusive breastfeed their babies and encourage ways to better nourish their children, it makes sense that the infant/child mortality rate will go down. If mortality rates go down, it follows that women will stop overcompensating and having more children than they can adequately support. Finally, with smaller families, girls can begin to have more of an opportunity to go to school instead of getting married when they're 15. I know that it will take many years for all of this to happen, but if the only thing I successfully accomplish here is getting new moms to stop giving their babies water, exclusively breastfeed, and continue good child nutrition, I will feel successful. The rural areas of Senegal are not going to develop and/or change overnight, but in time, with the proper knowledge, people will stop dying unnecessarily and start living longer, more prosperous lives. That's the goal, at least. I just want to do whatever I can to help be a part of that process.

Time to talk about my village and new home for the next two years. Anyone excited? I know I am.

Here’s some stats of my village:

Around 450 people

No electricity

No running water

60K to nearest internet

6K from main road

12K to electricity

Shady cell phone reception within village

I finally was “installed” into my village on May 19th. Installation is the Peace Corps term for getting dropped of in your village by someone from the Peace Corps admin. My installation was pretty standard, I think, except that I was so nervous/sick that I threw up twice in the car ride from Tamba to my site (roughly 60K). All throughout PST I kept having this vivid mental image of me just standing in the middle of nowhere in some random Senegalese village and just waving by myself as the Peace Corps car drove off into the distance and left me all alone to die, which was pretty much what happened, of course with the exception of me dying. It was pretty scary, and I will admit that I choked up when the car was driving away, but I pulled myself together and everything ended up being ok.

It's really hard to put into words what I feel/think about my village so far. Sometimes I struggle with just being there, but if I take it moment to moment, the days take care of themselves. During the first three months at site, we have been told to concentrate on integrating with the community and learning our local languages, and so that's pretty much all I've been doing- that and reading approximately a book a day, but who's counting, really? During In Service Training (IST) in August we will (hopefully) learn how to actually serve as efficient rural health volunteers. That said, here's what a typical day is like for me:

The sun and heat- combined with the sounds of women pounding millet, morning greetings and women gossiping as they walk to the well- wake me up.

I put away my mosquito net and outside bed, make instant coffee, maybe attempt to do some yoga, get dressed and psyche myself up to open the door to my hut and face the day.

Greet everyone in my compound (takes longer than you would think), and have breakfast (couscous and water sauce, everyday, without fail).

Go to the well with my host mom, attempt to help pull water, end up being told "a wawaaa" meaning "you can't/ aren't able to," hang out with the women at the well for a little while, get help putting my 20 liter bucket on my head and walk back to my hut, usually while being told "a wawaa" the whole way.

Hang out and attempt to be social, meaning at the very least sitting outside of my hut in case my family or any passerby's want to talk to me, and on good days meaning walking around to other compounds and greeting people, drinking tea, ect.

Get summoned for lunch by a small child who is to afraid of me to say anything other than "my mom called you." I always ask why, but the kid just stands there and looks like he/she (depending on whose mom is summoning me on that particular day) is about to cry and run away. "For lunch?" I ask, "yes or no?" I never get an answer, but I always am amused by just how scared some of these kids are of me, so I play the game everyday.

Walk to usually one of three compounds in my village for lunch, where I am told to "naam fof!" or "eat all!" and am harassed to no end when, to their daily surprise, I don't. Lunch, by the way, is white rice and peanut sauce. Every. Single. Day. If you look at my photo album entitled "Fara" there's a picture of this dish. You might mistake for mud or poo on first glance, but look again: that's my lunch.

After-lunch-sweat and nap.

Read, hang out, drink tea, maybe help pound millet with the women, maybe study Pulaar.

Evening trip to the well with my mom, repeat of the "a wawaa's."

Walk to place with reception and call Michael =)

Bucket bath

Lay down in front of my hut and fall asleep until dinner (couscous and water sauce again)

Listen to my iPod for no longer than 20 minutes (no electricity means I have to ration my happiness, aka my cell phone and iPod)

Sleep!

So there you have it: my typical day. It doesn't sound like much, but let me tell you I go to bed every night exhausted. It's hard right now because I still am not that great with Pulaar and so every moment of the day often is a struggle. I feel that I am constantly being reminded of the fact that I'm an outsider and am not good at their language. But I don't want to be an outsider. I don't want to have to psyche myself up every morning just to open the door to my hut. I'm just biding my time right now, attempting to learn Pulaar, and just waiting until the day where I feel comfortable in my village and can finally call it home. Bottom line, everything is going to be ok. This whole "integration" thing is a challenge I can overcome. I was told to expect to feel embarrassed, foolish, and sometimes inadequate. Because it’s all part of the experience. These trying times are what we eloquently call “adjustment”. They’re difficult, natural, and useful. I'm learning how to respond to novel situations and am learning a heck of a lot about myself in the process. And that, my friends, is progress.

I promise to write more soon about my village and health-related activities I have been doing (I promise, I’ve done productive things!) soon, but I hope that this post at least can suficie to catch you all up on what my day-to-day life has been like for the past 2 months. Thanks for reading and keep in touch, please!!

11 may

Hiyo friends and family in America! Yes, this is Amber, and yes, I somehow have managed to survive almost 2 months in Senegal almost completely unscathed. Are you all proud? I certainly hope so because I am not near hardcore enough for this country in any way, shape, or form, but am slowly but surely morphing into a quasi-hardcore PCT (Peace Corps Trainee).

I realize that this first blog post is a little bit late, but I just haven't had that much time and have not really been sold on this whole "blogging" thing. Anyway, the main reasons I am just now attempting to write and post my first blog entry are:

1. I'm really not sure if anyone will want to read anything I have to write. Even back in the good ole days when I could depend on those then unappreciated language parts of my brain to speak and write intelligently, I was never that great of a writer, so it’s pretty comical that now that I for some reason I still have not realized I decided it would be a good idea to attempt to write a witty, inspiring, and insightful blog (shaaaaa right), which leads me to reason #2:

2. I really don’t know why anyone would ever want to take time to read about the incessant jumbled mess of thoughts perpetually battling for attention and importance in my mind. I obsessively over-analyze everything and have a killer case of low self-confidence, which combined with my obscene indecisiveness can only lead to a cluster of thoughts that are probably a lot better off just staying inside my head, rather than being posted for all the world to see, and by whole world I mean hopefully at least 5 people that haven’t forgotten me back home and think I'm cool enough for them to want to keep up with what’s going on with me while I'm in BFE Tambacounda desert Senegal for the next 2 years.

3. I miss everyone of you all from back home and hate that communication is so unreliable here and I just feel like I’m losing touch with stupid stuff that I loved like work and boy gossip, you know? Just know that any seemingly stupid response here, face book wall post /message, or random e-mail never ceases to bring an incredible amount of joy and encouragement into my day and I really do appreciate knowing that there are people in this world who understand me and even miss me.

4. I have to say it. I’m more than slightly skeptical about this whole blogging trend and so naturally am especially wary of both the seemingly self-important people who write them and the creepers that read them. I really just hate the fact that people that blog appear to be trying way to hard to fashion portraits of themselves as curious, reflective, wide-ranging individuals. I would just rather spend my time reflecting and ranging wide.

For all of these reasons, I have only made a few feeble attempts over the past 8 weeks to even type out anything I thought anyone would be interested in reading but then just got annoyed with myself and stopped.

That, said, I’m going to attempt to hit the high notes of my past 8 weeks here in a somewhat cohesive manner, but I don’t really think in a cohesive manner anymore so I'm going to apologize in advance for my haphazardness.

I was going to write some about these past 8 weeks of training, but so much happened and I went through so much personally that I don't even know where to begin. I think I can best write about what's going on with me now.

On Friday we officially swore-in in Dakar and are now PCV's (Peace Corps Volunteers) instead of PCT's (Peace Corps Trainees), and I, for one, couldn't have been happier. I am so ready to be done with the rigid structure of PST and finally be in my permanent village and actually doing development work. I was supposed to be heading to Tambacounda with two other people whose sites are in the region on Saturday to hang out at the regional house for a couple of days and then be officially "installed" in my village on Tuesday, but I have to stay in Thies for another week of language training. Why? We all had language placement interviews last week and were required to test at least "intermediate low" in whatever local language we have been learning. I apparently only tested "beginner high" in Pulaar and so myself and 2 other volunteers have to stay here another week and take more language classes.

By the way, Pulaar is freaking hard, in case you were wondering. There were 3 of us in my Pulaar class, and out of the 3 only one person got intermediate low, if that says anything.

French is the official language in Senegal and hence the language of the formal education system. There are also 22 national languages. Pulaar du Nord, the language I have been learning, is spoken by about 25% percent of Senegalese people, according to Lonely Planet. It's a beautiful language, but it by no means comes easy to me like learning Spanish did. For example, the English language has 2 articles: "the" and "a." In Pulaar, there are 24. Yes, 24 different articles. There are articles for liquids, quantities, different types of animals, ect., and we won't even be learning any of these until IST (In Service Training in August). Awesome. I really feel like going on a rant about Pulaar right now and the many ways it's a linguistic nightmare, but I think it's best to not let all of my frustrations out here, right? The main thing I have learned throughout all of my language learning difficulties is that not everything comes easy to me, Pulaar being one of those things. In a frustrating way my daily battles with my attempts to learn Pulaar are actually humbling and daily lessons in perseverance.

I know I haven't really caught you all up on much, but I hope that you all enjoy the pictures I have posted and I promise to write more soon. Hope all of you all are doing well! I miss and love you all!