A lot of people have been asking me what are my future plans. Well, readjusting. And no, I'm not talking about readjusting to watching TV and eating decadent foods. There's no way for me to predict it, but I'm sure I will be a little shocked by SOMETHING in America. So, that's the summer.

This fall, I'm planning on taking pre-requisite courses for nursing school. Bio, Chem, Psych, etc. This may spill over to the Spring months, maybe not. As of right now, I'm staying at home in MN. And actually, I'm not ashamed to say that I will still live at my parents house. I like my parents!

Summer or Fall 2011, I will be starting nursing school. I'm not sure where just yet. Maybe Loyola in Chicago, maybe Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. Where ever I get accepted and get a good financial aid package.

So, that's what my future plans are. And, oh yes, to have two children, get divorced, and rack up thousands of dollars of debt.

I'm in Dakar. Living the sweet life, which is about to get even sweeter in 12 days.

I recently discovered that I am now famous! If you go to http://watercharity.org and scroll down you will see my lovely well and can read all about what I've been doing here for the last 14 months! Literally 14 months. The well was finally completed last week. So, now I just need some volunteer to go out to my village and take some pictures for me. Likely? Probably not. It's ok though, I want to go back eventually.

I also posted a few more pictures of the last days in my village. The album is complete with cute, African baby pictures, too.

This is the beginning of the end of my service! I have just one week before I leave my village for good. I mean, I would like to come back to visit for a few days in the future (like at least 5 years from now), but I will never again be living in Goudoude Diobe. Which I am VERY happy about. But, I'm sure I will miss it when it is no longer accessible to me.

Last night, the woman who I am named after gave me a silver bracelet, shoes, and fabric for an outfit because I am leaving. It was so sweet and touching. No tears were shed because I wasn't expecting it at all. And everyone else was smiling and happy. However, I think as the time grows nearer, I will be in a more fragile state of emotions.

I called a lot of my Senegalese friends from other cities and said goodbye to them. They were all so happy that I called, so that went well too. It's crazy to have to say goodbye to people here. Nothing like in the US. I said goodbye to all of you, but it was assumed that we would stay in touch via email, or facebook, or mail. But, here, there's a high illiteracy rate and no one from a village can really use a computer. And they don't have enough money anyways to go to a cyber to use the Internet or call my cell phone in America. So, it all rests in my ability and determination to stay in contact.

Who would have thought it would be difficult to leave? Not in the sentimental sense, which I don't doubt will be hard. Rather, the Senegalese make it nearly impossible to jump through all their hoops before you depart from this country. As if they needed any more BS.

I went to renew my residency card permit back in August or September because it had been stolen in May when my purse was snatched on a bus. So, I went to the local bureau in Matam only to be told, after three different air conditioned offices, that I would have to go back to Dakar to get a new one because that is where it was stolen. They had the official documents in front of them, but refused to do it. So, I refused to get it renewed. I don't need it. No one asks to see it.

EXCEPT, I apparently HAVE to have it in order to depart from Senegal. Think about this logically, I have to have a residency card to LEAVE. What? I went to the bureau in Dakar, only to be met with animosity. The man filling it out told me to come back at 4 PM. Normally, I wouldn't have had a problem with this. But, it's a fourth sheet of paper, that I could replicate if I really wanted to. All I really needed was the official stamp. Not to mention, he was filling it out in front of me! I asked if I could have his name, but he refused to give it to me. At that point, I gave up and just left. When I came back at 4 PM that day, the only thing that was different about the flimsy sheet was the dumb red stamp. Inflated sense of authority.

Today, I thought I would close my bank account to start the process of leaving again. Nope. I have to close the bank account where I opened it, in Theis. It's not that bad. I was planning on going to Thies anyway. But, they said they needed my check book and bank card in order to close the account anyway. I explained that my check card was stolen. They countered with, what proof do you have that it was stolen. I'm not kidding. So, I'll go to Thies. Deal with more BS probably and with any hope, I'll be able to close my bank account.

I'm not even sure that there is a word in English for tournee in French. Maybe the closest is rotation?

Anyway, Erin and I went around painting murals this week in different schools that were all benefactors of an NGO called Counterpart International's school food program. It was hot, but very nice to do something out of the norm. Counterpart provided the transportation to and from the villages and everything we needed to paint. I put up the pictures. They're in the folder labeled March 2010. By the fifth and final mural we had it down to a science. We could get it all done with in an hour and a half. Pretty impressive! We were also able to go to a lot of places we otherwise would never have gone to. I even got to try the school food and it wasn't that bad. I would go to school to get fed lentils everyday!

HOWEVER! The sleeping situation was a completely different story. It was a fiasco to get things concretely settled, but when we did, we walked to the Espace de Jeunes. There's an auberge there and one of the rooms has an AC unit. So, we walked up there and when we turned on the lights we were shocked, even for OUR standards. The sheets were dirty. The one towel in the room looked like it had been used to wipe grease from brakes on a car. And there was suddenly two huge furry things scattering across the floor!! MICE! I mean, bigger than normal mice, but smaller than rats. I looked at Erin and we agreed that we were NOT going to stay there. The mice were climbing on the mattresses and on the drapes. It was very gross. Then the kid that took us up to our room was like, "Oh, it's nothing. I'll kill them and then you guys can stay." We then said it was forbidden in our culture to sleep with mice and he seemed to immediately to understand. So, we thankfully, were able to stay at another volunteer's house. I should get a prize for being hardcore from the government at the end of this.

Who ever thought I would write that as a title!?! Home Stretch!?

I have 5 weeks left in my village, thank god. Yesterday, my trusty thermometer said it was 108 degrees outside and 100 degrees inside. Not to mention the wind that feels like God left his oven door open....It got hotter earlier this year.

So, with much chagrin, I have to ask all my friends and family to stop sending me letters and packages because they might not get to me in time. This is very hard for me to do, because I live for mail! But, I will be seeing all of your lovely faces SO soon!

I recently went to Dakar for our close of service (COS) conference and it left with a sad, empty feeling. All the people I came with to Senegal are leaving (some are staying!). I'm leaving all my friends that I've made here, both Senegalese and American. I feel established in this desert that is often compared to Hell. When I think about how much time I have left, I often am so excited to move on to the next thing in my life I can't bear to wait the 5 weeks. Other times, I have panic attacks that I don't really know what I'm doing and I'm leaving all this familiarity for changes and the unknown. But, I do know America! Right? Maybe America or the idea of "America" has morphed into something I think it should be and I will be disappointed when I get back....let's not think about that just yet.

P.S. May 8th, 2010 around 7 PM I will be in MPLS!!!!

PICTURES are up! Click on the link in the left hand side of the screen that says "Click Me!"

Early last week I had two visitors. My friend from my study abroad program in Switzerland, Jo, was visiting her sister, Iris, in Ghana because she was a study abroad student there. So, they decided to come overland to Senegal just to see me! It was really nice to be able to see a friendly face.

So, we went to my village. As soon as we started eating lunch that day, my stomach started hurting--BAD. It was cramping up and basically dehabilitated me. I was writhing in pain on my thin mattress saying how sorry I was for being sick and a bad hostess. I thought it would pass; it had happened before and was usually done with in an hour or two. Only, it didn't stop. I was still writhing when I finally decided to call the med office at 5:30 that evening. Our doctor told me to take some Cipro and see if that helped. Well unfortunately, I couldn't keep that down, nor any water or food. SO, I called back, explained and she said to see if I could get some kind of transportation out of my village. Unfortunately, by that time, 7:30, it was already dark and NO ONE would leave, even if I paid them extra. The doctor then decided she would call an ambulance in Ourosoggui, the closest town with a hospital 50 k away. So I waited. And waited. waited. waiting, still waiting....

At 12:30, after 9 hours of intense abdominal pain, a gutted sedan pulled up to my front door and ushered Jo, Iris and myself out of the village. It took about an hour and change to get there and when we did, I was exhausted, dehydrated and scared because I was in a hospital in the middle of the desert in Senegal.

I ended up getting a malaria test, which was negative, and an IV, which was TERRIFYING! First IV ever. I mean, it all ended well, but still, needles and Africa make me think of germs, etc....We had to stay in the hospital that night. Luckily, we had the room to ourselves. Unfortunately, there were no mosquito nets around or even a place to hang the one that I had brought with me from home. There was a huge hole in the wall where the AC unit used to be; therefore, shutting the door to keep out mosquitoes was futile. The sheets were stained with blood and other fluids. The walls were smudged with dirt. Made me want to go home to Minneapolis and leave Senegal far behind.

But! I survived. I am healthy, for the most part, now. So, it can be done. I later went to Dakar and stayed in AC with a nice bed and sheets, so I'm not struggling. But, it made me so happy that I can leave the lifestyle here. Living in a village without electricity really does make emergencies very difficult to fix. This experience showed me how to fix a situation like this, but it was definitely not preferable. I am so thankful for the facilities in the West and I can't wait to get back to them. I am also going to look into getting the hospital beds with mosquito nets because the number one reason people are there in the first place is malaria. See what I'm getting at?

My mom came to Senegal for a visit and just left yesterday evening. We had so much fun, some of which you can see by looking at my pictures. For Christmas, I got a new camera that looks like a submarine. Therefore, no dust particles or whatever will EVER get in it. I love it.

My mom was here for 10 days and we went up to my village, then worked our way back to Dakar. We were in St. Louis for Christmas, which was great. We were accosted by the typical Senegalese man trying to sell us pants, t-shirts, wooden, carved things, etc and it was funny to try and deflect them. “I give you best price. How much you give me?”

We saw lots of good art, ate SO MUCH good food, and spent mother-daughter time together.

Enjoy these links! I don't have the application on my computer to make one continuous movie, so it will just have to be these short clips for now.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o2AOozmgsoU

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zsnfgVliFe0

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9gP-D5hwN1M

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GtfYbAjtXuo

Lauren and I started in Thilogne and made our way down to the boarder crossing between Senegal and Mali. After our passports were stamped, our excitement heightened, and our energy level high, we started the trek into Mali. At first, the scenery wasn’t that much different from where we live in the Fuuta. But, then the Baobab trees began to appear and in the distance we spotted a mountain—a hill really. We reached Kayes at dusk and spent one night there in the Peace Corps regional house. Once there, we were impressed with how clean and empty the house seemed. We walked down the sewage-lined back alley to get our dinner: macaroni and meat sauce served in a black, plastic bag. Later, Zach met up with us and we planned the next leg of our journey.

Zach’s folks were visiting and we tagged along for the epic trip to Dogon. In the morning, after our sleepy greetings, we made our way to the bus station. That’s right—there’s actually a place where you go to get on buses that leave at specific times. It seems silly, but this is one of the things that made Mali so fabulous. Although the trip from Kayes to Bamako took us about 9 hours, it wasn’t so bad because I had great travel partners. Instead of getting frustrated, we just laughed at the craziness of it all.

We arrived in Bamako at about 7:15, so it was too dark to see the scenery. BUT, much to my enjoyment it started drizzling! It had stopped raining in the Fuuta the month before. Because it was Halloween, Lauren and I went to a Halloween party at one of the Bamako volunteer’s house. It was fun, but after a while, we were spent and needed some horizontal sleeping.

The next morning in Bamako, I looked out the window and marveled at the mountains, the green leaves on trees, and the dirt roads. Bamako is surrounded by large hills technically, I guess. Mountains to me. Through the mist of the morning, I saw the wet streets and was so excited that it was cool outside.

We decided to go to a restaurant that is infamous amongst Peace Corps Mali and Senegal called the Broadway Café. Lauren had real banana pancakes with syrup (!) and I had an omlette with cheese and real vegetables! Again, may not seem important, but you must understand what our diet usually consists of: oil and rice. Then all of us went to the artisan market. I felt like a real tourist and it was GREAT! I don’t speak Bambara, the main language spoken in Mali, so I didn’t even notice if someone was saying something inappropriate to me. But, I spent money on tourist-y things, wore my American clothes, and didn’t worry at all.

We then made our way through the real market, the one that Malians frequent, in search of Obama-print fabric. In our quest, we twisted and turned our way down alleys while trying to stay dry. We were almost to the edge of the maze, ready to leave empty-handed when a man came running up to us saying he knew of a place with the Obama fabric. We were getting hungry again and our other friend, Nick was waiting for us, but I decided to go for it. As we twisted our way back through the market, it became apparent that this man knew where he was going and he finally led us to a small, closed boutique with a single, ready-made outifit adorned with Obama’s smiling face. I really just wanted the fabric, so when the men saw the expression on my face, they began trying to sell me the qualities of the outfit. Then, much to my dismay, they dressed me to show the qualities of the fabric and show me how nice it looked on me. I had to do everything in my power to not lose it. It’s taboo for men to touch women, let alone DRESS them. Of course, everyone was also laughing at me, so I posed for pictures and just went with it. Then the guy tried to sell it to me for the equivalent of $70. I know! Hysterical! I said I would give him, tops, $10 for it. He said no, no, no. Then we did the old walk-away-disinterested-thing and he came running up to us and finally offered it to me for $10. It is a really nice outfit.

Not to inundate my avid readers with all the Mali videos that Lauren and I took over our vacation, I will try to space them out over the next couple weeks. I am still formulating my blog all about Dogon. It was more than just 'beautiful' and I feel like I have to do justice to describing it.

BUT, today, I went to the zoo in Dakar. That's right, there is an actual zoo here. With caged, very sad looking animals. There were tigers, lions, chimps, warthogs, camels, monkeys, pythons, porcupines...all of the cages had bars on them, much like a jail cell and a barrier that created a three foot space between the viewer and the animals. So, of course, the Senegalese were jumping the barriers and petting, feeding, or in general, taunting the animals. It was amazing to be in such close vicinity of the animals, but a few times the animals got a little too close.

We were looking at the chimp cage, my two friends moved on, so it was just me admiring the chimp's behavior. We noticed that the bars were warped as if the chimp had tried to pull them apart to escape...Suddenly, he started running back and forth, then he picked up a plastic bottle and chucked it at my head! SCARY. Another time, a group of Asians were taunting a chimp and he through a softball-sized rock at one of them and hit them! Some of the cages were reinforced with chicken wire or only had latches securing the doors. The camels were behind chain link fencing and in some areas the chain link was completely torn apart, meaning that the camel could reach its neck through the hole and bite us if it wanted to.

Quite the zoological experience. For pictures, my friend put a bunch up on his flicker account:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E-UYeYnfdTo&feature=channel

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eg-fUNIgdNc&feature=channel

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oJEM-9W44uU&feature=channel

Click on the above links for video footage of my Malian trip

My pictures are up and a very long blog will soon follow! I loved it though!

Click Me!

I also updated my pictures for the month of October. There's not very many, but more will come soon after my trip to Mali!

Recently, it seems like everyone in my village has been asking me when I’m going home. At first, I was affronted by their eagerness to get rid of me! However, the more I talked with people, the more I came to see their concept of time is totally different from mine.

When I first arrived in my village, everyone asked me how long I would stay. I kept telling them two years. As time past, they told me to stay for at least five years and then I could go home on vacation for a month or two then come back. If only…

Most people here will leave the village for an indiscriminate amount of time and come back for one to six months and then go back and work (?) or just live in the city. Time is a fluid thing for most people here. For instance, when I try to tell them I go on a run for 45 minutes, they just look at me quizzically and say they will see me later.

In Pulaar, there is one word for “now”, jooni. If you say “Mi arat jooni” it can mean “I will come back soon,” “I will come back now,” or “I will come back in an unspecified amount of hours.” However, by using jooni twice like “Mi arat jooni jooni” it can mean “I will come right back.” Without boring everyone and getting too technical, it can be somewhat frustrating when people say they will come back now and it takes them four hours to make their way back.

I think the people in my village are impressed that I haven’t left for America yet. They know what it’s like being away from the people they love and know for extended periods of time. They know I miss my mom and dad and my fictitious financé (I told them I was engaged to evade extensive questions and demands to marry me).

So, really, it was their way of acknowledging that I had been there for a long time and that I must be anxious to get back. Which isn’t far from the truth…

*sorry for the grammatical errors, which I'm sure are rampant

Click Me

Click the above link to see the construction of the new well.

Last week, one of the little girls in my village died. I was particularly upset because she was from one of my favorite families. All I can figure out is that she got sick suddenly with a headache (not that out of the ordinary here) and went to the health hut and two days later she died. She was only 11, which makes it even harder. The family seems upset, but not the same way that an American family would get upset. No tears. Just a lot of positive stories from her life. It was very different. Typically, there is a wailing period where the women in the village will wail, sometimes cry, very loudly to let the rest of the village know that someone has died. It's a surreal experience.

I went over to the Gaye house and brought some of the clothes that I had promised Coumba and some money (that's what you normally do for funerals). Before, Coumba had asked me specifically, when I leave for America, if she could have my blue Nike shirt and a brown flowy skirt. I thought it was a nice gesture. I really don't know how to verbally comfort people here, so I have just been spending a lot of time over at their house, on a mat, sitting and playing with the kids.

Again, this makes me want to become a nurse even more so as to prevent things like this from happening in the future. I think it may help if the family, at the very least, knows what sickness killed their daughter. If it was that she stepped on something that gave her a cut and it got infected? If it was that she scratched too much at a mosquito bite? Things like that can be prevented and if the family knows about it, then they can prevent their other children from replicating it. Things here are so centered on "If God wills it" I think that sometimes it prevents the development of their health system.

At the beginning of the rainy season an NGO, Malaria No More, gave me a flip camera to document the distribution of mosquito nets in my village. I took footage of families receiving nets, the distributors, all with running commentary explaining everything. AND, the coordinator in Dakar liked my work! So now, for your viewing pleasure, you can check it out at: http://www.dakarcalling.org/ I'm kind of big deal now...I hope to take more footage soon.

Also, Corite (the celebration of the end of Ramadan) happened last week. ALHAMDULILAH. This year Ramadan was a lot more bearable, but I'm still glad that it's over. The Corite celebration consisted of a lot of goat meat cooked in oil, a vinegar, mustard and oil flavored pasta, dressing up in pretty clothing and walking around the village greeting people. It was more exciting last year...one of my friends described as such "It's like I'm constantly going to the palm Sunday church service, people are happy and praying, not drinking." Exactly like that.

I went over to my friends house and sat on a mat (no surprise there) for 3 hours. Ate twice. Laughed. I didn't want to go home, but knew that if I didn't my host family wouldn't forgive me for not eating with them on a celebratory day, like Corite. My host family's food was not as good as the food at my friends house and actually made me sick...well, I took one for the team.

Thanks to everyone who donated to my well project. Keep an eye out for postcards in the near future. I was so elated when my boss texted me and told me that my project had been fully funded! The night before, I had gone to bed and the total remaining was $885. When I woke up 7 hours later, it was completely funded! Amazing. I really am touched by everyone’s generosity, so thank you again.

The money should be in my account in the next two weeks and then I can hand it over to the Well and Water Sanitation representative. It will be such a relief to not have to worry about placating the people in my village. Even though I explained, the money is there it just has to be accumulated, the people in my village didn’t understand why I couldn’t get an advance and continue funding the well. It’s more difficult than it would seem to explain the bureaucracy of aid organizations to people who tend to follow regulations to the point of infuriation and really like paperwork. To be fair, my village got their act together and it only took them one week to hand over $2,200. That’s a lot of money for a village that is always complaining about being poor. They have been waiting since the end of June.

I miss everyone SO much and I have been thinking about next April a lot recently. Only 7 more months to go. Hard to believe, eh?

It's almost all funded! If you are at all interested in donating, even $1, please go to: https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=resources.donors.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=685-124.

I think I only need about $1,000 more. Thanks to all that have already donated.

In other news, yesterday Erin and I did a causerie about good nutrition. We made a vitamin packed porridge for kids 6 months to 5 years old and hopefully the women will replicate it at home instead of making the (gross) Gosi they always do. It's just rice, sugar, and a little bit of sour milk. NO vitamins and it is just as expensive as making the nutritious one. There are some pictures of us making it that I put up for your viewing pleasure.

It's still Ramadan. Still having the same conversations that I always have during this time of year. Still wishing it was over...I have now fasted for 2 days and I think that is plenty for me personally. I won't be converting to Islam and I would rather have a semi productive day as opposed to laying around all day doing nothing. I have such respect for Muslims in America that fast because they actually have to work still. They can't just call in sick for an entire month. You think people here don't do much during the day normally and then Ramadan comes along and then ACTUALLY do nothing, all day. At least it gives me time to study for the GRE and apply to nursing programs.

Until Corite, the end of Ramadan, I expect things to go at about the pace they are going now.

After leaving for a little over a month, I came back to the village refreshed and ready for Ramadan. Last year, I hated the month-long fasting period because everyone would ask me “Are you fasting?” “You can’t fast, you are not strong enough” “If you fast you must pray with us” etc. This got very frustrating. So, this year I am determined to not let what they say go to my head.

It’s like a social pressure to fast and even if you don’t, you say you are just to avoid criticism from others. The pregnant and lactating mothers still fast, the sick still fast…really you think more infant mortality and sickness would result from Ramadan in the Fuuta. I hear it’s a Senegalese thing; the bullying associated with Ramadan, if anyone has any insight let me know.

I did fast for one day thus far. Woke up at 5:30, had a granola bar, then went promptly back to bed. I did drink water (I know this kind of defeats the purpose), but I still don’t think I’m acclimated enough to living in the desert to go 14 hours without consuming anything. Not eating food is still prettttttty difficult. But, I managed and when the sun went down at Fuutoru I ate two spoonfuls of peanut butter, downed a bunch of Oreos, and inhaled a mango in the span of 10 minutes. Of course, I felt VERY sick afterwards. Really, Ramadan is very bad for your metabolism and overall general health.

I felt like I had accomplished something. I didn’t feel closer with any of my family members who had also spent the whole day fasting. A lot of volunteers have claimed that fasting brings them closer together with their family. They can relate to each other on a level they had previously not been able to reach. Good for those volunteers, I guess.

It did make me appreciate the fact that I have wonderful friends and family who send me food from America. I thought a lot about the people that don’t choose to fast, but do because they are too poor to provide food for their family. I can eat whenever I want (most of the time) and don’t have to worry about starvation because I always have enough money to at least buy a banana. Makes me feel a little guilty that I happened to be born in America and because of my status, I have certain privileges. If I realize these are privileges and if I am aware of other people in the world less fortunate than me that doesn’t make me that bad, right?

Last week, I was a camp counselor at the English camp for high school-ish kids. Most were 18 or 19, but they are still in high school. It was so nice to hear students trying to communicate in English with each other as well as the rest of the counselors. A change from the usual "Are you fine?", "I love you", or some lyric from an Akon song. It was great to work with motivated students excited to learn as much English as possible. I was shocked at how they were willing to participate in everything we, the counselors, had planned for them. For instance, we had a football/frisbee/soccer tournament and EVERYONE was running around participating. If you went to a high school in the U.S. most likely you would find the athletic people playing, while unfortunately, the girls would act too cool to be bothered to play. (Of course, this is not the case with every high school gym, just my own experience.)

We held small group discussions about American politics, gender roles and cross cultural similarities and differences. The first day, we had a brief question and answer session and the first question my group posed was "Can you please tell me a little bit about McDonald's?" OF COURSE I CAN TALK ABOUT FOOD! It has probably been a few years since I ate at McDonalds in the States, but after eating the same dishes for 17 months, a BigMac or a chicken nugget happy meal sounds realllllllllly good. There were also more serious questions about the KKK, the Civil Rights movement, Uncle Sam and his significance, amongst others.

The last day we had a discussion about gender roles in Senegal and gender roles in America. It was a very frustrating experience, but interesting nonetheless. The boys in the discussion were convinced that women could not both work and raise children. The girls, however, said that they could and would. All the girls in the class wanted to get jobs and work to make money for their families. We then explained that women in the US both worked and had families, some decide to stay home, and (gasp!) sometimes it was the men that stayed home while their wives work! This seemed to be earth shattering for these teenage boys. Granted their are cultural differences, the family unit is larger in Senegal, etc. After, we broke into smaller groups and did skits about gender in Senegal and America. The boys that were assigned American women's roles didn't really seem to understand what we were trying to communicate. It consisted of a husband and wife getting ready in the morning. The wife told her husband she was leaving for work and he would have to prepare the kids breakfast. At this suggestion, the husband got VERY angry and started shouting that he got married so his wife could concern herself with preparing meals. It ended with him knocking over a desk and shouting "A house without a woman is hell on earth!" Clearly, we should have also discussed domestic violence with them.....

All in all, it was a great experience though.

In other sad news, Peace Corps Mauritania has been suspended. Meaning that all my friends across the boarder either have to go home, switch to a different country, or re-enlist entirely for another 2 years....some of them may be coming to Senegal, which would be great. A lot of the Mauritanian volunteers were closer to me and my site than the Senegalese volunteers. At least I am in Dakar to say goodbye to them all.

I've been in Dakar for the last week doing a little bit of relaxing, a little bit of work at the English camp, getting a little sick...

It's better that I'm in Dakar and sick as opposed to in my village without meds, AC, cold drinks, and other English speakers to help me get better.

The English camp has been pretty fun thus far. I'm not done until Friday, so I will update everyone on my English teaching abilities.

I unfortunately won't be able to go to Cap Skiring because all the tickets on the boat were already bought. So, Erin and I are going to go to Popenguine or Toubab Diallo. Those are two cities close to Dakar and on the ocean. I hope to get to Cap Skiring eventually. Also, I hear that Cape Verde is very nice. (an island off the coast of Senegal).

P.s. who wants to visit me!? I only have 8 months left!

I have been away from site for about two weeks now. At first I was in Ndioum because the water had gone out and I was starting to get sick. Then I had to go down to Joal, a city on the coast south of Dakar, but before that I stopped in St. Louis. While there, i met up with the female teacher, Awa and got to see her baby, Astou. If I could bring someone back to the states with me it might be this baby and Awa. There are pictures in the July 2009 folder which you can access via the left sidebar. Judge for yourself.

We had a health and environmental education summit in Joal earlier this week. I thought it went well. Much more informative and pertinent to my village life than a lot of the meetings in the past have been. We were able to discuss projects we had already started, ones we wanted to start, ideas, possible funders, etc. Joal is on the ocean, but the beaches were filthy. It was the ocean though, so we took advantage of it. I also walked down to the island that you can only get to by crossing a long bridge. It was the nicest part of the whole city. Joal is a place where Islam and Christianity coexist. It was cool to walk around and see all the statues and little shrines because in Islam you never see that.

Now, I'm in Dakar and next week I will be helping out with the English camps. I'm not entirely sure what that entails, but people say it was one of the more fun things that they did during their service.

Well, yeah.

I was at my favorite family's house the other day and I started talking to Faty Soyil, the 15 year old about what she wanted to be when she grows up. She applied for the girls' scholarship this year and I was really hoping that she would get it because I really like both her and her family and she needs the money to stay in school.

But, to my dismay, she told me she didn't want to go to university because it was too hard. I was so shocked and disappointed. She said she just wanted to get a job. I explained that you have to go to school to get a good job. I even told her about the possibility of going to university in America or Europe. I really hope that when I leave, I will have impressed upon her the importance of continuing her education.

The other week, I was talking with someone else in my village and they were astounded I went to and graduated from college. I guess they still associate college with being male? You can possibly get a job without going to university, but you get a better one by going. I guess I should introduce myself and immediately say, "I went to college, too."

Hawa, the only female teacher in Goudoude, said that she only went to a few years of university before she dropped out to become a teacher! I couldn't believe it. I think there is a test you can take to become qualified for teaching in Senegal. It never crossed my mind that some of the teachers may not have gone to university.

In sillier news, I just found out the Pulaars have a vampire-like folklore! They are called mbih's. I asked a teenager if there were any in his village and he shook his head vigorously back and forth. He did, however, say that for 10 mille, the equivalent of $20, he would go kill one and bring it back for me to see. I decided that probably wasn't the best idea. I can just imagine him coming back with some innocent kid....but I will find out more about the story and report back!

Thanks to my wonderful parents I now have camera number 3! I will post the pictures I have been snapping as soon as I can, but for now, I updated pictures that my site mate Erin took over the last few months. Just click on the link that says "Click me!" on the left sidebar and enjoy.

Recently, while walking through the muggy streets of Matam, a young boy passed me and yelled, "HAPPINESS ! My sister !" I just laughed and said something to the effect of "yes, happiness!" It's so odd to me the English words that Senegalese pick up. Indeed, this adolescent boy was very happy and if I want to follow Barack Obama's words of wisdom, I am his sister.

This was a stark contrast to the popular shirt here of a giant fist with the middle finger sticking up in the air and huge F**K YOU written in neon yellow across it. The teenage boys that identify with Akon, Biggie, 2PAC, etc. have no idea what the lyrics of their popular rap songs mean. It's not uncommon to be walking down the street and have some kid say "F**k your mother." At first, I was shocked by the vulgarity of these teens, but then I quickly realized that they have NO IDEA what they are saying and there is no equivalent, that I am aware of, in Pulaar. So, the best I can do is tell them it's not polite. To which they laugh hysterically....

A few months ago, I saw a teen with jeans that had a very vuloptous woman on the back posing in vulgar positions...you wonder who in their right mind thinks, "I know what I'll do! I'll create the most offensive clothing possible and then send it to the developing world where they don't know what it means and then spread globalization that way!" Idiots!

For all the negative stuff that people pick up there are some cute things too. There's a little girl in my village who really wants to learn English. So I taught her how to say "My name is _____" "I live in Goudoude Diobe" and "I am from Senegal." The other day, I was passing by her house and she cried "Nice!" I didn't know exactly how to respond to this so I just waved. Then she cried "Rice is very nice!" One of the 4 commercials here on public Senegalese tv is for a rice provider and at the end they say, in Enlish, "My rice, it's very nice."

So, overall it is happiness to my heart when I hear Senegalese trying to speak English and I always humor them by trying to hold a conversation with them. Now, if I could just work on the rap community and the clothing distributors.....

Last Wednesday, I woke up and the sky looked ominously dark. I could tell it was going to rain. I went about my morning routine of getting water etc, when one of my sisters asked me to come in to her bedroom. When I went in, I saw Wuri, the matron in the village and immediately put two and two together. My other SUPER pregnant sister, Penda, was in labor.

So, I assisted her with the labor. Since then, I have come to many conclusions, but one of them is that Pulaar women are TOUGH! She was outside in her bathroom, flies were everywhere, and she didn’t make much noise. She just silently dealt with the contractions.

When the first baby was born, it was so tiny, but immediately began crying, which was good. I cut the umbilical cord and wrapped the baby in a pagne. It wasn’t long before Wuri came to the conclusion that Penda was going to have twins. When Penda admitted that she knew, Wuri and I were shocked that she didn’t tell us before. Most often, here, it’s safer if twins are born in a hospital with a doctor on hand. I tried to convince Wuri and Penda that if she nursed the baby it would release a hormone that speeds the delivery of the second baby. Unfortunately, they didn’t heed my advice.

After an hour and a half of waiting, they decided to take her to the health post in Kobilo, a 7 km charet (horse drawn cart) ride over bumpy terrain. So Penda got on the charet only to be go through a downpour of rain ten minutes later. Once she was in Kobilo, the nurse there told her to go to Ourosoggui, the biggest, closest city 40 km away to the hospital. All the while, the first baby boy had not nursed and Penda had been in labor since 7 AM that morning.

Later that afternoon, we got a phone call that she had given birth to the second baby boy and was resting. I went to Ourosoggui later that night only to find out that the second baby had died. Thankfully, when I arrived Penda was ok. She looked exhausted, but she was healthy. They actually took me to see the 2nd baby and it was just as tiny as the first. I asked the doctor how it died. She told me that the incubator was already full so they put him in the slightly older incubator in a room that no one was in. When they went to check on him, he had died. She said that he died from exhaustion. I was upset that the 2nd baby had died, but even more upset that they had just left him in a room by himself when he clearly needed to be monitored!

In this culture, you don’t name the baby until seven days after its birth. Also, immediately after giving birth Penda had seemed uninterested in holding or even seeing her baby. I’m not sure if the former is related to Islam, but the latter is most likely a result of the high infant mortality rate here in Senegal. The mother doesn’t want to get too attached to the baby until she knows it is going to survive, which I guess is after seven days for them. A defense mechanism. It is a completely different mother-child relationship than the one I am familiar with.

While there, Penda’s husband called from Dakar to ask after the health of the babies. NOT to see if she was doing ok. That’s another foreign relationship—Pulaar husbands and wives. I would be upset if my husband was not present at the birth of our baby! If not to see the new baby, then to act as a moral support for me and to see how much work it is to have children!

She was clearly exhausted, so I left and came back the next day. She said she was cleared to go home, but her 1st baby was still on an IV, so she was going to stay. I called her every night to make sure she was still ok and to see how the baby was doing.

Then, Sunday morning, my other sister Faty Hawa came to tell me that Penda’s baby had died and she would be coming home later. After all that, both her babies died. My estimate is that she was eight months pregnant. She was still working up until recently; making food, getting water, etc. I think she is around 21 or 22. She already has a 5 year old son and a 2 and a half year old daughter. Her twins shouldn’t have died. Her family has family members that live in Ourosoggui. When they found out she was pregnant with twins, they should have immediately sent her to live with them until the birth. It’s hard not to be upset. There was nothing that I could have done, which makes it all the more frustrating.

Again, this just makes me want to become a nurse even more. So I can at least feel useful in situations like these. I’m not sure how Penda feels about it, surely depressed. The thing is that people don’t talk about tragedy like we do in the US. They keep their emotions to themselves. Crying is seen as a sign of weakness in the Pulaar culture. They buried the tiny boys in the community graveyard and when people talk to me about it they say, “Eh, ina yurmini.” Roughly “Yes, it is tragic.”

Two nights ago it RAINED! For 4 hours. It was actually kind of annoying because before it started there was a gigantic dust storm that lasted for 2 hours. All of this, of course, happened at night so I had to quickly bring my matela and mosquito net inside before I got blasted with sand and dirt. All's well that ends well: I can at least start planting flowers and trees now !

It has been so muggy here the last 48 hrs. that I have been continuously sweaty. I think I may prefer the dry, extreme temperatures...either that of I have picked up the habit of complaining and nothing will suffice except AC in Amerik.

One of my friends recently asked how I am going to plant trees in the dry heat of the desert, but if you could only see the small lakes that formed over night ! It's amazing how quickly grass and weeds have started sprouting and growing in the desert. When it rains, it literally pours up here. I will be planting Eucalyptus, Neem, and Prosopis trees in my village, though. They are all suitable for the dry-Fuuta conditions. Neem trees can actually be used as a mosquito repellent if the leaves are made into a cream or burned like incense. With the rainy season upon us, I have been holding causeries or information sessions about how to make the neem lotion/cream and reminding people that it's cheaper to pay for a mosquito net than to pay for the meds to get rid of malaria. There has recently been a big push to drastically lower the numbers of malaria cases in Senegal, so hopefully I can do my part.

On a different note, I was going on a run the other day and scared a cow, which in turn scared me and about 30 other cows grazing nearby. I got so used to seeing cows standing outside my bedroom door, in the road, walking inches away from me, that I forgot they are really a lot bigger than me and could probably do some serious damage if they get angry enough. I tried to milk a cow a few months ago and it was not at all the romantic, cottage-farm experience. Rather it was slippery, difficult to do successfully, and scary because the woman behind me kept reminding me to move slowly or else the cow would kick me in the face ! However, now, when people ask me if I can milk cows, I can say yes. The people in my village always ask me if there are cows in America. If they only knew I come from the land next to the the land of dairy....

A MONTH AGO AND WE ARE STILL EATING THE MEAT!

When we first had beef in our food bowl I was ecstatic! Then I tasted it and quickly became less excited. The thing that is bothering me most is that we are still eating it a month later. I saw it pre-cooked and it looked a lot like beef jerky so at least it's sort of sanitary. But, it taints all the rest of the food because they cook everything in the same pot, so now every meal has an old beefy shot of flavor....yuck.

I'm not even sure how said cow died. I asked if it had just died on its own of natural causes or if they killed it and I couldn't really understand what they told me. I hope it was the latter.

It's dust season again (every season is dust season, just this one more so). The dust storms only seem to come at night when I'm sleeping outside. It would be torture to sleep inside my stuffy room. So, for the last few days I've woken up with a film of sand and dirt covering me. It's pretty rough. Sleeping and living in the Fuuta seem to be like oil and water during the hot season....

I'm going to be planting 575 trees during the month of July! I went to the Eaux et Foret (the tree nursery organization) and spoke to a guy about bringing them out to my village. He was going to charge me $120 for the trees that are supposed to be free, but I miraculously was able to negotiate with him and now I am getting them for free! I still have to pay for transportation out to the village, but I'm having a pretty good day just knowing that I wasn't getting duped. I will write an update about the actual planting day which I foresee as being a fiasco....

The last day I was in Dakar we took public transit to the Peace Corps office and I got my purse stolen with all my electronics, money and Peace Corps ID. I only noticed it after I had already switched buses, so it would have been impossible to find the culprit even though I know which guy it was....

When I got on the bus I put my purse in my backpack and my backpack on the floor of the bus next to me. Then I switched seats, but I could still see my bag. He must have taken it when I wasn't paying attention. Regardless, he went into my backpack, snagged my purse and got off. Luckily, my passport and computer were still in my backpack!! But everything else was in there: cellphone, camera, ipod, $40, bank cards, ID...it was a pain to have to stay in Dakar an extra day and run around trying to get things sorted out.

Inch'Allah, everything will fall back into place and that won't happen again. I let my guard down and thought that everyone who greeted me is a decent person. I had the Fuuta mentality in a city that is akin to NYC, Paris etc. Some people in Dakar are hungry, desperate etc and I just forgot about that I guess. Good life lesson learned.

I've been in Dakar for the past few days and I LOVE IT. Don't get me wrong, I really like my site placement. Living in the desert makes me feel badass. But, it has been 75 and sunny here, there's pizza, meat, ice cream....

Sometimes when you don't see the mounds of trash on the street and you are listening to your ipod and not to the haggling of street vendors, it reminds me of Chicago. I took a bus yesterday and it was the cleanest vehicle I have been in during my time here in Senegal. City of wonders friends.

In other news, I don't think I have been exposed to TB because I don't have a bump on my arm! YES!!!! I'm in good shape otherwise, which is impressive considering all the stuff that could go wrong. Tomorrow I head back up north where it is, no joke, 120. People have asked me what it feels like and I tell them: HELL. Your clothes are always wet with sweat, there is a slight breeze, but it's what I call the oven breeze. You feel tired, lethargic, and basically like you just want to lay around all day switching sides when you sweat through your clothes. Fun times. I have to go back though to get the girls scholarship applications wrapped up and to hopefully start organizing people to build my well!

ALHAMDULILAH!

My estimate was approved by my boss, so now all I have left to do is submit the proposal and then start getting money! As it turned out, I will only be needing $6300, but that is only for the well. I know, I know: that's an EXPENSIVE well. They have to drill 45 meters though to get to the water, remember, I live in the desert??? After the well is built they will measure the water table etc. and determine the best kind of pump.

In other news, it's HOT up north. I have been in St. Louis on a little R&R vacation before going to Dakar for my medical check up. A friend of mine told me it was 197 degrees yesterday in Matam, a city near my site. I think he may have been exaggerating a little, but that is another reason why I'm taking my time getting back to site. When it gets that hot, no one does anything anyway.

Also, if anyone wants to visit me....

Earlier this week, I went on a little adventure. The woman who works at the disponsaire invited me to go with her and do baby weighings in two villages en brousse (in the bush). They were REALLY out there. We took a charet to the first village, Lugere, and it was just small compounds of mud huts scattered throughout the desert. The people there were herders and subsisted on milk products for the most part. The only way to get to the paved road was back through my village, which would take them at least an hour and a half.

I asked Wuri, the woman I went with, why people still live out here and she told me that they had lived out here for a loooooong time. She told me of a time when the Fuuta was covered with lush vegetation and lions roamed about. Sounds much more interesting than the barren, treeless plain it is now. Maybe I'm the only one, but I think it is amazing that people still live out there 15 km from the road/what I know as "civilization." There was no cell phone reception, no electricity, of course, one well, no school, no disponsaire.

We then traveled another 2 km to another village called Law Law, which thankfully, had a tiny primary school. Everyone was amazed to see a white person, which got really frustrating. The kids all cried when they saw me and the young boys all gawked. It doesn't seem like it would infuriate you, but when it's 100+ degrees and you are in a small, one-window room and everyone is either staring or crying,....

Then for whatever reason, the people I was with decided to leave Law Law at 1 PM, during the HOTTEST part of the day. It took us two hours to get back to Goudoude. I explained what skin cancer was to them: "something that white people can die from." Thankfully, I had my shawl with me to shade me a little from the sun's rays, but I had run out of water, the oven breeze was blowing in my face....oooooooo....that just made me jealous of all the amenities that you guys have back in the States/Europe!

All in all, it was a good adventure though. We weighed about 40 kids and distributed paracetemol and vitamin a tablets to a few people, and I got to see a part of the country that's not in the guide books!

A while back, I wrote a blog about getting sick in the middle of the night and about my host mom, Faty Anne/Agne's sincere response. I had mentioned that our relationship had previously been a tempestuous one and was asked to explain why.

When I first arrived in Goudoude Diobe, the family I lived with seemed confused as to why I was there and disinterested in getting to know me. I was the first volunteer in Goudoude so I guess it was understandable. The two rules Faty had set for me were as follows:

#1: No drinking alcohol

#2: No loud music

Easy enough. No bars in the small village of 500 people and no electricity. DONE!

As the weeks went by I grew closer and more friendly with my host family and the kids started to warm up to me.

The only thing that bothered me was Faty's attitude towards me. Each month, I give her money for food in private, but she would always complain about the price of food, medicine, the pass to town, etc in public in front of me...It seemed like she was trying to get me to cave in a buy her whatever it was she needed/wanted. This seems petty in retrospect and I think I've become more adapt to the constant requests people make. However, at the time, it frustrated me to no end.

Then, during Ramadan, the handle and lock on my door broke. Faty got involved and demanded I hire a mason, from another village, to make me a new door and then install a new lock. When I told her I just needed a new lock she got upset saying I should let a mason look at it and I can't put the lock in myself. I tried to tell her that it wasn't safe for me to leave my door open 24 hrs. a day, something I'm not sure I fully communicated....

After, I ended up buying a lock and installing it myself, but this entire process took 3 months!!!! Stuff moves slow here. While installing it, she stood over me questioning my ability to screw in nails....I'm pretty sure she knew I was frustrated with her so when she left for Dakar with her bratty son in December, I was relieved.

She came back after I had returned from France and seemed to be the same abrasive and manipulating woman. So, when I got sick and she told me she would come to the hospital because I was her child, it was really touching. Ever since then, she has mellowed out. Or maybe I have mellowed. Things are no longer tense between us and I am loving my service and time here in Senegal!

Last week I had two new volunteers come and visit me in my village for a week. They had never experienced Fouta heat and I think it was a little rough, but it's exactly what they will have to deal with in about a month when they come up North.

We did a lot of reading and sweating, but we also painted a mural and held a causery which was cool because the women in my village really like seeing what my organization is all about.

It was refreshing to have new, excited volunteers that weren't used to the oddities of living in the desert, alone....

Still waiting for the estimate to come through on the well project. But, I will keep everyone updated that is interested.

There are some new pictures of the new volunteers and having fun in the village and with other volunteers for St. Patrick's day! Enjoy!

When I got the estimate for the well and pump that my village needs, I was a litttttttle shocked. $10,000 for a concrete well and a few pieces of machinery?? But, as it turns out, I need to scrounge up the money to bring water to my village. Kinda important source of life.

When I have written the proposal up I will let those of you who are interested know more about particulars. It will be a new well. Our water table is 60 meters underground, maybe another reason it is so expensive. Our hope is to create a garden next to the well so that my village can more easily sustain themselves. Also, the water tower in the neighboring village is always broken so that means that we have to pull water everyday. The women in my village already have a lot on their plate. So, in addition to making Goudoude a more environmentally friendly village, it will also alleviate some of the workload.

When I first arrived in Goudoude Diobe, Abou Ka was my point of contact. He had gone to Thies for a counterpart workshop before I arrived to do a meet and greet. Over the next few months I would eat at his house, run ideas for projects by him, bring presents for his family, meet the local officials, and go to meetings with him.

Unfortunately, he died last Monday, March 9. I was not in the village when he died and it was probably for the best. My host mom called me to tell me and I immediately called my closest female friend in the village to give my condolences, who happens to live at his house.

I was in Thies for the training of the new volunteers and decided against going on the 14 hr car ride back to Goudoude. The people in my village know I'm not Muslim and women are not allowed to go to the cemetery, so it would have just been me sitting with the rest of the village women, crying and wailing.

He was a great father. He would play and joke with his 2 and 4 year-old daughters, which is not the norm for Pulaar men. He was funny, giving, always willing to help me try to get a project off the ground. He was my closest male friend in my village.

What makes this even more upsetting is that his death could have been prevented. He had gotten an infection in his hand, which often happens here. The thing is the infection then spread all the way down his body and, I think, eventually infected his blood, which is what killed him. He went to the hospital, but I think it was too late. They turned him away and gave him a prescription for a medicine the pharmacy had run out of.

In talking with my boss, he thinks what likely happened is that he was seen at the hospital and the doctors determined that it was too late to save him, so instead of treating him and letting him die at the hospital, they sent him home to be with family.

THAT DOESN'T MAKE IT ANY BETTER!

Clearly, I am still frustrated and now want to become a public health nurse even more than before. If I had been more trained in medicine, I would have gladly given him some of the meds from my personal med kit to make him better. If it had happened to me, I would have gotten medicine and been better because I am white and living overseas. It's not fair and I'm going to make sure that something like that never happens to anyone again while I am living in Goudoude Diobe.

My host mother and I have a tempestuous relationship to say the least. However, two days ago when I got VERY ill, things seemed to change for the better.

I woke up at 5:30 and threw up my dinner from the night before. Sorry if this is too graphic for you. But, I guess I must have made a lot noise while throwing up because I heard my host mom, who was sleeping outside my door, wake up and yell at my 6 year old host brother, "Hassim! Did you just throw up? Did you?" The poor kid woke up and gave her a sleepy no.

Around 7, after not falling back asleep, I walked outside my room and told her that it was me throwing up and that I was going to go to Ndioum and see the doctors. I was upset because this was the first time I had been completely alone and really sick. To my surprise, she was concerned. She then told me to call her as soon as the doctors knew what was wrong and if I couldn't physically call her I was to have the doctors call her and tell her what was wrong. Then she offered to come visit me at the hospital if I had to stay overnight there. I told her I would probably be fine and then she told me "Alla, ann, kaa bidoam." It means "No, you, you are my child."

I understand that to many people this means nothing and really I am only my biological mother and father's "child." But, just knowing that I am a part of a family so far away from the family that I grew up with and the culture that I know, really meant a lot to me. Of course, in reality, she probably wouldn't have come visit me, whatever. The fact that she said I was her child means so much to me, an outsider, it doesn't even matter. I felt accepted--like I belonged. Something I haven't really felt amongst Senegalese.

I did end up getting better. My friend thought I might have malaria---I DON'T! It was just a virus and I am recovering. It was actually kind of funny that I got sick almost as soon as I wrote my last blog entry about not wanting to come home. When I was sweating out the 102 temperature and my entire body ached, let me tell you, I would have gladly accepted a ticket back to the States. Thankfully, I had access to the wonder-drug Cipro.

As many of you know, Mefloquine is the malaria prophylaxis I have to take each week to ensure that I don't get malaria and die. A common side effect of Mefloquine are the weird dreams or nightmares that occur while taking it, and up until a few weeks ago I had normal dreams.

BUT, last night I dreamt that I ETed, or signed my early termination forms. I dreamt that I was back in the States visiting and that everyone had thought I was going to ET and there was no way for me to go back to Senegal and continue my service. Even despite the fact that I really really wanted to and felt that I could stick it out for one more year. This probably doesn't sound scary, I'm sure. What, living in the land of T.V., cold (good) beers, cars, constant access to the Internet, ice cream....the list goes on. But, I was so shaken by this dream that I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep. The heat is probably getting to me AND I do live by myself, in a hut, in the middle of the desert...

This leads me to my next point. After giving it much thought, I don't think I will be coming home during my service. I am finally happy here. I wake up and look forward to the upcoming events that I have planned, despite the heat, power outages, and Senegalese men. I don't want to potentially ruin this good streak I've got going and I am quite positive that coming home would separate me mentally from Senegal and I wouldn't want to come back. I'm at a good place right now. I like my fellow volunteers, for the most part I like my village, I'm genuinely excited about projects, etc. This is fun!

I know I will be missing out on a lot of fun in the States as well. Namely everyone's wedding!! It seems like the second I left the country everyone decided to get engaged! But, I will be there in spirit. And when I get back next April I am having a big party, so everyone should mark their calendars now.

The softball tournament was GREAT! I had so much fun seeing the other volunteers from Senegal, meeting new volunteers from other countries, eating good food, and catching up with some IWU folks.

Leslie and Ryan came up from the Gambia and Jess is now a volunteer in the Tamba region of Senegal, so we all had an IWU reunion and went out to lunch. It was so great to see them!

Team Fuuta lost all of our games, but we were in the social league so it wasn’t that big of a deal. At least, not to me. We all dressed up, danced on the field, cheered until we were hoarse. FUN. I was the catcher for most games and improved my horrible throw.

Then after, I went to Dakar where I met up with the matron from my village, Wuri Ka, for a three-day seminar about HIV/AIDS. We went over Life Skills lessons, which are self-esteem, peer pressure, and sexual education lessons. It was great to be able to share with someone from my community the type of work that I do when I travel. I was starting to get worried that people just thought that I went on vacation all the time.

In other news, I am going to try and organize my village to get a pump for one of the wells. This will help SO MUCH when the water tower is out of service, which seems to be happening more and more frequently. When that happens, the women in the village have to go to one of the two wells and pull water in small, rubber bags. The wells are 55 meters deep, so it takes about 3 minutes for them to pull up one bag of water. This is hard work and very time-consuming. So, the pump will do that part of the work and then the women will only have to walk with water on their head for a long distance.

Also, another volunteer and me are trying to organize a triathlon of sorts. So far we have the run set at 20 km and then we are still debating if we want to swim across the river to Mauritania and the biking….it will happen and we are going to try to make it a fundraiser for an AIDS organization in Richard Toll. I will be sure to keep you all posted.

I helped out with a concert in Podor at the end of January that supported the fight against HIV/AIDS. There were about 10 of us altogether helping ensure the smoothness of the concert.

We had the Red Cross come and do AIDS testing, two bands, a comedy troupe, and general information about HIV. It was great. There were 61 people that were tested and of those, NO ONE tested positive! Of course, it was probably a self-selected group of individuals that already knew they didn't have the virus, but it was still one of the highest turnouts that the Red Cross had ever seen at an event. It would be great to have a more random sample size, but it is impossible to force people to be tested. I was happy anyways.

The bands were pretty cool and the comedy troupe was well-received by the crowd. Although, I couldn't understand what was being said because it was all in Wolof, it was still pretty cool. It's so true that in order to talk about serious subjects like AIDS, you need to do it with humor here. It makes it less awkward, I think.

I also got a sweet, free t-shirt from the event. It was great and I felt like I had helped people.

Right now, is the West African Invitational Softball Tournament (WAIST) so it's been mayhem. I will update about it when I have more than 10 min to myself! Missssss everyone!

Look at the pictures!!! Some are from our AIDS concert that was held on Jan. 31. I will update about that soon, promise.

A marabout is the equivalent to a priest or a bishop in Catholicism. On Wednesday, when I found out the local marabout for their sect of Islam was coming, I knew it would be a big deal.

He was supposed to arrive around lunch time, eat in our village, and then proceed onto Goudoude Ndouebe, the village 2 km away. However, he was on Senegal-time which means that he showed up when he decided he was ready regardless of prior guarantees. When his entourage pulled up at dusk, honking their horns, with young boys hanging outside the back of trucks, I watched in amazement as the children of the village went wild with excitement. It was a little scary because the men brought out their rifles and fired them intermittently to mark the marabout’s arrival.

It was very important to the kids in my village to meet this marabout, so, I had to veil and wear conservative clothing. I went over to my friend’s house and waited with all the other women and children for his arrival. Then the women my age started questioning my personal religion.

It seems like they don’t want to understand that I am Christian, that I still pray, and that just because I don’t pray like them I’m not a bad person. It was a very frustrating experience. It was explained to me that if I saw the marabout, I would be obligated to pray because he would give something like a benediction.

So, I ended up going home without seeing the marabout, which I was o.k. with. The women could only go to see him after all the men have received their blessing, so it was already dark by the time I could have seen him. I understand the importance of religion in my village and I think I am very respectful of it. Why then, is it impossible for them to respect my beliefs? I don’t buy the line “They are ignorant and not exposed to other religions.” I have been living in this community for the last 8 months and I have had numerous discussions with everyone in my village and host family about Christianity.

If anyone has suggestions, please write me an email.

I've almost been here a year and I'm not sure if my blog is helpful to people who aren't living here because that was my original aim.

I want to write about things that other people want to hear about...so what would you guys like to see/hear? Feedback is necessary to evaluate.

Also, thank you to everyone who has sent me packages and letters, it has meant the world to me!

Last week, I decided to visit some of the houses around my quartier. I went to undoubtably, the poorest family's house on the outskirts of Goudoude. I brought along a Raspberry Lemonade Crystal Light packet to share with the billion kids this family has.

They were ecstatic that I came bearing American goods. They had me make it and of course I had to add sugar to it...All the kids took turns sipping from the ladle. It's amazing how well children here share things without protest when forced to.

One of the five mothers, Houley Ka, came out and was so excited that I had come to visit her and her family AND that I had brought them something. She cried, "Let's clap for Fati Ka! Let's clap, kids!" (Fati Ka is my name in the village.) So, about 15 kids started to fervently clap their hands together and giggle.

By far and away one of the best moments I have ever spent in this country. I felt appreciated, but more importantly I felt like I had become a respected member of the community. A smile spreads across my face just thinking about it. I'm beginning to see why volunteers extend their stay for another year. (DON'T worry, I'm not going to stay here for another year). Everything has been memorable here, but things just began to be consistently enjoyable.