If you haven’t already, read the introduction to this article here. I am not a stranger to the ailments that plague foreigners in the developing world. There was the rather unfortunate encounter with tap water in Egypt, and the never-ending bout of Giardia that I contracted in Poland. But I have never been sick as severely and as often as I have been here in Senegal. My first couple months at site in... more

To read the rest of this blog post and to view the pictures please go to my new website

New website=awesomeness. Seriously.

It’s been brought to my attention lately that I haven’t been being completely honest. This blog is a collection of stories and anecdotes about my time so far with the Peace Corps, but I have chosen to omit quite a bit. You see, I’ve been sugarcoating the truth. Only telling bits and pieces of what my life is actually like here. If you were to read through my posts you would probably get the impression that... more

To read the rest of this blog post and to view the pictures please go to my new website

New website=awesomeness. Seriously.

My shoe broke today. Serendipitously it broke as a tripped into my neighborhood boutique (the Senegalese equivalent of a general store). Since I didn’t want to walk back all the way to my house with one bare foot, I decided to buy a pair of cheap Chinese manufactured (read–low quality) flip flops. Since just one of my shoes broke, I just replaced the one broken shoe with a new shoe, instead of putting... more

To read the rest of this blog post and to view the pictures please go to my new website

New website=awesomeness. Seriously.

The water situation in my family compound has been rapidly deteriorating since the end of the cold season. The combination of last-6-inches-of-the-well-dirty water and an invasion by swimming ants has rendered the water in our well unusable for anything except washing the goat poop off the bottom of my Chacos sandals. Since I am far too cheap to pay for water from the neighborhood robinet (water tap), I have been relying on my good looks and mad Pulaar skills to sweet talk the neighbors into letting me pull water from their wells—really anyone will let me pull water, they just want to laugh at the white girl while she attempts to carry 10 liters of water in a bucket on top of her head. The other day, I was with my sister at our neighbor’s compound pulling water for laundry, when I noticed something floating in the water. Confused, I called my sister over and asked her what it was. Unsure herself, she took the bucket and string from me and with a flick of her wrist was able to coax the mysterious object into the bucket. We pulled the bucket out, and to our surprise inside was a 6 inch long dead fish. Yes, a very very dead fish. Now, let me explain how weird this was. First, fish do not live in wells. And second, no Senegalese person would ever throw a fish down a well—especially a big one (they would eat it). I kept asking my sister and my neighbors how a fish got into the well, but no one seemed to have any idea. So, how does a dead fish get into a well? And more importantly, how long has it been in there? I’ve been using that water to drink and bathe with… maybe I should just pay the 5 cents to get water from the public robinet.

Thirsty?

Every morning I open my front door to a neat pile of fresh yellow-green mangos on my front step.  Almost like breakfast-in-bed, Senegalese style. My youngest brother, Abibou and nephew, Jiby (both around 12 years old) are harboring huge crushes on me, and have been in competition for my attention for the past few months.  For awhile they would fight over who would get to pull my water from the well, or find a plastic chair for me to sit in, or who could keep the small kids away from me when I am reading.  But last week, they saw me eating a mango and concluded that I must love mangos. It is Abibou and Jiby’s job to climb the mango trees in our yard and shake down the mangos, or to use a huge stick to knock a ripe mango down to the ground.  And every time they do this, they save the biggest and best mangos for me.  If I am around, they make a big show out of handing them to me (and I make a big show out of telling them thank you).  Or if I am in my hut or away working in town, they leave them in a nice pile in front of my door.  They are in a feud to see who can pick me the most big and ripe  mangos, and I am content to let them fight, as long as they keep the mangos coming…

Little Sannu, enjoying a mango Abibou picking mangos for me

Greetings are very important in Senegalese society.  It is no wonder it takes me me so long to do anything, when I have to preface every interaction with five minutes worth of greeting exchange.  Did you sleep in peace? Did you spend the morning/afternoon/day in peace?  How is is going?  Are you healthy?  And your family?  Your husband/wife? Your children? Your children’s children? Your work? Peace only. Whew. One evening I has hanging out at the boutique (the Senegalese answer to a general store) with my neighborhood posse of  late teens/early twenties girlfriends.  We were chatting about music, dancing, and boys when the topic of “jaay-fondé” which is the Wolof word for big butt, came up.  After a lengthy debate the girls decided that I had the biggest butt.  BTW this is a compliment in Senegal, they like big butts here.  I tried to explain that my butt is actually quite normal sized and that people like Beyonce and J-Lo had much bigger and better butts than I did.  They would hear nothing of it.  Despite it’s quite ordinary size and shape my butt was declared the biggest and best in the neighborhood. The result of this declaration?  Every time I greet any teenage girl (and some older women)  in my neighborhood they ask about my jaay-fondé.  The conversation goes something a bit like this… Me: A Jaarama. (Hello)

Them: A Jaarama. 

Me: Tan alaa. (No evil)

Them: Jam Tun. Tan alaa ton? (Peace only. No evil there?)

Me: Jam Tun.  No marsude? (Peace only.  How’s it going?)

Them: Seeda seeda.  (Little little)

Me: Bengure ma wadi? (How’s your family?)

Them: Hibe en jam. E jaay-fondé ma wadi? (They are in peace. And how’s your big butt?)

Me: eeerrr himo en jam…? (eeerrr its in peace…?) Needless to say, this is not a very traditional pattern of greeting.  And it has led to quite a few embarrassing moments, the first occurred in front of my Senegalese grandmother.  The second at the market, when greetings were exchanged at a yell across the vegetable stalls and practically everyone heard… and then stared at my big butt.  Awkward.

The West African Softball Tournament (WAIST). It happens once a year. Every February Peace Corps volunteers and American Ex-pats from around West Africa converge on Dakar for a weekend filled with American-style food, drink, dancing, and general debauchery. Oh and there is a softball tournament. The regions of Tambacounda and Kedougou combined to form a single softball team. As a team we decided that our costumes were more important than actually being able to play softball. We picked Peace Corps B.C. (P.C.B.C.) as our theme which meant lots of ripped clothes, scraggly beards and various animal bones and teeth used as jewelry. We didn’t win a single game… but then again we did forfeit at the beginning of every game so that we could bat with a giant club (a la the Flintstones). We also called “timeouts” which was code for “dance party on the pitcher’s mound.” The nights were filled with parties at clubs around Dakar. This was perhaps the one weekend all year, where us volunteers could live and act like Americans. It was wonderful. WAIST is talked up a lot in Peace Corps circles, and I have to admit it lived up to all the hype. I had the time of my life.  

Great fielding (notice the beers in their hands)

My “uniform”  

Pre-game warmup

We interrupt your regular programming to bring you the Africa Cup of Nations… The women in my household have been cranky over the past couple of weeks.  Their favorite soap opera Marina (a Mexican telenovela dubbed in French) was bumped from its primetime slot by the Africa Cup football (soccer) matches. Every afternoon and every evening all the men (and a couple young girls) gather around my family’s tiny TV to watch and cheer on their favorite team (Senegal didn’t qualify, so everyone picked different teams).  And it wasn’t just my family.  Every single household in Kedougou brought out their little TVs or radios to watch and listen to the games. When 20,000 people are all watching the exact same sporting event on TV it is almost like being at the actual match.  You can take a walk down the road and still follow the match because the commentary is blasting in stereo from everyone’s house. The whoops and screams echo throughout the neighborhoods when a team scores a goal.  And if you aren’t by a television when the cheers erupt, you rush to find one to catch the instant replay. I am not exactly a sports fan, but I enjoyed watching the games with my family.  Although, I have to admit, I am ready for Marina to come back on.  I really want to know if Marina and Ricardo end up together…

On average I would say I spend at least half of every day in a state of utter confusion.  While my Pular skills have improved massively since install—I am still in “survival” mode every time I have a simple conversation.  A couple months ago a fellow volunteer, KC, posted some sample conversations which I think do a great job of conveying the utter confusion we volunteers face on a daily basis.  Inspired by her, what follows is a quick example from this week—translated for you from Pular to literal English. Scene: A Saturday afternoon.  I have just returned from the market and sit in a chair in the middle of my family compound  next to my two younger sisters, Adja (18) and Rokhaya (16).  Sannu my baby nephew plays nearby. Me:  “The sun is hot today”

Rokhaya: “Yes, the sun is very hot today.”

--Long awkward silence--

My aunt walks by with her newborn baby.  Sannu bursts into tears for no obvious reason.

M: “Why him cry—errr—is he crying?”

R: “Because he is jealous.”

M: “Jeelloouusss?  I do not understand.”

R: “Hesawthebabaynowhewantsattentionbecausethebabyisgettinglotsofattention.  Do you understand now?”

M:  “No.  I do not understand".”

R:  “He. saw. new. baby. He. is. crying. because. he. is. jealous.”

M:  “Oh.  I think I understand.  He is crying because he is pregnant. (the Pular words for jealous and pregnant sound almost exactly the same).”

Adja: “Hahahaha say it again! Say it again!”

M:  “What?  What did I say?  No laugh.  I not make joke?”

A: “He is not pregnant, he is jealous.”

M:  “That’s what I said, pregnant.”

A: “No, jealous.  repeat.”

M: “j-e-a-l-o-u-s.”

R:  “Good.  That’s good!”

M:  Okay.  I understand.  So, Sannu is crying because he is pregnant.” Sannu

One of the strangest adjustments I have had to make being a Peace Corps volunteer in Africa, is getting used to the idea of being a minority. I have never in my life been a minority. And here in Senegal, I have two identities, and I am a minority in both of them. I am a white person in a black country. I am a woman in a patriarchal society. I am a Christian in a predominantly Muslim country. I stick out like a sore thumb. But I was expecting this, in fact this is one of the reasons I wanted to join the Peace Corps. For the opportunity to live, work and hopefully understand people that are very, very different from myself. What I didn’t expect is that my second identity, my Senegalese identity, would put me in the minority as well. As Rokhaya (my Senegalese name) I am a Pular. I speak a minority language in a country that is dominated my Wolof-speakers. The fact that I speak Pular is a strange novelty. Even in my Pular hometown of Kedougou, people don’t understand why I wouldn’t learn Wolof. The Wolofs are the largest ethnic and language group in Senegal. And after the French left, their language has become the lingua-franca of the country. The fact that I would choose to speak Pular instead of Wolof or French is seen as bizarre. I am constantly on the offensive. At least once a day a meet someone who is Wolof (usually a young man who has come to Kedougou to work in the mines or sell goods at the market), and I am berated—in French, because of course he doesn’t speak Pular—that I should stop learning Pular and I should learn Wolof instead. Whenever I leave Kedougou I am constantly seeking out Pular speakers. I look for shops with the names “Sow”, “Diallo”, and “Ba” in the names. I yell at kids in Pular thinking it might make me seem less foreign than English would. I still greet people in Pular in the hopes that they will respond back with “Jam tun” instead of “jam rek”. In a country dominated by the Wolof, I am fiercely proud to be a Pular. To be in the minority. The Gambia River flowing through Kedougou

Four months down, 23 more to go! Number of times I’ve worn jeans – 4

Times I’ve worn makeup – 2

Hot showers – 0

Warthog sandwiches eaten – 7

Text messages my sister has sent me – 18

Times I have watched the season premiere of “Glee” (the only video on my ipod) – 14

Babies I’ve seen learn how to walk – 3 

It is really hard to be an “adult” here. What I mean by that is, I struggle with my limited language skills and constant cultural blunders to fit in with adults. The first hour is usually fine. We can talk about America or Senegal or my job, but beyond that there really isn’t much more I can say. The result of this is that I spend a lot of time with the “kids”. And the person I spend the most time with is my 8-year old niece, Fanta. Fanta is the daughter of my oldest sister, Hãr (remember the brave one?). Fanta is my constant defender and protector. She yells at the kids who call me “toubab”. She keeps me filled in on the neighborhood gossip (did you know Ahmed’s dog had puppies?). And perhaps most importantly, she listens to me. She doesn’t laugh at my accent or when I mispronounce something. And unlike other people who assume that I am stupid because I can’t express myself, she has an uncanny understanding of my frustration. When I get upset because I can say something, she will smile, tilt her head, and say, “Mi andii Rokhaya, Pular no saatii.” (I know Rokhaya, Pular is hard.) “Hida waawii!” (You can do it!). And she patiently waits for me to figure out a way to say what I want to say. It can be hard, waking up every morning, knowing I am going to be laughed at, mocked and misunderstood. I am going to make countless mistakes. I will unknowingly offend half a dozen people and possibly frustrate myself to the point of tears. But I am so grateful to have Fanta, who every day tells me how good I am doing and that I can “waawii”. I can only hope that I show others at least half the patience and kindness she has shown me.

Unfortunately my computer has been out of commission for the past couple of months. Hopefully I will have it fixed in February when I am up in Dakar. Uploading photos is next to impossible on the internet café computers, but if you would like to see some visuals of what my life is like here is Senegal you should check out my friend Kate’s flickr account at www.flickr.com/katepc

An impulse decision brought me to Dakar for New Years. Myself and a fellow new volunteer had plans to stay in Kedougou, but after a little convincing we joined a couple other volunteers for the trek up to Dakar. This is the first time I have left Kedougou since installing in October. Which is probably a bit too long to go without a Dakar-break. Dakar is amazing (see previous post), but after being in Kedougou for three months, it seems like the promised land. So much food! And grocery stores with real isles! And I drank a latte! Sure is cost 6 dollars, but I drank a latte! I got a nice hotel room with a fellow volunteer and we watched TV! Sure the only channels in English were MTV and CNN, but I’m not complaining. It was amazing. New Years was unbelievably fun. There were quite a few of my fellow volunteers from my stage in Dakar plus a lot of new faces. I couldn’t have imagined a better way to ring in the year 2010. It is crazy to think that this will be my “Africa year”. An entire year spent in a different country, on a different continent. I’m not sure what 2010 has in store for me, but I’m ready! Bring it on! PS – A huge thank-you to Dad and Debbie who funded this trip. I was able to really splurge (ie 6 dollar latte) and enjoy myself for a couple of days. Thanks!

7AM Sept place (AKA bush taxi) arrives at Kedougou regional house. Thank god you are traveling with 4 other volunteers so you don’t have to sit around the garage for hours waiting for the car to fill and depart. 7:42AM Spot a herd of monkeys sunning themselves on the warm road. They disperse into the trees as you drive by. Pinch yourself. You’re in Africa. 10AM Arrive at Tambacounda garage. 10:05AM Buy a bean sandwich at the Tamba garage. Greet bean sandwich lady in French. Surprisingly she responds in Pular (Tamba is the end of Pular territory and the beginning of Wolof-land). Amazed at your luck, chat happily in Pular. 10:15AM Depart Tamba garage in a new sept-place with a new driver. 10:43AM Sept place gets a flat tire. 10:55AM Tire get changes and the passengers pile back in. 11:34AM While listening to a “This American Life” podcast and flipping through Vogue think to yourself, “Hey, this ride isn’t that bad.” 1:19PM Sun beats through the window onto your face and your left butt cheek falls asleep. The temperature in the car hovers around the mid-90s. Take back previous comment. This ride is awful. 3:20PM Arrive at Kaolack garage. 3:22PM Walk into boutique. Hear owner talk to son in Pular. Amazed at your luck finding a Pular speaker in Kaolack (definitely the heart of Wolof-land) chat happily in Pular. 3:25PM Drink an ice cold Diet Coke. Your first in three months. It tastes like America. 3:26PM Pile into new sept place with new driver. 5:16PM Arrive at Mbour garage. State at all the sunburnt French tourists. French tourists stare at you when you yell at the talibè beggars in Pular. 5:17PM Random guy at garage tries to snatch Vogue out of your arms. Tigten grip on magazine and yell at the foiled-thief in Pular. Foiled-thief is confused. Previously mentioned French tourists think you are crazy and start backing away. 5:19PM pile back into sept place. 6:14PM Sept place comes to a standstill in Dakar traffic. 6:42PM Arrive Dakar. 6:45PM Pile into a taxi. 6:58PM Arrive at Peace Corps regional house in Dakar. 7:17PM Take first hot shower since America. 8:30PM Eat pizza at a nice restaurant in downtown Dakar. It has napkins, silverware, and individual plates. Heaven. 9:15PM Savor a dish of Strawberry Tiramisu ice cream. Contemplate never leaving Dakar…

I somehow managed to survive my first Christmas away from home. And with the exception of the ten minutes I spent crying on the phone with my sister—I actually enjoyed myself. Unburdened by the pressure of American-style gift-giving and family “bonding” Christmas was actually relaxing and—gasp—fun. All the volunteers in the Kedougou region came in for the holiday, and we kicked the celebration off with a “fry night” (sweet potatoes, eggplant, potatoes, onions, cookies, etc.) and we baked sugar cookies with carols blasting in the kitchen. Christmas day we feasted on pork chili and pumpkin pie. We did a small “White Elephant” gift exchange and opened stockings that our Peace Corps Volunteer Leader had made for us out of Senegalese fabric. Back in America my stocking was usually stuffed with Lifesaver books, candy canes, and giftcards. My Senegalese stocking however, has Biskrem (Algerian cookies), Jumbo (MSG/meat flavor cubes), berry flavored Foster Clarks, and condoms—Oh Peace Corps. I want to say thank you to everyone who sent Christmas packages, with the exception of Barbara’s I am still patiently waiting for them to arrive. Wishing you all a very Merry Christmas! Cutting shapes in cookie dough Peeking in my Senegalese Christmas stocking

Early Termination is a strange taboo that seems to haunt every volunteer’s psyche. We all know that with simply one phone call, we could call it quits and be on a plane back to America and back to everything we left behind... The reality of how little is keeping us here really hit home today. I am disappointed and heartbroken that one of my fellow volunteers and one of my closest friends here in Senegal decided to ET. No explanation given. But, they didn’t need a reason to go, in fact just wanting to go is reason enough… but I will miss them. It all become so real when in a matter of hours they were in a car on their way to Dakar where they would board a plane within a few days bound for America. It is quick. All the time we spent in the application process, in training, in the first two months in our villages, it can simply be written off. A small detour on our eventual life path. I am sad they are gone. But this reaffirms my commitment to stay. Sure every day I have moments when I think to myself “why the hell am I doing this?” But every day I have even more moments when I think that this is the most amazing thing I have ever done in my life. The opportunity to work as a Peace Corps Volunteer is the greatest blessing. This is exactly where I am supposed to be and what I am supposed to be doing…

In my previous life, I would have been repulsed by the thought of eating roadkill. And in all fairness, I still probably wouldn’t touch a deer or any other kind of wild game that had been hit by a car… but warthog is different. Everyone knows that I love pork. Bacon, sausages, chops, ribs—I love it all. In fact my number one concern before moving to Senegal was how I was going to last 2 years without a regular supply of pork (Senegal is a Muslim country—and pork is a big no-no for Muslims). Luckily here is the southern part of Senegal, warthog (the pig’s gamier relative) is in abundant supply. So when the Peace Corps car hit and killed a warthog out in the bush my reaction wasn’t, “eeww gross.” but instead, “do you think the blood has colagulated and where is a warthog’s jugular?” As Peace Corps volunteers we are always looking for any excuse to have a party. And an entire warthog was just about as good a reason as any. So we gathered some people, drained the blood, and a couple of the guys set to work cutting up the hog and cleaning the intestines to make sausages. Yes, sausages. So it may not be the classiest thing… but it was pretty damn good.

Having been in Senegal for the two most important Senegalese holidays (Tabaski and Korite) I feel like I have become a bit of an authority on how to navigate these celebrations. What follows is a short guide to surviving Senegalese holidays. Just in case you were interested… 1) Buy a new and expensive outfit. (Actually wear the same outfit you wore for the previous holiday. Insist the outfit is new, and that you had it made just for this occasion). 2) Get your hair braided. (Or insist that white peoples’ hair can’t braid and that you would really like to have beautiful braids, but your hair just won’t cooperate…) 3) Wake up early. (Unlike in America, where holidays are a time to relax and spend time with your nearest and dearest, in Senegal you need to wake up early to ensure that the compound and your hut is spotless—you will have visitors). 4) Watch your brothers slaughter the sheep/goat. (Sure it may not be the most pleasant thing in the world, but the only way to ensure that the piece of meat you are nibbling on isn’t intestine or brains is to watch it with your own eyes go directly from a piece of livestock anatomy—to the cooking pot—and then to your mouth). 5) Take pictures of your family/friends/neighbors. (Or take one quick photo then insist that your camera is broken and needs to go to Dakar to get repaired). 6) Learn the special holiday greetings. (And then proceed to screw them up every time someone new walks into your compound). 7) Eat. A lot. (Or sneakily shove the food in your section of the bowl into other people’s sections and insist that you ate a lot and that you are really really full). 8) Greet the neighbors/extended family/entire city. (And pretend you think it is fun to spend hours walking in the mid-day heat to greet people you have never met and will probably never see again). 9) Give pennies (aka 25cfa) out to the kids. (Or yell at them and tell them you are not a toubab and don’t have any money!) 10) Stay up late into the night dancing to the same Akon song played on repeat. (Or feign a stomachache and go to bed early with earplugs).

For me, part of growing up has always meant being away from home for the holidays. Not spending Thanksgiving and Christmas with my family back home has always seemed like the marker for “adulthood”. Having spent my first Thanksgiving away from home—far far away from home—I can say that assumption was completely false. I don’t feel like I’ve completed some kind of adult rite-of-passage. In fact, I just feel sad and lonely and disappointed that I wasn’t at home, eating my mom’s gramcracker crusted sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie with cold Cool Whip. But, misery does love company… and if I had to be in Africa for Thanksgiving, at least I got to spend it with a couple dozen other young Americans. All of whom were just as lonely and just as homesick as I was…

Have you ever wondered which would win, a turkey or a lamb in a cage fight? Yeah, me neither… but just in case you were curious I would put money on the lamb… For Thanksgiving the volunteers of Kedougou were joined by our northern neighbors from the Tambacounda region. Much like the first Thanksgiving the Tamba volunteers brought a turkey. And probably much like the first Thanksgiving the turkey was still very much alive. At the Kedougou house we have a makeshift pen to keep the soon-to-be-deceased livestock that parades through the house during the various holidays. But this year, Tabaski (Islamic New Years) fell a mere two days after Thanksgiving, and the regional house livestock pen was currently housing a lamb (traditional Tabaski fare). Thinking nothing of it the turkey was placed in the pen with the lamb—after all, what could a turkey and a lamb have to fight about? Plenty. After a couple of head buts and a few flying feathers the turkey and the lamb were separated. Lesson learned. Turkeys and lambs, apparently unable to co-habitate…

I hate saying “no”. And I am not the only one… as Americans we are hypersensitive about asking favors—even from close friends or family (or maybe especially from them). Usually we extend  a favor before we have to put someone in a position to ask us. When I actually gather up the courage to request a favor (big or small) it is because I absolutely NEED something. Otherwise I wouldn’t ask. The opposite end of this is that when someone I care about asks me for something I rarely say “no”. I figure they would only ask if they really wanted or needed something. Here in Senegal the attitude is completely opposite. The Senegalese operate with the motto “hey, it can’t hurt to ask!” And ask they do… From the kids on the street screaming “Toubab give me a gift” to my next door neighbor demanding I give him a Visa to America (What? Does he think I have a stack of them sitting in my bag?), I am constantly bombarded by requests that I have to deny. While constantly saying “no” can be hard, my Senegalese host family has offered a safe haven from the constant demands and begging. That is until this week… My family has been good about not asking me for things or favors (after all, I am not the first volunteer to live with them, they have hosted a long string of volunteers before me). But, over the past couple of days the requests for things have been endless—especially from my Neene (mother)… “Give me your American seeds, Jennaba (the volunteer before me) used to give me seeds from America.” “Give me your hut, your older brother Sannu is coming to visit for Tabaski and needs a nice place to sleep.” “Your Baba is sick, I know you have medicine, why wont you give him medicine?” “I just bought this fridge and there is nowhere for me to put it, let me keep it in your hut, your hut has plenty of room.” “Let me borrow your bike to go to the market, I need to buy food for dinner.” The requests have been endless, and the thing is… I WANT to give them all these things. I really care about them and want to say “yes”. But I realize that their requests are not coming from the same place that requests from my friends and family back home come from. They are not asking because they really need these things, they are testing my limits. They want to know what they can get from me, and what they can expect from me over the next two years… This is one part of Senegalese culture that adapting to has been a struggle. I know that unlike my friends and family back home, they don’t realize that what they are doing is making me uncomfortable. But even still, I resent them for putting me in the position of having to say “no”. It breaks my heart every time…

My friend and fellow volunteer Kate tells me that she needs a cat. Why? She has a mouse problem. Every night, under the cover of darkness, a mouse crawls into her hut and steals the string from her cellphone pully system. Wait. Cellphone pully system?

Let me explain... Kate has VERY limited cellphone reception in her village. When Kate wants to send a text message, she types the message, hits "send" then lifts her cellphone to the roof of her hut--via her cellphone pully system--where she gets one bar of reception.

Only in the Peace Corps...

Hãr is Brave

Since moving to Senegal, my tolerance for life's creepies and crawlies has increased significantly. I fall asleep to the sound of mice scurrying through my roof thatching. I see nuclear sized cockroaches on a semi-regular basis. I check my shoes every morning to ensure that there are no scorpions hiding inside. But today, I met my reptilian match.

I opened the door of my hut this morning and saw a three foot long lizard waddling across the floor and then up the wall. I immediately screamed and ran out of my hut shuddering and hopping from foot to foot. I was freaked. This lizard was HUGE. It belonged in a National Geographic magazine, not in my hut.

One of my older sisters, Bibé asked me what was wrong. Not knowing the Pullar word for "lizard", the only thing I could think to say was, "Mi Suusataa!" ("I am not brave!"). Bibé came into my hut and after a quick inspection she spotted the huge lizard. Within an instant she was by my side, hovering by the hut door, squealing along with me. We then proceeded to throw rocks at the lizard in a pathetic attempt to scare it out of my hut. When our rock throwing yielded no success, Bibé began calling for Hãr, my oldest sister. I asked her--between squeals and rock throwing-- "Why Hãr?". And she turned to me and told me, "Hãr no suusi" ("Hãr is brave") with a matter-of-fact look. She continued to call for Hãr and throw rocks.

When Hãr walked over, we (mostly Bibé) explained the reptile situation in my hut. Hãr smiled and then laughed at us. Once she was done making fun of us, she grabbed a stick, marched nto my hut, and chased the HUGE lizard out of the hut. All with her youngest child, Sannu, strapped on her back.

Completely shocked. I turned to Bibé and all I could manage to say was, "A halii gonga, Hãr no suusi!" ("you spoke truth, Hãr is brave!).

I have updated my wishlist, and I have a new address!  See previous post if you need more detailed instructions on how to get stuff to me!  http://pennilesstraveler5.blogspot.com/2009/05/main-car-packages.html My thanks and my love! My Kedougou address:

PCV Melanie Chamberlain

B.P. 37

Kedougou, Senegal

West Africa Here is a wishlist, but feel free to get creative: 

- Magazines (Trashy: Elle, Cosmo, US Weekly, People.  Classy: The Economist, National Geographic)

- Newspapers (The A-section of the Washington Post and New York Times)

- Dried Fruit (raisins, craisins, apricots, pineapple, mangos, etc.)

-  Instant Oatmeal (Especially the Cinnamon Roll and Maple Brown Sugar flavors)

-  Splenda Packets

- M&Ms and other chocolate

-  Watermelon Sour Patch Kids (hard to find-but I would love you forever!)

- Drink Mixes (Crystal light, Coco, Cider, etc.)

-  Instant sauce & soup mixes

-  Scented bars of soap

-  Nail polish and nail polish remover (nothing like a pedicure to make me feel almost beautiful)

- BBQ Sauce (goes awesome with our warthog sandwiches)

- Ground coffee beans (we have a coffee press!)

One of my biggest frustrations going about my daily life here, is constantly being referred to as a “toubab”.  “Toubab” literally translates as “outsider”, “foreigner” or basically “white person”.  And it is usually yelled by children along with requests for money or a gift. Being an Urban Ag volunteer means that I face a lot more “toubab” yelling kids than my fellow volunteers who are placed in small villages.  Usually I just ignore the kids, sometimes I tell them in Pullar to shut up and that my name isn’t “toubab”.  Last week though, I was walking back from my favorite bean sandwich stand, when a couple of kids were yelling “toubab” at me.  I turned around, and told them that they were being rude and to stop.  A man (and I assume parent) nearby told me that they were just being kids and that I was wasting my time.  I explained to the man that if a white child was to yell “balayjo” at a black person they would be in trouble (My exact words might have been something like, “If white kid said black person. White kid’s parents beat the piss out of white kid because white kid bad.” Eloquent—I know.  I told him that “toubab” is a racist word and that the kids only shouted it because I was white.  I said it was wrong, and they should be corrected.  He thought for a minute, then told me I was right, it was rude and racist.  We then finished greeting and parted ways. Later that night, when I was riding past the same spot on my bike with a fellow volunteer, I overheard a kid yell to his friends “Hey, don’t call her toubab you hear!?”.  My heart leapt. I realized that the man must have talked to the kids and told them not to call me “toubab”. Victory.  Sure it is a small victory, but right now I will take anything I can get.

No TV.  No Internet. What’s a girl in West Africa to do?  Read!  The following is a list of the books I have read/am reading.  And I will continue to add to it during my service.  If you have a book you loved, tell me, chances are we have it in one of the Peace Corps regional house libraries and I can read it.  Then we can write letters back and forth about the book (or skype).  It will be like Oprah’s book club.  Only better. Three Cups of Tea – by Greg Mortenson & David Oliver Relin

The Kite Runner – by Khaled Hosseini

Lamb, The Gospel According to Biff – by Christopher Moore

I can’t say that I wasn’t warned.  Just about every returned volunteer I spoke with before leaving for Senegal told me that the months between Pre-Service Training and In-Service Training would be the hardest.  During the first three months my main goal is to settle-in, learn the language, and integrate into my new community.  And try not to go stir crazy… It is only week two and I may going a little insane.  There is certainly not a lack of things to do… I need to continue practicing and learning Pular. My huts need to be cleaned and filled with furniture.  I need to plant a garden in my backyard.  I need to spend more time getting to know my new family. But even with all the huge tasks lying in front of me, I have a lot of spare time to sit around and think.  Think about life in America.  Think about what I would be doing now if I was back home.  Think about the food.  Think about how much I miss my friends and being a part of their lives.  Think about how much I would like to take Ramsey for a walk along Lake Union. Think about how “easy” life was in America and how “hard” life is here. But that’s the thing… life wasn’t “easy” in America.  I was constantly worried about student loan payments, finding a good job, getting into graduate school, and a million other small and big things.  Sure America has tasty food and toilets, but I am fooling myself if I think that life there is “easy”. And life here is Senegal isn’t necessarily “hard”.  Sure my standard of living is lower, and it is damn hot.  But the constant worrying and pressure that I felt in America is gone here.  I do face struggles here every day just trying to live a “normal”  life.  Adapting to the culture.  Trying to stay healthy.  Trying to find a way to express myself in a language I can barely speak… I know that these next couple of months are going to be long, hard, difficult and humbling.  But they are going to allow me to become a great volunteer capable of doing good work in my time here.  And perhaps more importantly, they are going to make me better person.  Hopefully the kind of person who will be ready—two years from now—to tackle student loans, a grown-up job, and grad school…

I’m not quite sure how to summarize everything that has occurred over the past couple of days, so I think I will just write some fleeting observations and first impressions of my new life as a full fledged Peace Corps Volunteer in Kedougou. The ride down here is long, dusty and dirty.  I will never take the air-conditioned Peace Corps cars for granted ever again… The Peace Corps Regional House in Kedougou is getting electricity.  Next step wifi? My new home is pretty sweet.  I have two huts, once for sleeping the other for opening Senegal’s first Starbucks franchise.  Details to be hashed out at a later date… My new family is awesome.  They don’t call me “toubab” instead they refer to me as “the new volunteer”. We have a pet monkey.  He hangs out in a tree by my window.    My monthly living allowance is less than 250 USD. My new name is “Rokhaya”.  I really like my new name.  It is a somewhat unique name, which I appreciate in a country where it seems like the same 40 names are used over and over again. I have been really sick for the past couple of days.  But making myself chicken noodle soup with chicken bullion cubes from a care package was a big boost to my moral. I bought a fan.  It changed everything. Enough said.

As most of you know, the first couple of months I spent here in Senegal I have been a “Peace Corps Trainee” (aka PCT).  I have been studying a local language, observing and learning about Senegalese culture, my stomach has been adjusting to Senegalese food, and I have been doing all this knowing that once training is over, I will become a full-fledged “Peace Corps Volunteer” (aka PCV).  After a somewhat nerve-wracking final language proficiency exam (in which I proved that, yes—I can speak pullafuuta at an intermediate-mid level), I showered and donned my best Senegalese-style chonci (clothes) and boarded the Peace Corps bus for Dakar.  In Dakar, I along with my fellow trainees, filed into the American ambassador’s house (which btw probably has the nicest bathrooms in all of Senegal—just saying).  We were joined by dignitaries from Korea and Japan (they have programs similar to Peace Corps), various Senegalese government officials, and of course the American Ambassador  to Senegal and the Peace Corps Senegal Country Director.   There were a bunch of speeches.  A couple given by my fellow trainees in the various local languages.  Then, the moment we had all been waiting for, the ambassador asked us to stand and to repeat the oath.  Now, I’m not sure exactly what kind of oath I was expecting to take… probably something along the lines of “I promise to help the people of Senegal help themselves and to work hard and be a good American for two years. Hakunah Matatah. Kumbaya. Peace out.”  Instead, I took an oath to “Protect and defend the Constitution of the United States from all enemies foreign and domestic, so help me God.” Wait… What? Seriously? Before I knew what had happened, I had swore it, so I guess that means I have yet another responsibility for the next two years.  Anyone have any idea how I am supposed to protect and defend the constitution?  Not sure what kind of enemies the American Constitution has in Senegal but I guess I will need to be on the look out. Once the ceremony had ended, the was a reception with amazing American-style food.  The volunteers (yes, we are now no longer trainees) crowded the buffet tables and there was a little scuffle when mini-hamburgers were brought out.  We ate and socialized then boarded the Peace Corps bus for the “American Club” in Dakar where we ate, drank, socialized and swam in the pool.  All-in-all, it was a really big day.  It marks the beginning of the rest of  my Peace Corps adventure.  Watch out Senegal, I am now a full-fledged Peace Corps Volunteer, nothing can stop me now! (Photo Courtesy of Carla Burns—Thanks Carla!)

To my Dad, who completely surprised me with a great package containing—among other things—crystal light infused with vitamins (which I didn’t know even existed), m&ms and chicken bouillon cubes for making chicken noodle soup next time I get giardia.  Simply amazing. Also, to Brenda and Greg from Stevenson’s hardware store.  They donated seeds for my personal garden in Kedougou.  Your generosity was overwhelming.  I will keep you updated with photos when the seeds are planted. Finally to my Mom.  I must admit, when I left for the Peace Corps I didn’t think that you were the “care package” type of mother.  You have proved me wrong.  Week after week packages keep arriving from you, each filled with amazing contents from America.  Captain Crunch, Peanut Butter, Honey, Chocolate, Benadryl, US magazine, the list goes on and on…  I don’t know how you know exactly what I need but you manage to get it to me all the way in Africa.  To you all.  My thanks and my love. Also, please forgive me if my blog lately has become boring lately.  I promise, more updates coming soon….

Just when I had finally adjusted to life in Africa.  To the sand.  To the heat.  To the bathrooms (err lack-there-of).  To the food.  Peace Corps took us on a field trip to Dakar.  Then everything changed… I have been hearing from current volunteers about how amazing Dakar is, but I didn’t believe them.  My initial impressions of Dakar during the car ride from the airport, were that the city was dirty, crowded and nothing impressive. I’m not sure if a couple months living in a Senegalese village changed me, or if maybe I was just too jet lagged to notice the first time, but Dakar is AMAZING.  I could have closed my eyes and been in any Eastern European capital city.  Dakar has sidewalks, restaurants, swimming pools nice cars, beautiful houses, big grocery stores with shopping carts, and most importantly—air conditioning.  Going to Dakar was like going to Disneyland. Peace Corps took us on a tour of their offices in Dakar, then a quick driving tour through the city.  Then we went out to lunch at various restaurants around the city.  I went with a group to an Italian restaurant, and I had a calzone.  With pepperoni.  A real treat in a muslim country. Anything and everything you could possibly want, you can get in Dakar—for  a price.  That is the one caveat.  As a Peace Corps volunteer, I can’t really afford to live the high life in Dakar. I cannot afford 14 dollar cocktails and 8 dollar boxes of corn flakes when my monthly salary is less than 300 dollars… But it is nice to know that Dakar is there.  Sure it may be a 14 hour car ride away from Kedougou.  But it is there.  Just in case.

Pular.  It is difficult. For the the past two months the majority of my time has been consumed learning Pulafuuta.  Considering my mastery of this language is going to be playing a major role in my life for the next couple of years, I thought I would write some information and observations about the language.  Especially since most of you have probably never even heard of Pular… Some observations are informative.  Others just amusing… Enjoy. Pulafuuta is a regional variety of Pular/Fulfulde spoken in southern Senegal.  Pular/Fulfulde is spoken by 13-15 million people in West Africa.  According to Wikipedia, Pular/Fulfulde is an official language in Niger, Nigeria and a National Language in   Guinea, Mali, Mauritania, Senegal. There are also Pular speaking communities in Benin, Burkina Faso, Cameroon, Central African republic, Chad, Gambia, Guinea-Bissau and Sierra Leone.  As a fellow Volunteer put it, the Pulars are like the Jews of West Africa.  They are a few of them everywhere, but they aren’t really a majority anywhere.  And everyone seems to hate them—joking—sorta. The first person singular in Pular is “Mi” (in English it is “I”).  This means that every time I speak about myself, to an English speaker is sounds like I am talking about myself in the third person.  ie: “Mi blah blah blah”. There are no verb conjugations in Pular (I hated conjugating verbs in French—so this is a welcome relief). However, there are 24 different articles.  English has one: “the”.  French has three: “la, le, les”.  Chances are I will never learn how to properly say “the” in this language. Verbs in Pular are very specific.  For example the verb “doomugol” means “to go to a person’s house around dinner time in order to mooch a meal.”  Seriously. Things that essentially sound the same to an English speaker can mean two very different things.  For example, “Hanki, mi tutii lekki” means “yesterday, I planted a tree” however “Hanki, mi tuutii lekki” means  “yesterday, I vomited medicine.” The verb “whoppugol” means “to do laundry”.  “Mi whoppi” translates as “I did laundry”.  Sometimes I wash my clothes just so I can walk around the rest of the day saying “mi whoppi”.  Cracks me up.

Well I have been in Senegal for over a month now.  I have to say, my time here has been amazing, better than I could have ever expected.  But I need to give a shout out to a couple of people who have made my life here even better… Kimberlee, thanks for spending far more money than you should, just so that we can talk for 10 minutes every week.  Your phone calls keep me sane. Mom, you quite literally saved my life when you sent the Benadryl.  I can now make it through the night without waking up scratching the dozens of mosquito bites on my feet. Barbara, for the hand sanitizer and M&Ms I will be eternally grateful.  Your package was amazing.  I bet the Pioneer has never made it this far! A big shout out!  From Africa, with my love.

For the past couple of days I have been down in Kedougou on a Volunteer Visit (also known as demystification).  The purpose of demystification is to give trainees an idea of what life as a volunteer will be like.  They time the visit so that it comes almost exactly halfway through training, which was perfect timing.  After visiting a volunteer and meeting volunteers in the region and hearing about their amazing work, I am really  motivated to work hard and push through the rest of training.  So, after the 12 hour drive down to Kedougou, we were met by a huge mob of Kedougou volunteers.  They were very welcoming and were excited to meet us and tell us about life in “the bush”.  They made us an amazing American feast (hamburgers, coleslaw, potato salad, french fries, and fried okra)  the food was delicious. Seriously yummy. During the volunteer visit I was able to explore the city of Kedougou and it is a perfect site for me.  It is small, so I feel like I will be able to integrate into the community.  But since Kedougou is the capital of the region it has all the amenities I could really ever need, a post office, government offices, a large daily market, and TWO paved roads.  My home is also just over a mile from the regional house (is actually more like a compound—just traditional Senegalese huts).  And it has a shower.  Really.  I would have taken a photo, but my camera is broken.  I will prove it as soon as a replacement arrives from America. The volunteers in the region have worked hard to create a tight network, and it was great to spend a couple of days watching them work.  The volunteer I shadowed was amazing (only been here a year and speaks amazing Pullar).  He was able to introduce me to a couple of potential work partners and we went out to a garden and talked with a farmer who is growing alternate varieties in the off season and making a killing at the market. All in all, the visit was amazing.  I cannot wait to install and to make the city my home.  I think that I am going to be really happy in Kedougou for the next two years.  The landscape is beautiful.  Rolling hills, waterfalls, trees, and monkeys.  It also has a long rainy season (and we all know that I feel most at home with a little rain).  I feel like I won the lottery twice.  First getting to go to Senegal, and now being placed in Kedougou.  Lucky me.

I have a phone!  It costs nothing for me to receive calls, so if you feel like skipping your morning latte, please spend a couple of bucks and give me a call!

My number is:  011 221 773304850

011 is the exit code for the USA.  If you are using skype you might not need it.

221 is the Senegal country code

773304850 is my cell number

Best time to call is after 12:00 noon Senegal time.  (I'm 7 hours ahead). My Love! Me during my first phone call from home.  I love you Mom and Kim!

Today was the day that we have all been waiting for… site announcements!  The session began with everyone getting led to the basketball court.  Painted on the ground was a huge map of Senegal.  We are all blindfolded, then led to various locations on the map.  When I was led to my spot I called out and discovered that all the members of my language group (the Pullafunta group) were all close, plus a new voice, a Mandinka speaker.  Then I started calling out to see how far away everyone else was… and no one responded.  They were all really really far away.  Then we took off our blindfolds, and looked down… My site is the city of Kedougou! Kedougou (pronouced KAY-duh-goo) is the capital of the region of Kedougou.  The region is supposed to be very beautiful with lots of trees, hills, and monkeys!  It is also one of the hottest areas of Senegal and it gets significantly more rainfall than anywhere else in Senegal.  The region of Kedougou is also where our country director Chris Hedrick did hisservice way back when, and current volunteers say he is partial to the area.Peace Corps has initiated a pilot project in Kedougou region which has established a regional strategy and lots of collaboration between volunteers.  Check out http://www.pckedougou.org  for more info about what current volunteers are doing in the region and how you can support my soon-to-be region mates. I have also been informed that the volunteers in Kedougou host the annual PC 4th of July party and we roast a pig! Someone must have told the staff about my love affair with pork products.  I am really excited about my placement and I cannot wait for next week when we leave for volunteer visits and I will get to see the region for myself.  I will report back soon with details (but no photos, sorry my camera is dead).

Blindfolded and waiting for placement  Where am I going? The reveal… Kedougou! 

1)  It is hard to tell sometimes if I am tanning, or if am just really dirty. 2)  I pee in a squat latrine and rinse afterwards with a cup of water.  And I’ve actually become quite good at it.  I also ration toilet paper for “special occasions” like when I have a bad day, or if I’m feeling a bit sick… 3)  I’ve turned into an emotional manic.  I laugh, I cry, I swear, I yell.  All usually within the span of the same hour 4)  I wash my clothes in a bucket, rise them in another bucket, then hang then to dry on a clothes line.  And I’m not very good at it.  I usually fail at getting all the soap out.  This becomes painfully obvious when it rains and my shirt starts lathering and suding. 5)  “Cold” has become a flavor.  ie “So how does that Senegalese beer taste?” “It tastes cold.” 6)  I actually look forward to power outages.  No power means that the village is quiet.  No blaring call to prayer.  No Akon blasting from my neighbor’s room.  No French dubbed soap operas playing on TV all day.  Bliss. 7)  I sleep under a mosquito net.  And love it.  It’s kinda like having a canopy bed. 8)  I eat from a communal bowl that sits on the floor with my right hand only.  Sometimes I get to sit on a stool, sometimes I crouch/squat near the bowl.  Sometimes I get a spoon, sometimes I don’t.  I always wash my hands, my family never washes theirs. 9)  I take bucket baths.  No I don’t bathe in a bucket.  I fill a bucket with water and using a cup dump the water all over myself.  I lather.  Then rinse.  Seriously.  No showers.  Ever. 10)  I probably have malaria.  Mefloquine doesn’t prevent me from getting malaria, it just suppresses the symptoms.  Since malaria has a 21 day incubation period—and I have been here a month—and I average 4 to 8 mosquito bites per day—I figure, by now I probably have a little malaria.

A Day in the Life of Haddie Sow (AKA Melanie) 6AM     Wake up.  Stare at ceiling. Contemplate the necessity of using the latrine. 6:30 AM     Get out of bed.  Visit latrine.  Mentally kick myself for being too cheap to buy toilet paper when I was in Thies. 6:32AM     Lie back in bed.  Listen to ipod. slowly get hotter and hotter as the sun rises and heats my room. 8AM     Get dressed.  Leave room.  Walk around compound and greet the entire family. 8:30AM      Boil water on the propane stove for my morning “latte” (water, Nescafe, powdered milk & sugar).  Munch on some bread. 8:45AM     Leave for Pular lessons.  Greet 80% of the people I pass.  Apologize for not speaking Wolof.  Explain that I am a Peace Corps Volunteer and I am learning Pular because I am going to be living in another part of the country. 9AM     Pular lesson begin.  I tell my instructor, Lamine, about my previous day with the eloquence and precision of a toddler (ie. I cooked goat. I visited friend. I slept good).  Afterwards, I try not to break down laughing or crying while I learn more Pular grammar.  Sure they don’t conjugate verbs in this language, but there are 27 different ways to say “the” and “it”.  Seriously. 1PM     Return home.  Greet family again.  Explain why i was gone and what I was doing, even though I do the exact same thing every day. 2PM     Naptime/Laundry time/help with dinner/study Pular.  All listed in order of priority. 5PM     Go to the community garden.  Hang out with the other 5 Peace Corps Volunteers at my CBT site.  Pretend we working when we are actually eating Biscrum (Algerian cookies ubiquitous in Senegal) and drinking Foster Clarks (like exotic flavored Tang). 7PM     Go home.  My family tells me I stink (their way of asking if I would like to bathe).  I take a bucket bath. 8PM     Visit other Peace Corps volunteer’s compounds.  Greet their families.  Practice Pular.  Laugh at my own inadequacies. 10PM     Return home.  Eat dinner with my family.  On the ground.  Squatting around a communal bowl.  Sometimes I get a spoon.  Sometimes I eat with my hands. 11PM     Apologize to my family for being so sleepy.  Explain that i am tired.  Go to my room.  Listen to my ipod.  Read. Write. Laugh. Cry.  And finally fall asleep.    

So we received our language assignments today and I am currently learning Pulafuuta (pronounced POO-lah-FOO-tah) which is a regional flavor of Pulaar.  Because of the language I am learning, there is a really good chance that I will be placed in the region of Keydagou.  Pulaar is one of the most widely spoken languages in West Africa, so it should come in handy if I decide to travel.  Last Monday I was dropped of at my homestay family's compound. I when I say"dropped off" I really mean it. I was quite literally pushed out of a landrover with nothing but a backpack and my water filter, and the only words I knew howto say were "hello" and "my name is..." My language trainer said he would check on me in the morning and then he drove away.  Seriously. My homestay family is quite liberal my Senegalese standards (the women work, there is a divorcee and some illegitimate children running around). My Neene (mother) is a first wife, her husband took a second wife a couple years ago and he is hardly ever around. My Neene has 5 sons ranging in age from 10-25 years old. I was a little worried about her having so many boys, but as it turns out they have been very kind and complete gentlemen towards me. Most of the other female PCVs have had to fend off the advances of their skeezy Senegalese host brothers but mine have treated me liketheir own sister. Or maybe I am just ugly by Senegalese standards. Who knows? My new Senegalese name for the next two months will be Haddie Sow (Haddie is myfirst name, Sow my family name). In Senegal you always have a namesake (not much creativity in names here). My namesake is the wife of my Neene's oldest son. Haddie Gooto (Haddie #1) is probably the person I spend the most time with here. I'm not sure if this is because it is her "job" to take care of me, or if because for the first couple of days I mostly hung out around her because she was the only person who's name I could remember.  Haddie is probably my same age, and she just had her first baby a couple of weeks ago. I joke with her that he will learn to speak Pullafunta before I will...

So after a long flight from DC (made even longer by a two hour wait on the runway).  I have finally arrived in Senegal!  Honestly it really has yet to hit me that this is my new home for the next two years.  We were picked up from the airport by the Peace Corps and immediately shuttled to the Peace Corps training compound in Thies.  I will be here for a couple of days getting shots, safety training, and cultural training.  Soon I will find out what language I am learning, then I will be dropped off in village outside the city of Thies, to live with a Senegalese host family. Peace Corps Senegal has recently switched to a Community Based Training model (CBT).  With this model, I will spend the majority of my time in a small village setting, living with a host family that speaks the language I will be learning.  There will be 4-10 other volunteers living in the same village and learning the same language.  Once every couple of weeks we will return to the training center in Thies for technical, medical and safety training.  Life in the training center is great.  The compound is lush, green, comfortable, and has western toilets with toilet paper!  We have very little contact with the “outside” world.  In fact we jokingly call the training center the “American Compound”.  Life here is good, but I am anxious to leave the center and to start living in the real Senegal.

Before leaving for our assigned countries all Peace Corps Trainers must first report to a U.S. city for “staging”.  Staging is essentially an orientation session.  The two days are filled with a couple of icebreakers, immunizations, and sessions on Peace Corps policies. The current staging numbers:

Number of airports – 5

Number of delayed flights – 2

Number of vaccinations – Only 1 so far!

PCTs (Peace Corps Trainees)  in my Stage – 50

Hours of sleep – 10 in 3 days Later D.C. !   I’m Peacing Out!

“All we are, we are. And every day is the start of something beautiful.”

--Matt Nathanson Tears stream down my face as the speed of the airplane taking off pushes me back into my seat.  I get one final glimpse of the beautiful Columbia River.  Inhale. Exhale. As the lush, evergreen landscape below transforms into dry brown Midwestern fields—my sadness slowly becomes excitement.  Inhale. Exhale.  This is it.  The beginning of the rest… It’s tough to pinpoint when exactly my Peace Corps journey began.  It had always been an option, but I never seriously entertained the idea of applying.  I never thought I was brave enough, adventurous enough, or committed enough to be a Peace Corps Volunteer.  But perhaps the greatest barrier was my reluctance to relinquish control over my future—where I would go, what I would do—to the Peace Corps administration. But then things changed.  I got caught up in the excitement and hope surrounding a different kind of  presidential candidate.  His faith in the kindness and greatness of the American people echoed the lessons I had learned during my summers spent exploring distant countries.  I was motivated by his call for young Americans to serve at home and abroad.  So I decided to give Peace Corps a chance.  As the days, weeks and months of the application process went by, I became more and more convinced that the Peace Corps was exactly what I should be doing.  I answered the call and joined the Peace Corps. Life is calling…

Forget regret, or life is yours to miss. No other road. No other way. No day but today.  

--Jonathan Larson, Rent. Two days away from departure and I cannot stop thinking about all the things that I didn’t get to do, the people I didn’t get to bid goodbye, and the stuff I probably should have packed…  It is starting to stress me out.  When I am stressed, I make lists… Melanie’s List of Regrets 1)  I am sure I didn’t drink enough coffee.  I really wish I could have had one more White Lie  from Sure Shot on the Ave… 2)  I probably should have packed a pair of sneakers or boots… my Keens are hybrid (close toe sandals) but none of my shoes require socks.  My biggest concern is that I will have to stomp a big bug—and the thought of stomping a bug in a pair of sandals gives me the heebie jeebies.  Although Kat is quite insistent that the lack of hiding spaces in my sandals will mean fewer scorpions actually crawling into my shoes at night…. 3)  I wish I had eaten more pork.  When I spent a summer in the Middle East I craved pork so much that I came home and ate nothing but bacon and pepperoni pizza for a month.  How the hell am I going to survive 2 years without pork? 4)  I probably should have tanned.  Usually before spending a bit of time in a warmer climate I prepare by spending a couple weeks in the tanning bed—so my skin can acclimate.  However, recently my Mom has taken to calling tanning beds cancer coffins…  Every time I parked outside the salon I kept hearing the words “cancer coffin” over and over.  I never could bring myself to go inside. 5)  I should have bought Ramsey a bigger bone.  Poor dog is being abandoned for 2 years and left in the care of my Mom.  He is also being forced to keep company with her crazy dog.  My best friend and loyal companion deserved a bigger bone.  

Peace Corps volunteers are allowed 2 bags.  The dimensions of the bags must not be greater than 107 inches (length, width and depth combined).  The bags cannot weigh more than 80 pounds combined and no single bag can weigh more than 50 pounds. So how do you fit two years of your life into 80 pounds and 107 inches?  Start with a list. 12 Tank tops

16 short sleeve tees  (all cotton or cotton poly blend)

8 lightweight long sleeve tees 

1 polo

1 button-up shirt

Zip-up fleece

Rain jacket

2 American Apparel multi-wear dress/skirts

2 Multi-wear wrap skirts made from recycled saris

2 pairs of bike shorts

5 pairs of lightweight pants (cargo and linen)

Jeans

PJ Pants & Shorts

Underwear (too many.  Stopped counting at 30)

Bras (too many.  No Victoria’s Secret Stores in Senegal) 

Bathing suit

A couple of scarves  

Shoes 

     Chaco sandals

     Keen H2 hybrid closed toe sandals

     Reef flip flops

     Dressy flats Towel & washcloth

Two pairs of prescription glasses

Sunglasses

Year supply of disposable contacts

Year supply of contact lens solution

2 in 1 Pantene Volume shampoo and conditioner

Olay soap

St. Ives facewash

Schick Intuition Razor and a two year supply of refills

2 sticks of deodorant

3 soft toothbrushes & 3 tubes of toothpaste

Tons of hairbands & bobbypins

Small Mirror

Fingernail & toenail clippers

Tweezers

Cosmetics (waterproof eyeliner and mascara)

Burts Bees lip balm

Vaseline Protecting Body Lotion with SPF15

Bug repellant

Sunscreen

3 months of Birthcontrol (Peace Corps supplies prescriptions after training)

Divacup

Hand sanitizer

Nalgene & Sigg waterbottles

Nonstick frying pan & spatula

Large and Small Ziplock Bags

Gummy bears/worms

Chocolate candy

Mexican seasonings

BBQ seasonings Digital camera and memory cards

Unlocked cell phone & charger

Rechargeable AA and AAA batteries

USB flash drive

Laptop

Ipod & Iphone

Extra Headphones

Solio solar charger

Blank CD/DVDs (For backing up photos and documents)

Plug Adapter

Swiss Army knife

Shortwave radio

Sleep sheet

Warm blanket

Pillow

Battery-powered alarm clock

Headlamp Plastic document/file folder

Pencils & pens (RSVP fine tip-my favorite)

Moleskine journals & notebooks

Stationary & envelopes

Scissors

Duct tape

Photos of family and friends Books 

     501 French Verbs

     French Dictionary

     GRE Prep

     Pride and Prejudice 

     Symposium

     I have a couple dozen books uploaded onto my iphone via the Stanza App To carry it all a Northface daypack, Eagle Creek maidenvoyage travel pack & large rolling duffel.  Whew. So there it is!  I will come back an update it with a commentary after I have been in country for a year and let you know what is helpful and what wasn’t worth its weight. So I’ve been shopping and stocking up on essentials for almost 3 months now.          

Panicking a little bit…  

My address during training (this will change in October):

PCT Melanie Chamberlain

Corps de la Paix

B.P. 299

Thiès, Senegal

West Africa Be sure to write “Par Avion” and “Air Mail” somewhere on the envelope! I know that sending care packages to Africa is expensive.  And I know not all of you can afford to show your affection for me in such an extravagant way.  What I would love most of all is letters and photos of your adventurous lives without me.  Write me a funny story.  Tell me the latest gossip.  Clip that funny cartoon from the New Yorker.  Go into detail about all the minute and seemingly boring things that are going on in your life—I promise I will find them very interesting.  Oh!  And I would really love it if you could take the time to print the email you were going to send me and mail it the good old fashioned way.  This way, I can treasure your letters and re-read them over and over again in my hut when I am lonely and homesick.  Seriously.  My thanks and my love… Care Package Instructions:

Care packages are the way Peace Corps Volunteers judge each others' popularity.  I would be eternally grateful for a package.  Not just because of all the awesome things inside, but also because it will help improve my "rep".  Also, I will repay each package with a wonderfully detailed letter of how amazing everything was, and you will have some cool used Senegalese postage stamps.  Oh and I will include a shout out in my blog.  Internet fame, fo-reals. Now, the nitty gritty.  Seal everything in Ziplock bags.  This will protect the contents from rodents and water .  Plus, I get to keep the bags, and I really  love Ziplock bags.  Allegedly the US postal service has these standard-rate envelopes and boxes.  I hear that is the cheapest way to go—and the box/padded envelope is free. Do not write the actual value of anything on the customs form.  Everything inside should be "used" and shouldn't have a total value of more than $10.  In fact, if you can find a way to describe everything in the package as "used school supplies" that would be the best way of ensuring everything get to me and not the family of a Senegalese postal worker. Wrap the box/envelope in a couple layers of clear plastic packaging tape.  Make it really really hard for anyone to slice open a corner and take a peak at what’s inside! Write "Par Avion" and "Air Mail" on the package.  You do not want to send it via boat or it wont get to me until I am back in the states.  Really.  A list of contents is a good thing to include, in case the package gets damaged--looted--in transit.  I will have to pay a couple of dollars to free each package from the post office, so don't send two different boxes if it will all fit into one. My address during training will be:

PCT Melanie Chamberlain

Corps de la Paix

B.P. 299

Thiès, Senegal

West Africa Here is a wishlist, but feel free to get creative:

- Burt's Bees Lip Balm 

- Magazines (Trashy: Elle, US Weekly, People.  Classy: The Economist, National Geographic)

- Newspapers (The A-section of the Washington Post and New York Times)

- New Music (burned onto a data-type CD for itunes uploading) 

- New Podcasts (This American Life, Car Talk, Wait Wait Don't Tell Me)

- Dried Fruit

- M&Ms and other non-melty chocolate

- Jolly Ranchers (fire & fruit)

- Gummy Worms/Bears

- Drink Mixes (Crystal light, Coco, Cider, etc.)

I had a funny experience while completing my 40-required hours of Rosetta Stone French. Four pictures are on the screen.  The phrase c’est mon mari (this is my husband) pops on the screen.  I click on the picture of two grey haired old men—one with his arm around the other’s shoulder.  Incorrect.  Confused, I click on the same picture again.  Incorrect.  I pause, frustrated, and take a second look at the other three photos.  Then it hits me. Oh, maybe the photo of the young couple gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes belongs with the phrase c’est mon mari.  Not the old gay couple—who as it turns out are actually just “friends” in the world of Rosetta Stone…