Abdoulaye was travelling down a path when he saw a large group of people outside a house.

It was in the middle of the day during Ramadan, so he stopped and asked Babacar why such a large crowd of men was gathered there at this time.

Babacar replied, 'Saleem's camel kicked his mother-in-law and she died.'

'Well,' replied the man, 'She must have had a lot of friends.'

'Nope,' said Babacar.' We all just want to buy his camel.'

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Currently, it is the holy month of Ramadan.

What is Ramadan?

A time for Muslims to fast, ask forgiveness, pray for guidance, and try to purify themselves through self-restraint and good deeds.

It is the ninth month of the Islamic calendar, in which Muslims refrain from (1) eating, (2) drinking, and (3)sexual activities from dawn until sunset - Not to mention (4) work and (5) pleasantness, both due to one and two. But I'm sorry, who the heck is doing number three during the day? Shouldn't they be doing number four?

What's not to love? I'm pretty jealous their religion has a built-in weight loss program. And think of all the lunch dates you can get out of!

Anyways, it's not easy. I've noticed a certain level of agitation in everyone's demeanor and I dare not attempt to do anything in the afternoon, lest I loose my head to a hungry and aggressive banana vendor.

Although I have chosen not to fast, I still am faced with a certain level of added difficulty. I am still on my own for breakfast, and lunch now is usually leftovers from dinner when the family remembers the pasty white kid who has only been living here for a year. We break the fast at 7:30 (which they didn't invite me to for the first three days) with bread and coffee and dinner comes around 11:30pm. Then the fasters get up at 5:30 am and gorge themselves.

Also, I am constantly approached by people asking me if I am fasting. This I do not understand. Why, when I have a piece of food in my hand, would you ask me if I am fasting? This usually leads into a mild philosophical discussion. I inform I am not fasting, then the other person points out the Catholic Lent and how that is our Ramadan. Then I inform him that is every Friday for 40 days in which my family went out for fish - not the same. It's become a routine.

I'm hungry...

Senegal likes peanuts. So much so that last year's peanut harvest yielded 625,000 tons. That's a lot of nuts.

Peanuts are such an integral part of Senegalese society. They provide 75% of the national agricultural production and employ 50% of the population.

So buy Jiffy Pop! Support Senegal... Not really, nearly all of Senegal's peanuts go to the UK. Hmmm...Cadbury must be up to something.

Much of the peanut crop is exported to various countries, but what is kept in Senegal is used for replanting and consumption. Peanuts are found in numerous Senegalese dishes and many women roast and bag peanuts to sell as snacks.

Shelling peanuts by hand takes hours. It's extremely laborious and often requires most of the women in the family to complete. Families will often buy several kilos and shell them over the course of a few days and then resell them for a small profit or keep them for consumption.

Where does this sheller come in? As a way to add value to crops for women. And since raising the value of a product corresponds directly to increased income, there is more money to go around.

This sheller is equal to 41 women shelling peanuts by hand. This suggests cooperatives would be able to increase output or use the freed up time to produce another product. For example, turning the peanuts in peanut butter. Furthermore, as domestic responsibilities are freed up, young girls have a great chance to attend school and finish school.

A Peace Corps volunteer found the designs for this sheller and contacted the manufactures. After introducing it to his site, he determined it was worthy of spreading across Senegal. And now we are in the phase of gaining interest and finding buyers.

Using locally sourced materials, it can be built for around $65, which is well with in the reach of most cooperatives

Last week, this sheller went on tour and stopped at my site. I invited several women's groups to come and and test out the machine. And they loved it! They couldn't stop clucking about it. By the end of my expo, I had 9 potential orders and I do hope most of them actually buy one

Africa makes me feel like a crack head.

Ok, well maybe it's the two beers that I have just had or the fact that I am repeatedly awoken at night by sexual active cats and inaudible loudspeaker nonsense.

Ima go with the beers...

And Jesus Christ! Two beers!?! Ugh

I came to this conclusion as I was sippin'. See, the trash bag I hang on my door fell off and spilled its contents all over my floor. And I, in a crazed rush, had to quickly gather all the items and stuff them back into the bag.

Why?

Because, like a crack head, I couldn't let my family find out what I'm doing when their backs are turned. I couldn't let them see the 4 milk bottles and the 7 yogurt packets plus the numerous candy wrappers.

By the way, I am back on my dairy addiction. I had kicked it before going to Egypt.

Don't you judge.

What's a dairy addiction you ask? A dairy addiction is when a volunteer (me) is forced by dying sanity to wear baggy shorts to the boutique in order to load up on yogurt and fresh, cold, pasteurized milk. Then said volunteer (again me) is forced to waddle home and make a mad dash into his room. Finally this intriguingly sly volunteer (yes again me, aren't you smart!) is obliged to hide the evidence of this addiction.

Why is this a big deal? Well it is because I had two beers. And also because it again shows the dispirety disparatey oh.. the disparity between my life and that of my hosts.

Tis a shame that I feel that I must hide my dairy consumption. But I don't want my family to feel that I have oodles and noodles of money and that I am a walking ATM. That would certainly cause me issues... wait? hasn't that already happened?

Somehow my host mother got it into her head wrap that I would buy her a computer. Though, she is already an expert. Tomorrow we're exploring the extolled power button.

Salam Alekum traveler!

My name is Ali-Houdini Balam'ak Da Mohammed. But call me Din. Today, I'll be your guide. And I tell you esomething especial... we take adventure into one of oldest country on Earth. Very Cheap!

So my friend, where from? Oh America! OBAMA!! Where in America you from? New York? No, Not New York? Ah, I see, is near California? OK California! Laguna Beach! So Tell me, what you see in Egypt. I show you all. Very cheep.

OK we go! Very cheap.

You come right now! Come! Come! Here, you take this taxi OK we go!

Isn’t this taxi very beautiful? Oh, you want a seat belt. Don’t worry, it’s very safe. Just don’t lean on doors ok? Now, my friend. I teach you 5 words most important in Egypt. You repeat…

1. Allah alim - God knows best

2. Insha' Allah (God willing) – You’re excuse for doing nothing

3. Bakeesh - coins for tips and toilets.

4. Masha'allah - God's will

5. Salata – Salad

Remember these words….

So you want to go see Luxor. Ok we go there. But First we take bus. Go over there to bus station. I wait here. I don’t know which line. You choose and hope it is right. You buy tickets and get on the bus when it come. Ok you got tickets? Good.

We take bus and go to Luxor– Ancient capital of the Pharaohs. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the next 16 hours. Oh and there are movies on the bus. But all in Arabic. You speak Arabic right?

Ok here is bus. We get on. And yes, we always sit in seat assigned. See you have ticket with number. Which seat is yours? I don’t know. Start counting… Ok you two sit here. I sit in front of you. Sit down and try to relax. No! Don’t lean your seat back. That is not acceptable. Why do I get to lean my seat back? Because I Egyptian. Ok, here we go. In 9 hours we arrive.

Ok, my friends, while we travel, I give you lesson on price in Egypt. Here you read this, my brother’s wife’s cousin’s aunt’s sister wrote this….

Welcome In Egypt! You’re Gide To Prise.

Prise 1: (EGYPTIAN) You don’t ask price, you take the item and as you walk away you give them the right amount that you know already from last purchase. 1 Egyptian Pound.

Prise 2: you’re a local, but you are “white” and you ask the price. 2 Egyptian Pound

Prise 3: You’re a foreigner, and you don’t speak no Arabic, but at least you’re not wearing your digital camera around your neck 3.50 Egyptian Pound

Prise 4: You a tourist. Everybody see it.

-5 E Pound if you Canadian

- 7 E Pound if you German or English or Russian

-10 E Pound if you Japanese. (You suckers!)

Now wasn’t that helpful? How about a bakeesh? That was number 3. I can make change…

Welcome to Luxor, my friends. Now read description sign while I go smoke.

Luxor is a magical place. On the East Bank of the River Nile is the modern city of Luxor which sits on the site of the ancient city of Thebes. You see in movie “The Mummy.” We built new city on top of the old one because it was too much hassle to movw those massive stones to the other side. It’s not, how you say, “a stone’s throw”. At the south end of Luxor is the massive Temple of Karnak, which is where Liz Taylor lived and covers an area similar in size to a major camel ranch. The crown jewel of the temple is the central area with its 134 (we think) standing columns the size of redwood trees. At the north end of Luxor, near the heart of the modern city, is the Temple of Luxor. The ATM is next to it. The two temples are about two miles (three kilometers) apart. In ancient times the road between the two was flanked by hundreds of sphinxes.

Now we go to bus station and take long ride to Sinai…

Hey my friends, wake up. Now we are in Sinai. We go snorkeling. Very beautiful. Ok my friends, I give Egyptian price for mask and flippers. Very Cheap! See, Sea of Aqaba very beautiful. You put on the flippers and walk out backwards to the ocean. Don't fall on anything! Ok have fun. I wait here and smoke Sheesha.

How was it? Very beautiful yes? Did you see all the fish and coral. Just like movie.

So now you want to visit Mount Sinai. I take you to mountain and we walk. It's very beautiful. We start at midnight. You take 3 hours to walk up and then 3 hours to walk down. And if you want you can take camel for very cheap. Come along! Just mind the camels. They spit and kick! See this place here. This St. Catherine's Monestary. It sits at the bottom of mountain. We come here later. Ok up we go.

Don't worry it's not far..... Ok how are you doing? It's only another 2 hours to the top! Let's move quickly, I want to pass this group of deaf Asians. You're right, they do honk a lot. Not very beautiful.

Congratulations! You reached the top. Very beautiful. Now you sit here until the sunrise then we walk back down. What do you mean you are cold? Didn't your guide tell you to bring a jacket? Oh that was me. No worries my friend. Just relax and enjoy the very beautiful sunrise. And don't go over there... there's group of Mexican Jews singing in Spanish. Come sit here. I go smoke.

Ok now wasn't sunrise very beautiful? We walk now. We take steps. 3700 steps of repentance. We go.... Ok how are you my friend? Tired? Yes, you're feet will be sore for 4 days after this. Come don't worry, this will only take three hours. Just watch your step the rocks are loose and uneven. Don't fall on the person in front of you. Hahaha! What do you mean you didn't realize how many steps 3700 really is. Come on we go smoke at the bottom.

So this is Saint Catherine's. It's very old and beautiful. Inside you see the burning bush and the body part of some saint. You Christians do that. Haha! You make me laugh. Very true that bush is not on fire! Yes, Moses didn't have that far to walk!

So, now you leave. I hope you liked Egypt. One of most beautiful countries on Earth.

Oh, you did?

…

Bakeesh?

1. “Now now” can mean anything from a minute to a month.

2. The employees dance in front of the building to show how unhappy they are.

3. The national network advertises and shows highlights of the program you just finished watching.

4. You get cold easily. Anything below 85 Fahrenheit is Arctic weather.

5. You can sing your national anthem in four languages, and you have no idea what it means in any of them.

6. You produce a 2000 CFA note instead of your driver’s license when stopped by a traffic officer.

7. You can do your monthly shopping on the pavement.

8. The gas in your tank may be worth more than your car.

9. A bullet train is being introduced, but we can’t fix potholes.

10. You have to prove that you don’t need a loan to get one.

11. It rains for less than an hour and everywhere is flooded. But the people are over-joyed.

12. A game of hop-scotch attracts half the village.

13. Every toothpaste is Colgate.

14. Every soft drink is coca cola or Fanta.

15. You call everyone older then you uncle or aunt.

16. No running water for a day is just another ordinary thing.

17. Being an hour late equals being “on time”.

18. You have an over whelming urge to wash all your salad in bleach and add a bit of charcoal to your milk just to get the taste your used to.

19. You know never to question what you’re eating (even if it does taste good), cuz sometimes you just don’t want to know.

20. Football is played with some sort of ROUND ball and WITHOUT hands.

21. You make friends with the local Sheppard and know the goats by name

22. You watch the minibus driver's assistant try to climb through the front window onto the roof in order to fit another passenger in.

23. After your bus has blown a tire, the one it's replaced with looks just as bad and old.

24. You can sing Akon’s “Smack That” without knowing what it really means.

25. There are more goats on top of the car than passengers in it.

26. You could make your own weave from discarded pieces.

27. Most of your aunts and uncles are younger than you

28. You ask you mother to ask your brother to ask your sister to ask your cousin to ask you Dad if you can have money for something.

29. You know it only becomes stealing when the other person notices its disappearance.

30. You're cell phone has a flashlight

31. For safety, you make your donkey wear a reflector.

32. The entire village has seen your boobs.

33. You don't understand the value of the money in your hand, but you know what that colored coin can buy.

34. Kids think exchanging an mp3 player for a bracelet is a fair deal.

One of my fondest memories growing up was hearing Bill Cosby's take on family and children. The best, by far, was his section on children and brain damage.

It's true. Children have brain damage. I had it. And childhood is one long recovery plan. You can sit something in front of them, tell them not to touch, and while you stare at them, they touch it. And when you ask them, "why did you touch it" they respond, "I don't know".

But in my case, I get to put up with "I don't know" in three languages. "Xamuma", "Je ne sais pas" and "I don't know" all have the derivative of from Phoenician to Greek to Latin meaning "I thought you weren't serious."

(Mom, this is my formal apology, I'm sorry)

Last night I noticed a line of ants in my room. After a several minute hunt (remember these are African ants) I found their source - a blow pop wrapper from a month ago that I never threw out. Feeling very Senegalese at the moment, I opted for the easiest method. I took the remaining suckers, crammed them into a clear bag, then left them on the table.

Therein lies my mistake. The next day the kids kept saying, "offer me candy," which is how we ask for things in Wolof. I kept saying I didn't have any and as the day progressed I started wondering why they kept asking.

Later on I decided to take a nap to recover from the carb coma I enter after lunch everyday. At the time of my repose there were several children in my room playing cards on my floor. Shortly after, all of the children except for one left.

Now, this child who remained, as cute and funny as he is, has his solar panel aimed at the moon, if ya catch my drift.

So I am laying in bed and I start to hear a crinkling noise. I wake up and see him slowly lift a blow pop out of the bag. We make eye contact and he stares at me like a deer in head lights and I yell, in Wolof "theif." Well the family comes running and makes a huge stink of it, which they should have.

I later called him into my room to explain why his actions were bad and I banished him from my room for a week. He's been sulking out of sight all afternoon.

I just don't get it. I don't know if this is goes back to the cultural point of the Senegalese having no boundaries with personal effect or if this boy's brain dun fell out. I have lived with him for a year now and he pulls this. Brain Damage!

Wow! It has been a long time since my last post. I left my site on 20 June for a Girl's Summer Camp and then I immediately left for a much needed three week vacation in Egypt. So this post will cover the Girl's Camp.

Development agents (isn't that a nice term) in developing countries have learned that in order to modernize or advance a country, women must be included and even focused on. In developed countries, the dispariaty between women and men is less and gender rolls are less absolute. Whatever your opinion is on the matter, this point is true. In places such as Africa, gender rolls are all but law. Focusing on women is a chance to make a difference.

Several of us volunteers in the Kaolack/Kaffrine regions of Senegal worked together to offer 27 young girls from 15-19 years of age a chance to learn, grow and have fun. The week long camp was organized and operated Peace Corps volunteers. Outside donors provided the funds necessary to supply the camp.

We held the summer camp in the city of Sokone, where we had found a camp ground with amazing facilities. Also, the campground was positioned in the delta and surrounded by brackish water and the Mangroves. The mangrove are an incredible ecosystem, but unfortunatley, they are being destroyed.

The camp was run like any other vacation camp seen in the US. After all, aren't the volunteers American? Each day we had leadership and team building activities, information sessions, health, arts and crafts, games and sports. We had some great activities and games and I am proud to say that my ideas definitely were a big success. (I have to give props to my mom for being a good example over the years)

The girls were given a journal and pen and everyday there was a journal topic to go with the theme of the day. Surprising the girls, were very willing to write and never needed to be encouraged. Some of the girls would spend all their free time journaling. I suppose it's a nice retreat from a world where one is never alone.

We also invited local teacher to come and play a role. The objective is that each year the Senegalese will play larger and larger roles until the point were the volunteers aren't needed anymore. Since this is the first year, they mostly watched how we interacted with the girls. They were, however, responsible for the daily 'debrief' sessions in which they discussed the day's going ons with the girls and basically made a summary of what went on

For the first two days I was in charge of the Leadership and team building activities. For day one, we played helium stick, a game designed to foster cooperation and communication. It was a blast! On day two we played tug-o-war and wow those girl got rough and competitive! We also did a water balloon fight which was a hit! We played several communication related game and quickly realized the soaking wet girls were the one's who don't listen.

For arts and craft we tried to give them activities which would allow them to be creative, think on their own, and act unhindered. Lack of creativity and initiative is a problem here in Senegal. And to prove it, I could line up volunteers, NGO employees, and other more educated Senegalese. Children here have so few opportunities to be creative. There are no junk drawers, no VBS, and Arts & Crafts don't follow snack time. And no one, I mean no one, thinks out of the box or let alone, is allowed too.

Our first craft involved cutting out pictures from magazines and using one side of a paper plate to describe who the girls are, and on the other, who the girls want to be. We provided pens, paper, scissors, markers, stickers etc. In the US, this would have been simple. Not here. They actually asked where to put stickers, what to draw, and where to glue pictures. I was floored. And one girl, who couldn't find a picture of a doctor for her collage, asked me what to do. I said, "figure it out" and she looked stunned. I also had to stop the teachers from telling the girls how to make their collages. This is typical, as creativity is copied here. UGH!

The most popular physical activity was swimming. The camp ground is on the bank of the mainland leading into the mangroves. They loved swimming. They played their own version of Marco Polo: Ceebu jen (fish and rice) HAHAHA!

The most popular health session was the one of sexual health. We recruited a health volunteer who speaks BEAUTIFUL Wolof and for two hours, they were glued to every word she said. Only the female volunteers were apart of this session, but every time I walked by, the girls had inched their chairs closer. By the end, they practically resting on the volunteer.

The best part of the camp was watching the girls come out of their shells. On day 1 everyone was timid and shy. By the end of the week they were loud, laughing, and all but uncontrollable. Today, I am visiting the four girls that I brought to see what they thought about the camp and to get their feedback. But I think it will all be positive, as I have run into their families and I've heard nothing but praises.

Success!

Last night the rains came.

Remember the programs on the Discover Channel about the God-forsaken antelope scratching at dirt to find water and food, and then, *shazam* the next scene is wide angle view of rolling clouds.

Well it's actually like that.

I went over to my counterpart's house last night for warthog and on the way home I noticed lightening way off in the distance. I thought nothing of it and continued on my way.

Back at home, I went though my usual routine. I dragged the mattress outside onto my porch, locked up my room and went to bed. At 1 am, the wind picked up a little and soon after a drizzle started and quickly stopped.

At 2:30, again the wind picked up, and kept picking up. Half asleep, I pulled the blanket over my head and rolled over. A few minutes later, the cyclone hit! I swear, if it had been light out, I could have told you which mummy's face was in the storm cloud. With in seconds, the family was up and inside the house closing windows and securing loose doors. I jumped up, wrapped my blanked around my face and half blinded, dragged my mattress inside. Soon after the heavens opened.

The next morning, I looked at my floor and I could barely make out the design on the linoleum. It took the kids nearly an hour to get the sand out of my hut....

Welcome to the rainy season.

Yesterday morning, my host brother walked into my room and plopped himself, as he often does, on my wicker couch.

He does this often, and in fact, he is doing it as I type this. Sometimes I think this is his way of getting something from me, or he's hiding from the women in the family who never shut up.

Anyways, I proceeded to make small talk and asked him what he was going to do for the national holiday that day. (Side note: there's always some national holiday) He said he would spend the day doing nothing, which I half expected.

I then asked about another member of the family and his whereabouts as I hadn't seen him all morning. My host brother said he had left for the auto shop where he works. I was surprised, as I thought everyone had today off. The schools were closed, and I knew the post office was shut. I asked why this was and my host brother said that anyone who works with the French language has the day off.

In the States, our division of labor is labeled by our collars: blue or white. In Senegal (and I'm sure most of post-colonial Africa) the division is labeled by what language one works with. It makes prefect sense. A command of the French languages generally implies someone is educated and most likely has a job that doesn't involve manual labor.

It has been far too long since my last post. But I have been so busy and this heat is exhausting! At then end of the day, all I want to do is get lost in a movie and go to bed.

It's been so incredibly hot lately and I've been using my fan around the clock. I started feeling guilty that I was using too much electricity, so I started sleeping outside. Every night I drag out my foam mattress and place it on the terrace, then about 6:30 am, when the women get up and start bustling around, I wake up and take the mattress back inside and sleep for another two hours. But last night was so hot that I got up at 1 am and went back inside. I woke up with a headache. I must have sweat so much I dehydrated myself.

The fruit dryer is going well. The women's group decided to do a large market test to see if it is a plausible idea. Last Sunday was the inauguration of a new father at the church and so everyone was expected to be there. The women figured they could dry mangoes all week and then sell them after Mass. They started the Sunday before and on Wednesday, I stopped by to see how the drying was going. They had dried a lot of mangoes but hadn't figured out the amount and price per bag. So we did that on the spot and the potential profit was over 200% of cost. So Friday rolls around and I decide to check up on the drying. I stopped by the church to see the dryers and I'm told that the day before the women had decided to sell everything at the exposition for the national holiday. Now, I knew Thursday was to be a holiday, but I had no idea there was to be an expo nor that the women had sold the fruit at it. Anyways, I learned that the women sold out of everything they had dried for the week by noon and that they had run back and bagged up what was sitting in the dryers and sold out of all of that. I have no idea what they made in profit or how much they sold but I am excited to find out! The next meeting is tomorrow.

I also have been making a name for myself. There are several other volunteers who want to have their own dyer and have asked for my designs. I'm excited at how popular it has become.

Work at the center is going well. It's still going to be a long time until the girls are ready for international export on a large scale. But they are making strides. They've had a few training and are moving forward. There are many hands stirring this pot and I am having trouble balancing everyone's interests. I'm in a unique position being that I am a Westerner who lives near and works with the center. I am capable of making quick decisions and can easily be a voice for the other NGOs trying to help. But we're not all on the same page...*sigh*. One NGO had made an extensive business plan for the girls and will be a great asset. It gives the girls a model to works with and towards, as it explains costs and times to make many of the products the girls will eventually make. The problem is that they are far off from producing anything on a large scale. Not all the girls even show up every day.

In June, a consultant is coming to give a training. In preparation for her arrival, I met with the director of the workshop and we divided the business in plan into what the girls currently can and cannot make. For what they can make, they will prepare examples for the consultant so she can do quality control. They've started this week and I've been watching closely and been constructively criticizing. There are some issues with the work, but they are being fixed.

Today we installed 6 computers into the girl's center for future trainings on computers. I guess this is my responsibility as I am the only one who could teach them. But in typical Senegalese fashion, there were no desks or chairs for the computers. Add that to the list.

My reading room/library/innovation center or whatever I decide to call it has hit a bump. My counterpart and I met with one of the two fathers and the two leaders of the church's boy's boarding school. My counterpart and I had met with several masons and prepared an informal presentation to explain the financing. After introducing the room, the father looked at me and said "We don't need another room. I thought you were going to help with our library." I was so shocked that I was speechless. And a side note, the leaders of the boarding school were just as shocked. During our first meeting ever, all aforementioned people plus the church's head, a Senegalese priest, met to discuss collaborating on building a library because the boarding school needed the room. This Father must have misunderstood at the first meeting. My counterpart (thank God!) jumped to my rescue and attempted to set the Father straight, but it was to no avail. I'm no sure what to do but my counterpart said he would contact the other Father.

The summer camp I am collaborating on is coming along. But I don't think we are making progress fast enough and I am afraid that time will run out.

Last Thursday, my host brother and I painted and laid new linoleum down in my hut. It badly needed a new coat of paint and the linoleum was badly tearing. We did it all in one day and I think I nearly killed my host brother, but it needed to be done.

That about sums it up!I'm busy and loving it!

Wow! What a hectic month.

Since my return from Dakar I have been up to my ears in projects. I've built a fruit dryer, been making progress on building the library, creating a girls' summer camp, and been swamped with the workshop.

First off, the fruit dryer. There is a womens' group associated with the church and they have been looking for new ways to make money. At a recent meeting they came up with several ideas, one being dried fruit. Surprisingly, I had been presented a design for one at a conference in Dakar and I was intrigued with the simplicity and cheapness of the model. I told the women about and asked to be give a couple of weeks to modify and build one for commercial use.

I called up the volunteer and asked about how it works and got his thoughts and opinions. Then I did some internet research to see how a dryer operates. I came up with a design of my own and I built it. I had to modify his design so it would produce more dried fruit. And my modification resulted in the wooden box I built.

It works very simply. Air enters at the bottom and is heated between the plastic and painted black zinc. Then the air enters in from the bottom of the box and exists through the top, thereby drying the fruit. The total cost was about $20.

My first attempt failed because I had a metal roof. So the air just lingered and humidified. I called up the other volunteer and he explained that removing the roof would correct the problem. He was right.

So far I have successfully dried: apples, bananas, mangoes, okra, peppers, and tomatoes. The tomatoes didn't turn out how I wanted. I took the skin off before drying them and I wound up with sun dried tomato chips. On the next attempt, I'll leave on the skins.

I presented the dryer to the women and they are interested. On Wednesday I have another presentation and then they will decide if they want to pursue it. If they do, then they have to do a market and costing analysis.

I emailed pics to my bosses and told every volunteer who would listen and already one volunteer has asked me to come out and build one!

The library is coming. I have a meeting with the church next week. More to come on that. The workshop is currently giving dying training and I'll report on that soon. The summer camp is moving along. I'm spearheading the activities committee and we finally got funding. We themed out each day and are working from there.

All in all, a very busy month and even a busier one to come

I landed myself a week in the medical hut at the Peace Corp's Headquarters in Dakar all due to a staph infection.

I'll spare everyone the oozy details and just say I got it from shaving with germ infested water. The water at site is amazing. The inside of my water filter is rust orange- a deeper orange than the shade on some modern cars. Yuck.

I contacted the Peace Corps doctors the day it started and 48 hours later (48 is a magical medicinal number) it wasn't any better and my butt was told -not asked- to get to Dakar. Luckily, there was a Peace Corps car passing through later on. Unluckily, 'later on' was 20 minutes later. I never packed so quickly.

So I've been stuck in the Med Hut for a few days as the doctors check over me. I've been on antibiotics and it is getting better.

Surprisingly, there is another volunteer quarantined with me for a staph infection and my boss' assistant has one too. Must be the water!

I was really reluctant to come. It's such a jarring experience to go from a rural town to Dakar. Not to mention, it's freaking expensive! Such that Peace Corps gives us a per diem for our time here. There's just no way to do really cheap here.

It hasn't all been unpleasant though. Casino, a very large supermarket is in walking distance. I've made spaghetti bolognaise and tonight we had chicken breasts with tomato basil sauce. And the Cheese! Oh the Cheese! I had forgotten about the cheese isle that is in all French grocery stores. It doesn't exist in the US. So good.

Tomorrow I will be released and I will make my way back to site, spending tomorrow night in Kaolack at the regional house.

What a rotten week! They're rare, but it's times like these that make me want to come home.

I got a skin infection on my left cheek. It either came form spider bite or from when I last shaved. I tried sleeping outside for a few nights because it's so hot, so that may explain the spider. Either way, my cheek is swollen and it looks like I put on 50lbs. I'm on an antibiotic, but like all antibiotics, there are side effects - unpleasant side effects.

I've tried to minimize leaving the house to avoid the embarrassment, but wouldn't you know my boss passed through town yesterday and I had to walk to the center of the city to greet him.

If it's not showing signs of improvement in a day or two I'll have to go to Dakar for treatment.

In other news, my chicken died. A few days ago the neighbor's chicken spent the night in our chicken coup and passed along its sickness. My host brother's chickens got sick first and then my chicken caught it. Yesterday morning the kids woke up to find 3 out of 4 of my host brother's chickens dead and then later on in the afternoon my chicken finally succumbed to it. Funny thing though, she left behind unhatched eggs and the one surviving god-chicken decided to nest on those eggs. I foresee Senegalese Family Court in my Future.

I didn't know what to do with the body and I didn't feel like touching it. So I called over the 10 year old Go-fer and told him to get rid of it. I later asked out of curiosity what he did with it and he said he threw it on top of the communal garbage heap in the street. Remember there is no trash collection. Thank God it's burned every few days.

It's Easter time and so in the spirit of "Teranga" or "hospitality" Christians and Muslims are exchanging tokens of friendship. Teranga is extremely important here and is more of a way of life than a concept. There is a Wolof proverb that says: "A visitor or stranger is a king and should be treated as such." So far, they've been exchanging an runny peanut butter mix and I have accumulated about a gallon. I really don't want it, but I have to accept it. I'll just give it to the kids.

Today I made a Rocket Stove.

A Rocket Stove is "is a type of stove combining the air-intake with the fuel-feed slot in an opening terminated by the combustion chamber, further leading to a chimney and heat exchanger. A rocket stove is signified by ease of construction and simplicity of building materials while accepting small-diameter fuel such as twigs or small branches, yielding high combustion efficiency and directing the resultant heat onto a small area."

Thank you Wikipedia.

Basically, it's a cylinder surrounded with insulation that draws and preheats air though the fuel slot, thereby making the fire hotter and the air more combustible, or something like that.

I had a friend show me his design and I attempted to recreate it. I decided I wanted to try and not pay for anything, which is possible. I wound up paying 500F ($1) to have the cans I used welded together, which in retrospect, wasn't necessary. I found or was given all the other materials.

I started by finding three tomato cans which I hollowed out to make a cylinder, I then added the smaller perpendicular fuel access can. Then I slapped some mud on a piece of wood to create a base. I enclosed the cans with a sheet of zinc and the filled the gap with ash.

The overall point is to create a more efficient stove and avoid using charcoal. Because the of increased heat and combustion, it works far more efficiently.

My host family said they would test it for me and see how it works. It did manage to boil two liters of water in 10 minutes. I thought that was impressive for only using a few sticks.

Just when I think African solidarity couldn't possibly become any more intrusive... it does.

Not only what is in my wallet, fridge, and medicine cabinet not just mine (remember the borrower's right to receive is greater than the lender's right to keep)my vacations come under attack.

Yesterday, I was sitting in the courtyard reading, as I often do to not seem as if I am always in my room, when one of the women in the family, out of nowhere, asked me if I am taking any vacations back to the US. Now, the family knows a lot of what volunteers do, having hosted a volunteer in the past. And let's be honest, it's a reasonable question to ask. I figure I can't get away for weeks on end without telling them. They'll just call Peace Corps, and then I'll have to answer for it when I'm back.

So I reflected for a second and decided there isn't any harm in telling them I'm going to Egypt. It didn't quite work out that way.

As usual, the conversation immediately turned to how the family doesn't have money. So much stems from that one mentality and it's incredibly frustrating. It's always, "we just don't have money," which is a very reactive response. We use this reply in the States, but dig a little deeper and this is where our cultures diverge. Ask someone why he or she doesn't have money and the answer will be different. In Senegal, I never hear someone use debt (good or bad), budget constraints (but how I wish!), or savings. When I ask why they don't have money, the response falls along the lines of not having jobs or things are expensive.

It's rarely, "I had too many kids in an economy with no jobs" or "I didn't finish school and don't speak French" or "I was socially obligated to give what I have to friends/family." I do get these responses, but it's usually by someone who learned a little too late.

I wasn't hounded or harassed, but the conversation moved in the direction of the only family member with solid job and income who is sending money to so many family member. I was told that if he wanted to take a vacation outside of Senegal, the family would call him and say that he was throwing away money because the family has needs and the money could be spend better elsewhere.

Ain't that some shit...

Finishing up the rest of February and a few days into March was my In Service Training (IST). This is a technical training held 3 months after becoming a volunteer, which for me happened in October.

It was very informative, and at times, very boring. One presentation followed another day after day and it seemed endless. The worst presentations were given by the Senegalese and the best was given by an importer from the US.

The Senegalese like to talk and talk and talk and then discuss. And subsequently, this transfers over to presentations. Watching a Senegalese presenter present to a group of Senegalese is tantamount to watching a dance. The presenter has to relate his subject to the audience while allowing everyone a chance to comment or offer their opinion. And I mean everyone. And if the presenter fails to allow enough people the opportunity to offer their (usually useless) opinions, his or her evaluation suffers. People raise their hand simply to reiterate what the presenter just mentioned or they do my favorite, get the speakers attention and then point at the person who just spoke and say, "I agree with him." Seriously, Why?

Now take this presenter who is used to the Senegalese non stop verbal assault and place him with a group of Americans who have been sitting in a dark room for a week. And what do you get? Lots of crickets chirping. Often, it became awkward because they would address the audience looking for a comment and they would get silence.

The best presentation, in my opinion, was given by a lady who owns a small business on the West coast and imports products from all across Africa. She offered consumer sided information on the products that she has sold and what she is currently looking at for future imports.

Since IST has finished, I've been thinking of the projects I'd like to work on. I have listed, a vegetable garden for the boy's boarding school, a few technical trainings on computers, trainings in accounting, and exportation. Hopefully I'll stay busy!

On Sunday a bunch of the volunteers at the center for In Service Training decided to take a field trip. It's our only day off and we did not want to spend it in the center.

One of the volunteers is stationed in a city called Pout. Yes, no joke and don't ask the Senegalese why they named it that. They don't find it funny. Nearby Pout is an A Catholic monestary complete with monks and the monk store which provides the community with trinkets, jams, and best of all, goat cheese!

The monastery has been around since the 60s and owns and operates fruit fields and produces not only jams but dried fruits and assorted candies. They also have a really interesting nativity scene that costs the same as a Belgian waffle maker I found in Thies, but I didn't buy it.

The architecture and designs are very interesting and it is a nice mix of modern art with African influences. We attended Mass and then immediately ran over to the gift shop to buy the goat cheese and jams and then we sat in a gazebo and munched on cheese and jams. Overall, it was a nice break and a fun time.

I will be going back...

It’s been a busy last two weeks. On the 7th, the Peace Corps director threw a Super Bowl party at his home for the new volunteers who managed to stay at site for their entire first month. First off, what a house! They had the largest external air conditioner that I had ever seen. Taller than myself, I swear it could knock over a person, it’s so strong. The house was large, plush, and made me want to be an expat! We pre-gamed with chips, cereal and milk, brownies, donuts, chips, etc and later we had tacos, hotdogs and pizza.

We watched the game on the Armed Forces Network, meaning we had no commercials – just the same 30 second speeches by the Secretary of Defense and Obama thanking and encouraging the troops over and over and over. And just so you know….. Gates is a snooze to listen to. I’m just sayin’. The game started at 11:35 and finished way later than most of the volunteers could last and most fell asleep. But I made it.

The next morning, the Peace Corps bused us all to the training center in Thies for a two day session on permagardening ( that’s permanent and gardening)and I got to dig in the dirt and learn a skill that I probably won’t use because I don’t think I can find a 5x5 meter plot that isn’t swarming with trash or poop of some kind. But I know how to build a really effective rainy season garden. Yeah….

Now starts WAIST (10th - 15th)

WAIST is the West African Invitational Softball Tournament, though its acronym is more appropriate, even though you’d have to eliminate the ‘I’. It’s a big softball tournament with teams from all over the area and Peace Corps teams from most regions in Senegal and one national team from both Mali and The Gambia . In years past, there were teams from Mauritania and Guinea, but Peace Corps in those countries has been canceled, though some transfers formed a “refugee” team and managed to do pretty poorly. The embassy had a team as well as a Senegalese team and there were a few others.

Many of us were lucky enough to be given homestays by the Peace Corps. They are families who offer their homes to volunteers during the festivities. My homestay was a young couple married just who had come to Senegal just after the wedding. The husband works for the embassy and his wife is an editor. They were very kind and showed the six boys who stayed there much hospitality. We did our best to be quiet and respectful and not make any noise when we came home at 6 am. I think we were pretty successful. We were encouraged to have fun and vent but leave the party outside. Fair enough.

My region (Kaolack) decided to dress up as lumberjacks for our theme. The Dakar region chose wrestlers, the regions of Tamba and Kedagou united for lack of number to form Tambagou B.C, which involved many loin cloths. The teams from Mali choose “bumpsters” which is a male prostitute, which I thought might cause some problems considering the non-Peace Corps teams didn’t have themes, one being the “Family Team”. Hrmmmm…

All the Peace Corps teams from Senegal lost but Peace Corps Gambia won the social league. The competitive and more professional league was won, oddly enough, by a Senegalese team who played in street clothes and was so overly serious that we had a blast stressing them out. For a team so serious, you think they could have found uniforms. Alas they didn’t and just wore American street clothes and managed to look like a bunch of hoodlums running from the po po. Our teams weren’t so serious. It’s kind of hard to play baseball with a beer in one hand. But hey, we got some laughs.

Every night was a different party at a different location and each was a total blast. It was great getting to experience Dakar and seeing what the city has to offer. It's so completely different from the rest of the country. The only downside to the weekend had to adjust to non-Dakar life, which can be jarring.

Currently, I'm going through In Service Training (IST) at the center in Thies and will have more on this shortly...

Friday morning my friend and I left Koungheul for Kaolack in our two day trip to make it to Dakar.

My endeavor to leave Koungheul started with the usual disorganized mess of people and baggage. I had to walk to the garage with all my luggage, of course, being a foreigner, I was harrassed endlessly by the children of the town. "Give me money" and "Give me a gift" are all I hear when I walk around.

We found a sept place at the garage and hopped in. The far back seat was empty so we opted to take both window seats. An hour later, two seats are still empty and those of us in the car are itching to go. Finally, for some reason, the driver pulls out of the garage and takes a turn in the wrong direction.

After a bout of confusion we ended at the Gendarmerie, where one man and a gendarme get in the car, thereby filling all seats and giving us the green light to start our travels.

Interestingly, my friend was acquainted with the man who sat between us as they had once met on a bus. He informed my friend he was traveling to Kaolack for a program. Two hours later pass and we are going through a city that I can't recognize and I decide to lean forward for a better look out of the window. As I am doing this, I notice this man has an odd metal bracelet on his right wrist. Leaning slightly more forward, I see a chain connecting this odd bracelet to another on his left wrist. They were handcuffs!!!

This explains why the Gendarme was in the car! I'm not sure what kind of 'program' he had to go to but he started his visit to Kaolack at the Justice Palace. I never noticed the handcuffs because he was wearing a long sleeved shirt and kept his hands covered with his mini briefcase.

The adventures continue....

I have just witnessed the mother of all family disputes.

I'm not sure how the argument started nor from where it came nor what it was really about. But, like a tornado, it roared from nowhere and ruffled a lot of feathers. I didn't see my chicken for a hour afterward.

I was in my room when the ruckus started. At first, I figured the family was horsing around, as often happens with a big family. But the noise continued and the tone changed. I left my room, agitated that now, along with the goat, the mosque loudspeakers, the chickens, and the village idiot's children, I could add my family to the reasons that peace alludes me. Strolling out of my door and onto my porch, I saw my 18 year old host brother yelling profusely and irately at his aunt. I watch as the 65 year old grandmother attempted to separate the two while another aunt and the children watched on in dazed amusement. I stayed on, as it's not rude to be involved in everyone's business and I didn't mind a new piece de theatre. The most poignant moment was when the second aunt gave up running interference and sat down with her head in her hand.

Several times the grandmother was able to calm and separate my host brother from his aunt and and each time the aunt taunted him back. And all for what? I don't really know, but the aunt kept repeating "your mother." I think this stems back to the fact that my host brother's mother, who currently lives in Kaolack, is trying to go to school and raise three children. I don't know many details except that the aunt is jealous of whatever my host mother has. Why exactly? I don't know. I guess someone in the family, whom I don't know is giving her money and the aunt is envious of her opportunities.

Arguments and disputes in Senegal vary greatly from those in the US. At first glance, they do appear the same; yelling, gesturing, insults, and the occasional fist throwing. What separates the two is the pent up frustration and roundabout ways of approaching everything in live.

Frustration here is guarded and kept and left to fester. Socially, it is unacceptable to confront someone directly with one's grievances. Roundabout approaches are always best. A wrong is settled with a third party go-between who relays information and feelings. Yeah... and don't we all remember how well that worked in middle school? So, to fix this, we make off handed comments and allusions to someone else's money and fortunes, usually in the form of underlying one's lack thereof.

Just this morning, my surreptitious host aunt asked me if I liked tea. I replied with a sigh and the usual comment of "I don't have money," which, this month, has been exceptionally aggravating as I truly don't.

Also, your business is not just your own. Everybody be up in theybody's bidnez. I don't understand it. I equate to the fact that there is nothing else to do but gossip and you have to get someone else to do your dirty work. This is by far one of the most difficult differences to adapt to. I have dodged so many intrusive questions about my finances and what I pay for things.

When is someone going to import the stress ball?

On Wednesday I started my accounting lessons with the 10,000 Girls. Gearing up for the mother of all gauntlets, I prepared a few activities that I believed would best help to make it all clear.

First, I should explain the system. Peace Corps has supplied the business volunteers in Senegal with a very nice set of manuals covering all areas of a business: management, accounting, marketing, finance, etc. Every category is simply broken down and organized and accompanied with pictures. I would put the level of difficulty on a middle school level. Best of all, they are all in French and prevents me from having to do any tedious translating. I have yet to find a volunteer who doesn't like them.

So here's how it works. It's a one page spread sheet, reading from left to right, that is broken into 3 sections. Section 1 is "date", "label," and "number". Section 2 has two categories of "Bank" and "Cash Box" which are both subdivided with the categories of "entry," "withdrawal," and "Balance". Finally the third category will indicate if the entry was a sale, direct manufacturing cost, direct labor cost, or indirect cost.

During training, we covered this in a one hour and a half session and at the end, we were told it would take on average 8 months to successfully teach. **Insert sound of jaw hitting the ground**

So knowing this, I very indirectly instructed my counterpart to very directly make sure the girls choose a competent girl to be the accountant. This went over as well as selling sand to an Arab. Somehow, only known to God above, and once again proving why I am in Senegal, they chose an barely literate girl with a bad attitude.

But crises averted. The time between my telling the girls that I wanted to do accounting and the actual meeting was a few days. In the mean time, I attended the literacy classes that counterpart teaches . As I've mentioned before, these girls are apart of a larger NGO that requires the girls to be in school and work at the same time. In order to help them meet this requirement, my counterpart and my predecessor created literacy classes that meet 3 times a week. My counterpart teaches English, and his friend teaches math and French. They are compensated for their efforts. I asked if I could come and visit and subsequently I was asked to teach a lesson in English. At one point during my visits. I learned who the accountant-elect was going to be and also noticed she had difficulty writing. So I did some asking, and approached my counterpart about what I saw. He was surprised himself and subsequently I asked him (being that I'm not Senegalese)to have the leader find a more capable girl, which was accomplished. If she can't write, then she won't record anything, and we'll have problems. Big problems.

So forward ahead to the day of the meeting. It's scheduled at 4pm and my counterpart had come over to borrow my computer earlier in the day for a web conference for his new job. Not a risk to my computer. He just sits in front of it, staring blankly. He can't type so by the time he gets a question out, it's too late.

So at 3:30 he finishes, and I suggested we leave then and stop by the post office because my package still isn't here and maybe he could help me. After leaving the post, at which point it's nearly 4, he says he has to go home to eat lunch. Fuming, I said ok, not really having a choice because I needed him lucid for the meeting. Well, the meeting started around 5, nearly an hour late.

I stated off the session by playing a game. I set up fake cash box and a bank and then gave them a set of verbal transactions that they had to record and to process. Much as I suspected they bickered and struggled and at the end we discussed their difficulties. Then I pulled out an example of the spreadsheet. I explained the headings and then we went over it line by line. It took a lot of work and repetition to make it clear and there were a few bad attitudes, which I fixed by letting them know they didn't have to be present. Most interestingly, they didn't want to use the calculator I had brought. They all preferred to use their cell phones! And for the easiest of transactions. When I asked what 14 thousand minus 7 thousand equaled, they all pulled out their cell phones. Afterwards, we went back and replayed the game that I had made and recorded the transaction the proper way. One girl, very surprisingly, caught on very early and had no problem answering my questions. And even at one point I had to ask her to not respond so quickly as to give the other girls a chance to think it through. I'd like to see her be the accountant.

The session finished around 7pm and we all went home. Overall, it was successful and we have another meeting on Tuesday to reinforce the lesson. Repetition is the name of the game here.

Not much has happened since my last post, but I wanted to write something nonetheless, so at least, I still stay in the habit of updating it.

Since returning from the village I have been trying to complete my community resource assessment, which, is not easy. The CRA is an evaluation or report of what is available in a community. In the developed world, this would easier, but nonetheless, I am attempting to accomplish it. I have broken down the city into categories and have trying to systematically visit each category. Thus far, I have visited the Mayor's office, the Gendarmerie, and a few of the schools. I'm asking who works there, responsibilities, and challenges in an attempt to gain a better understand of what the community has and needs. I don't envy anyone living in a large city. My small town is difficult enough. The mayor's office couldn't tell me how many teachers and students there are in the city.

My visit to the Gendarmerie was the most interesting thus far. I walked in with my counterpart, introduced myself and then asked how many Gendarmes there are stationed in Koungheul. This was met by a nasty dismissal and a waive of the hand, informing us that we were in a military installation. Military installation my foot! It is as open as a public park, and was even accompanied with a kid on a tricycle, which inevitably turned out to be the Commandant's kid. And every single gendarme had an empty gun holster. Slightly offended at the lack of professionalism (forgetting where I live again), I quickly walked out. A few paces down the street the same Gendarme who dismissed us called us back and informed us that the Commandant would return shortly and we could speak with him. Then, this same Gendarme ask my counterpart for his ID card, which, without hesitation, he produced. And not surprisingly, the gendarme held it and my counterpart was too unwilling to ask for it back, much to my annoyance. This is another cultural observation I have noticed. The people are far more accepting of the law's methods and don't usually fight back. My counterpart was too accommodating and pacifistic for my taste. I would have demanded the card back. Respectfully, of course

Eventually, the Commandant came back and invited us into his office. He really is a nice guy and I have enjoyed crossing paths with him. He explained that I was not wrong for asking, but who I asked was wrong. I should have gone directly to him and he would have had no problem answering my questions because he knows who I am and why I am in Senegal. The example he used did reveal a cultural difference between us. He told me in America, someone who inquired about the number of officers and vehicles would be taken back and questioned. I set him strait and respectfully told him the number of officers is public knowledge and military installations are just that - military and civilian access is more scrutinized. He did answer my questions and told me about the challenges the Gendarme face, including playing firemen when needed. Needless to say, they have more roles than they can effectively manage.

In other news, my projects are coming along. Presently, projects and work are coming my way and after my three week training in February, I will be on the hut for bigger and more involved projects. This upcoming training is called In Service Training (IST) and is meant to be 3 months after becoming a volunteer. We are given more technical training, which I hope to use to help some of the groups in my site.

Currently I am working with the 10,000 Girls group to set up their tailoring business, which should open soon. The leader of the group was supposed to come out yesterday to check the room my counterpart found for the business. It met all the requirements, but the owner won't hold it for long. In fact, my counterpart lied and said the money is on the way so the owner would not give it away. Alas, the leader didn't come. Typical.

Another project is a reading room. The 10,000 Girls director has more books than the Library of Congress and needs to get rid of them so they have trying to establish rooms in various cities. These room will be for students to come and do research and study and will be operated by one of the girls in the organization. Luckily, or maybe not, there is a room in the house that my counterpart found, but if the money doesn't come, then the room will be given away and both projects will be put on hold.

Another project is finding wheelchairs for a few disabled girls. Some westerner donated some money for this purpose, but honestly I don't have clue as where to start.

Saturday, I am teaching English. My predecessor and my counterpart established weekly classes for young girls that had to drop out of school and now wish to further their education. Amazingly, this program is working and a few girls have even been accepted back into the state schools. My counterpart teaches English, and one of his friends teaches Math. I'm not sure if there are any other subjects, but I do believe there are. I watched my counterpart teach on Monday and he's pretty good, but I saw some issues. He moved quickly, many girls didn't take notes, only a few participate, and one girl couldn't write. He was reviewing the ABCs, greetings, and the verb "to be." No one new anything. The alphabet was mutilated. I'll be teaching objects in the classroom like "desk" and "chair".

All in all, I'm having fun and enjoying my work. I am however looking forward to the break that IST will afford me. Not to mention, the super bowl party and the multi nation Peace Corps softball tournament. More to come....

So I'm back from a three day training seminar in my friend's village. A while back, my boss called me and asked if I would be interested in a Wolof refresher and I jumped on the opportunity.

The village of this particular volunteer is out beyond nowhere and then a left turn - just not the left turn pas the first goat, mind you. Another volunteer and myself had to find our way to Kaffrine on the major highway and wait for the Peace Corps car that would take us to the village in question. This car was also bringing my host, another volunteer and the language teacher. All in all, it was a packed car. I'm so glad I didn't have to take a bush taxi all the way there.

The Peace Corps car picked us up right after dark and we headed off into the bush and very quickly got lost. The driver had decided to go another route unknown to my host. After a few locals who got us nowhere, the driver finally found someone who knew how to get to the village. And of course, he couldn't just tell us. He had to come along. This is very common as knowledge is more valuable than any asset. In the West, we believe that sharing knowledge is key to development, which is a fair argument. But here, knowledge is power. But hey, rice is more important.

Anyways, we finally got to the village around 10 pm and shortly afterwards we had dinner. I went to bed. The driver took off and I don't know what happened to the guide. Oh well.

Now, let me tell you that village life is way different from my cushy pad. My volunteer gets one large bucket of water a day for bathing, drinking and dishes and because of our presence, she got two. Whoopie! 4 days and I showered once! Grumble Grumble.

She didn't have electricity and the first night there I suggested that she have some Christmas lights sent over to illuminate her path to the bathroom. Oh and the crapper! Wow. It's a ce-mented septic tank with a hole on top for your business. Yuck. Again, no running water.

But we did have fun. One volunteer brought cards and another brought gin, so we made it through. In the afternoon, we took bush walks and the agricultural volunteers collected seeds. I just watched. Once evening though, we came across some neolithic stones. I had heard that there were some in a village not too far, but my host had no idea that they were even there. They were upright, porous, red stones in vertical positions that formed a circle, and there were a several of these circles. World Heritage fund needs to pay a visit but the locals have done a good job at leaving them alone.

Wow. The last two weeks have been a blur! I left on the 23rd for the regional house in Kaolack and stayed there with a few other volunteers. Overall, it was relaxing and re-energizing to have a break.

By the afternoon on Christmas eve, everyone had shown up and sat down to decide what was on our menu for the holiday. We decided to plan out 3 meals: Christmas Eve, Christmas Day breakfast, and Christmas Day dinner.

For Christmas Eve, we decided to make cakes and cookies, and apple cider, which all turned out excellent due to the cooking abilities of the volunteers. Starvation is a big motivator! By 7pm had rolled out our spread, and everything prepared was delicious. Afterwards, we all dressed up and headed over to the Cathedral for 9;45 Midnight Mass, which was accompanied by a overly shiny nativity scene and the quintessential African black out (no pun intended), forcing us to sit in a dark church for 15 minutes while a few bald brothers scrambled for find a generator.

Christmas Day we made eggs, pancakes, and bacon for breakfast. And then we played games and one opened our white Santa gifts. Christmas Dinner was a ham, which was really expensive, accompanied by bread, mashed potatoes, and other nice items.

On the 28th, I left to go to Tivaouane, where I lived for 2 months while I was in training. I wanted to see my old host family and hang out with the volunteer who is stationed there as we are friends. I did much of nothing. The highlight was having chicken for dinner one evening.On the 30th, the other volunteer and I left for Dakar which has a regional house for volunteers.

New Years Eve in Dakar was amazing. A few of the volunteers who are station around Dakar have become friends with some of the Korean Peace Corps volunteers and so we meet up with them at one of their apartments, which was really a nice pad. I'm jealous. Afterwards, we migrated to an American Peace Corps volunteer's house and I think that is where we rang in the new year... yeah... I think that's where. Dakar is so different from the rest of the country. It's even different from the other major cities and at times, it seemed as if I wasn't in a third world country. But that is the allure of Dakar.

I left Dakar on the second and headed back to the village spending the night at the regional house on the night of the second.

This week has had a few worthwhile events. I've decided that I can't stand not being productive, so I have decided to start 'work.'

In my earlier posts, I had mentioned a group of young girls who are apart of a larger NGO called 10,000 Girls (www.10000girls.org/). This goal of this NGO is to promote young girls and maintain their education, which is why for any girl to be apart of the NGO, they must both be in school and working, neither of which is easy.

The sect of girls in Koungheul have had a restaurant business in the past, but have decided to close it as the highway construction through downtown Koungheul has caused a detour, though the highway reopened again yesterday. I have to ask what the girls planed to do about the restaurant. But they have plans to break into the Fabric and couture production. Currently, they are waiting for the sowing machines to arrive from kaolack, which are just sitting in a storage closet

My decision to start working came from a visit to the headquarters of 10,000 Girls and a conversation with the founder and leader. Prior to the visit, my counterpart and I were frustrated at the delay of the equipment promised to the girls, so I said I would pay the NGO a visit when I was in Kaolack again. Well, I ruffled a few feathers and probably made a name for myself, but I needed to know what was taking so long. To make a long story short, the issue is with the money from USAID and Aid to Artisans. With American grant money at hand, the funds appropriation must have professional approval, and that is where the delay is. The is a stipulation that the girls must have a room with a bathroom, water, and electricity. That is not easy to find in the market and has forced my counterpart, who is responsible for finding the room to search in the residential areas, far from the centralized market.

Because of the delay in funds, the available room my counterpart had found was rented to family and the NGO, for good reason, won't send the machines because they have no where to go in Koungheul. Also, I saw a series of emails that indicated that any funds would arrive no sooner than January.

So I decided to make the best of this lull...

In the first meeting I ever had with the girls, I had asked them what they wanted to and I just got a bunch of this and that and other ideas. Nothing really concrete.

So Tues the 15th I called a meeting and said I wanted to discuss their ideas concretely. Although this was the primary goal of the meeting, the idea of teaching costing came to mind and I put together an activity for them to do that would both map out in separate graphs the materials necessary and their costs and the time required each step in making the item.

After talking with them about their products and what they hoped to sell, I busted out the costing activity and said that this activity would help them better understand their business and that plans like this will help get funding. It was a big hit and there were excited to do it.

I was so relieved. I had no idea how far I could push or where my limits were, so I was happy to see them eager to do it. We did a few examples so the girls would understand and then said we could come back two days later to see if they had any questions.

Two day later and the moment we showed up they still hadn't done anything. I knew this would happen, which is why I said I wanted to see them in two days. Motivation is not a big deal here. So my counterpart and I stuck around to get the girls started. I knew they would need to be pushed to get started, but what surprised me was the level of frustration I saw. At times it seemed like they would give up at the slightest challenge. One girl couldn't spell out a French word and another couldn't correctly COPY a graph that was right in front of her. When anyone, not just myself, attempted to correct them, they seems offended and patronized. I think this is related to the fact that everyone is rough when correcting or teaching to the point of belittlement and that everyone has such different educational levels that when one is placed next to another more educated person, feelings of inferiority come out.

Anyways, we got the girls started on the costing activity and told them to do both graphs for every product they want to sell and every product they think they may sell. The last thing I said as I left is "I hope to see many many products list in your notebook."

On Tuesday, we are meeting again to see what the have accomplished and I want to give them an activity on indirect costing. Though I don't know exactly how to do it, as there is not a room yet and salaries are not established. Though, I think I will just have them guesstimate and use it to teach them how to consider all their indirect cost, like rent, water, and so on.

My worth hog party went fairly well, though it could have been better. Originally, my counterpart and I planned to have the party Saturday night, but no pig could be found until Sunday evening, meaning the party would have to wait until Monday night. My counterpart had sent three hunters into the bush to find a pig, but it took three nights to finally find a pig! The hunters have to walk far out into the bush to water beds that are drying up and wait for the pigs to come and drink.

Saturday afternoon, no pig. We had to call everyone and tell them to wait until Sunday. Sunday afternoon, still no pig. We had to call everyone and tell them to wait until tomorrow. Sunday night, we got pig!

Sunday 9pm: My counterpart calls me and says the hunter killed a wort hog a few hours ago and we need to go collect it. Of course, I wanted to go! My counterpart tells me he will come get me

Sunday 9:30pm: My counterpart shows up with a bush truck and a bunch of guys I did not know.

Sunday 9:45pm: We arrive at the bush road and the driver hesitates, saying he is not comfortable driving his truck through the bush at night. Wait, weren't we on a 'bush' truck?

Sunday 10pm: Back at the garage looking for another car to take us into the bush. We soon a 1945 bread car the French forgot to take when they left. In the Car is the hunter, my counterpart, the driver, the driver's friend, myself and two other. The driver makes the two other get out and so the five of us take off

Sunday 11:30pm: After a long and bumpy bush ride, we arrive at the hunter's marked spot on the road and the five of us get out. Much to my dismay, the driver and his friend light a fire and sit. My, how the Senegalese love to sit. So the three of us proceed into the bush and attempt to drag a work hog carcase back half a kilometer. The first time I went to collect pork like this, we had five men. Back at the car, I sarcastically thanked the driver and his friend and made a comment about solidarity. The(#*$&#*@(*@!

Monday 1am: I go to bed

My hoping in having this party was to witness first hand how Senegalese organization works. And what a demonstration I got! My counterpart was never worried about finding a pig and every day he said, "today, we will have a pig." And no one was upset or cared that the party kept being pushed back. It would have been a failed party in the US.

It’s been quite a while since I made my last post. But I have a reason. A day or so after Tobaski, my boss called me and asked if I would like to be a part of a conference in Joal-Fadiouth, a city on the coast. The connection was bad, so I couldn’t gather what the conference was for, but I agreed because I wanted to get out of my site and do something different.

Thursday the 3rd, I left for Kaolack to stay in the regional house one night and leave Friday morning on the Peace Corps bus that was too take us to Joal. By Thursday evening, all the volunteers who were going to the conference showed up. I asked everyone what we were doing and why we were asked to go and no one knew the answer to either! Again, not a problem.

Joal Fadiouth is beautiful touristic city on the cost of Senegal just south of Dakar. It where one goes to experience Senegal without actually seeing Senegal. So, it’s just a bunch of Frenchies. The hotel gorgeous and spacious enough, but there wasn’t running water for the first two days. As my time in Senegal increases, things like that become less and less of an issue.

Friday evening we decided to look around the area and go over to an island that is said to be the only mixed Christian and Muslem cemetary in Senegal. It was a beautiful island and many shirnes throughout.

The conference was Saturday morning and we got dressed up and headed over to where it was to be held. Upon walking in, I was met with a sandy football field with tents pitched to one side and a small covered stand on the other upon which the dignitaries would sit their rears on cushy lawn chairs. We found seats and prepared to wait.

And we waited……

Finally at 10:45, nearly two hours late, the dignitaries showed up and lumbered into the field, accompanied by the Gendarme marching band that could have made a middle school recital look like the Philharmonic. Included in the list were a bunch of Senegalese reps and the ambassadors from the US, Korea, Japan, and France. Then, they proceeded to give speech after speech in French. I enjoyed the French ambassador’s speech. Let’s jus say he spoke better than the Korean ambassador who was too short for the podium. Whoops!

Thanksgiving turned out far better than I expected. I planned on too little food and more aggravation than it's worth, but I was pleasantly surprised.

Sunday afternoon the Peace Corps volunteer who lives about 23 kilometers south of me on a dirt road came up and spent the night and on Monday morning, at 5 am, we were picked up by our sept place. We are lucky, as I know a driver and can get front door service, which is monumental when considering I would otherwise have a 15 minuteswalk in the dark to get to the garage. The trip to the regional house in Kaolack took the regular, dusty 3 hours, but was aggravated by my iPod freezing 10 minutes into the trip. So to pass the time, I played "Counted the Dead Things" and racked up five dead goats, one dead bull, one dog, and three indefinable animals.

We got to the regional house and immediately I searched for a bed, knowing that the population of the house would swell enormously and that there weren’t enough sleeping apparatuses to go around. Luckily, I found a bed. The rest of the day was spent relaxing and just socializing. That afternoon one of the Peace Corps doctors showed up to administer Swine Flu and regular flu shots. Those of us under 24 years received the Swine Flu shot and those over were just SOL. No reactions or side effects. Thank God!

On Tuesday, we formed a "pricing party" and four of us, myself included, headed to the market to find out how much everything would cost for dinner. This involved asking multiple stands for the price on one item, but it's necessary so as not to be ripped off. We did get some looks when we said we were just pricing, and not buying. There is no "shopping" here and people walk into stores and know exactly what they want. Browsing is unheard of. Thanks to this adventure, we did learn that the further one travels into the market (or the abyss and I call it) the better the produce becomes. I guess the produces at the entrance is picked off pretty quickly, but in the back we found scallions and parsley! I couldn't stop sniffing the parsley.

By tuesday night, food committees were formed and the work was divided. I am often amazed at how volunteers often accomplish tasks. Maybe it's the level of ingenuity and drive that is necessary in all voluteers to survive here. For example, we all wanted cornbread but couldn't determine how to make it until one volunteer suggested we use millet. The idea was reflected on and we decided to try it, and it worked. My experience in the States would be to have forgotten it altogether.

My responsibility was dicing and chopping. I seemed to be the only one who know how to do it and I was happy to, seeing as how I didn't want anyone to lose a finger. And I did try to pass on my skills. Thank you Food Network. I started dicing about 8 am, but I had to leave before 10 am, because I was meeting with some people from an NGO, which I will explain further on,

Everything pulled together around 5pm and we had a heap of food. There were three turkeys, millet bread, mashed potatoes, gravy, soup, cucumber salad, deviled eggs, dinner rolls, cupcakes, pineapple upside down cake, and apple crisp. I ate till I was about to explode. I wish I could have eaten more, but I'm not used to stuffing myself anymore.

- - - - - - -

In Koungheul, there is a group of young girls that are a part of an NGO called 10,000 Girls, and the headquarters is based in Kaolack. The founder and current leader of the NGO is an African American woman who lives here in Kaolack and one of her assistants is a volunteer who decided to work for the NGO for 6 months after her service was finished. The aim of the NGO is to empower young girls to stay in school and work; both are required to be enrolled with the NGO. The division of girls here in Koungheul own and operate a restaurant and are very shortly moving into the couture and fabric business, for which I am very excited to be involved.

Saturday evening, I received a message from the assistant saying that on Tuesday she along with some British nationals would be in Koungheul for the day visiting the girls who own the restaurant. I declined to accompany them, as I wanted and was required to be in Kaolack at the time. Luckily, they were all to be back in Kaolack on Wednesday, and I said I would stop by and say hello and get their opinion on what they saw.

10am Wednesday. I rolled up into 10,000 Girls office, which is just a 10 minute walk from the regional house and quickly found the Brits and introduced myself and what I was doing. We talked for a while and I discovered that they are apart of some larger organization that wants to become and NGO and works with restaurant businesses. I didn't understand everything, and was more focused on their opinions than what they actually did.

I found out they had gone to Koungheul and had done and action plan with the group of girls, and gather other information. An action plan just maps out what they wanted to do over a specified period of time. Well, the girls didn't know much about their business, and so the Brits decided to do on it English and it was suggested that I would help translate into French or Wolof. They only issue is that they are doing an extensive business plan and it won’t relate well to the girls. Although, I am extremely excited to have it because it will be over 5 years and include purchasing a building, meaning it will be extensive and will save me much foot work and research when grant writing time comes.

Next, one girl told me that they would like to see the girls do a costing analysis to better understand their costs and she then gave me some technical term. What she said would allow any company to operate efficiently, but it isn't that practical to teach a overhead per unit cost to these girls. But it is important that they learn all their costs. The Brits want a costing report, but the girls have no idea and the restaurant is closed until at least January due to the construction of the highway through downtown Koungheul. My counterpart and I haven't figured out what we are going to tell the Brits, but my guess is that they will have to wait.

The other day, my counterpart took me to meet a women’s group. What a walk! But anyways, the groups is a bunch of women who have a boutique in which they sell millet and rice, pickled vegetables, died fish and juices. Mostly a bunch of agricultural products as they have a small plot of land. Their clientele is mostly local people with a few larger orders coming from around the region and Dakar.

After walking into the compound, we were directed into the first building and told asked to sit, at which point our host left us. This happens a lot. I walk into a house and am immediately taking the ‘salon’ or living room and left to my thoughts. I guess I’m supposed to relax and marvel at the lavishness of the family’s wealth, which is usually demonstrated with pealing linoleum, moth-eaten couches, and cable TV.

After a few minutes, she returned and took us to another building, in which door number 1 hosted the boutique. Wow, that could do with some marketing tips, but on the upside, things were clearly labeled and priced. Behind door number two, was the ‘processing room.’ This made me smile and remember where I was. In this unlit room was one old African woman sifting through a bowl of millet. Around her were empty pots and pans. It was the quintessential African production line. Behind door number three was the “office,” and where my opinion of the group altered. In this nicely painted, tiled, and spacious room I learned that my host was the president of the organization and also did some treasury work, which in Africa, just spells disaster. And for some reason, there was a mattress and an armoire in the room. She brought out the accounting books and little notebooks of log entries and showed me how the finances work. It is a great system, and clearly she had been taught it. The only problem was, it didn’t add up. She had this individual book for bank deposits and withdrawls, which did not correspond with the numbers in the accounting book. None of the monthly profits matched the deposits into the bank account and I couldn’t figure out why. Then, she told me that my predecessor had helped them to find funding for the “office.” Yeah… that’s right… the room I was sitting in with the mattress and the armoire. Something seemed to be amiss.

The president told me the groups three goals are (1) electricity, (2) a computer and (3) money for raw materials . As the conversation continued, I learned that the electricity had been cut for a failure to pay the bill because the group didn’t have the funds. The President told me the amount she needed for the bill and I nearly hit the floor. Nothing they had shown me needed electricity. Then my counterpart asked for previous bills, but they conveniently couldn’t be found. As far as the computer was concerned. Why? What for? They don’t need one. They were managing just fine and I doubt that any of them know how to use them. Finally, why do they need money for raw materials? I thought they had land. This all refers back to what had been pounded into my head during training. The people here do not know what they truly need.

All of this does make sense one you learn that the group’s building is located inside of the president’s home! Electricty, a computer, money for raw materials. Sounds like the president is trying to line her own pockets.

On the way home, my counterpart gave me some other examples of mismanagement and told me that on our way out the president had asked him to persuade me to work with them. I think they’ve already reaped the benefits of a volunteer and other funding.

Afterwards, I was shocked, but then came to my senses and remembered I was in Africa. But this is commonplace, and obvious. So why do these NGOs allow this to happen? The president of an organization shouldn’t be allowed to line her own pockets. I’d have to say the problem lies with the NGOs and other development groups. They themselves are not always financed with their own money, and often have governmental funds to mismanage. But why not monitor and set in place practices that will discourage or block corruption? Isn’t that the “Teach a man to fish” argument? Maybe because that is too costly and it is less expensive to throw out tons of money and rely on statistics than it is to hand out what is necessary and monitor it. In this case, then I’m saying it’s “Teach a man to fish” versus “Superiority of numbers.” Who will win?

The problem is corruption is an institution, and it’s abetted by careless donors who throw money and then turn around and say ‘look at what we did’. At what point does a child’s misbehavior become the fault of the parents? I suppose it’s easy to get caught up in the excitement and effectiveness of a training program that say teaches 100 girls to make and sell bisap juice and then forget to teach ethics. So maybe the underlining problem is our own complacency with ethics.

Last night I went to take a shower and had a ghastly surprise. I got my shower gear ready and waddled across the compound to the shower in my crappy shower flip flops, closed the shower door, and arranged my arsenal of anti-dirtiness and turned on the water. Now, usually, the water takes a second or two to come out, which is normal anywhere, and in this brief moment, I looked down at the floor and was instantly sprayed with red liquid. Looking up, I saw red water flowing out of the shower head, and I thought I was in some horror movie, and then.... I realized... I am!!!

After the water ran red for a while it turned back to sandy clear and I finished my shower. Then I headed back to my room where I was met with a humming that could have rivaled a John Deer. That turned out to be the biggest flying SOB I have ever laid my eyes upon. It took my French dictionary, both my sandals, and the realization I throw like a girl to finally kill it.

I don't what's going on! Red water, giant insects. I promise my pyramid is not being built by Hebrews!

Well, I’ve gotten sick again! I’ve been in Senegal for a grand total of 3 months and I’ve been sick 4 times. The third time was a whopper! I had a cough for 3 weeks, but it went away in just enough time for the fourth illness.

Now I should point out the connection between how viruses and bacteria are transmitted and the lifestyle of the Senegalese. I always figured that outbreaks in the third world.... (oops! I mean least developed countries)… were due mostly to the lack of medicines and hygiene took a back seat. Yet, since living here, while never being far from my wagon train of medication, I’ve been sick more times in a quarter of a year than I have been in a quarter of a decade. Everyone, and I mean everyone, eats out of the same large, communal dinner bowl; whether you’re sick, sniffling, sneezing, or a child. A spoon, cleaned for dinner, is readied by a douse of water and a quick rub by your right hand. Soap optional. Then, the person who washed the spoon, will switch hands in order to hand off the spoon to you so that you don’t tough the head, though in the process, that’s exactly what they’ve done! I’ve seen children sneeze into the food bowl and women don’t eat with spoons; they use their hands. Also, it is customary for them to lick their hands periodically. There is one communal drinking cup that sits out all day long on top of the clay retaining pot. Maybe my baggage train of medication is necessary.

My fourth illness started three days ago with major fatigue, but nothing else. They next afternoon the fever struck, accompanied by some achiness. I thought nothing of it, took and ibuprofen, and decided to stay around my room resting. A few hours later, I received a text message from the Peace Corps doctors informing the volunteers of an outbreak of Dengue fever, which is caused by daytime mosquitoes. If you’re wondering, it’s the nighttime mosquitoes that cause malaria. I went to bed that night and woke up will all the symptoms except the rash and I was nauseous. I about panicked. I called the PC doctors and was told to rest and take fluids, and consider moving to the regional house for a few days. I didn’t feel very feverish and my headache was in the wrong spot so I decided to stay in bed reading and sleeping, and this morning, I’m much better, except I still feel a little nauseous.

One family member told me I was sick because I never eat much and don’t drink tea every day. As far as eating goes, I’m so tired of eating the same tasting food for every meal that it’s a challenge to get past the first whiff and continue. I always go for the vegetable and fish and leave the rice to everyone else. The moment I feel full, I stop. The tea comment made me laugh. This is Chinese imported tea and is more than a ritual than a drink. It takes forever to make and must be boiled, cooled, boiled again, infused with enough sugar to give a horse diabetes, and then cooled again. I usually dodge my dosage which is two to three glasses. Should I fail, then I usually just poor it into a cup and dispose of it later. It’s so sugary, that I’m usually bouncing off the wall a few hours later. It’s served in rounds, with everyone sharing the same two or three cups.

I am thinking about upgrading from a wagon train to a parked 747 behind my house. I hate being sick.

Well, I thought the money issue was resolved. But I have another round to go. It’s an intricate story, but the gist is that I have had to deal with a family member who lives in Kaolack. She is the mother of a few of the children in the house and had told me to wait until her arrival to discuss my contribution towards the family expenses. She currently lives in Kaolack while she is studying to become some sort of nurse and her children lived in the house here in Koungheul until this past Sunday, when the mother took them back to Kaolack to be with her and attend school.

Saturday, the mother showed up sometime in the afternoon, while I was on the phone. Shortly after, she introduced herself and had me sit down with her, alongside the rest of the adults, who had gathered to chat. She welcomed me and we made small talk for a few minutes until she informed me that I was “her son” and a “member of the family” and that if I have an issue I should come directly to her or the family and NOT use my counterpart as an intermediately. This point was made multiple times followed by “do you understand” and some smiles. It only stopped when I got short and said “I got it.” By this point, I’ve known her for a grand total of 5 minutes, and I’m already pissed. The only reasons she wanted my counterpart left out is that she figured she could get one over me. NOT!

Money is a sensitive issue in Senegal. People here become ravenous wolfs when the money comes out; but they’ll preach solidarity all day long. This is advice given and my observation. Knowing this, I let the conversation drift and figured she could bring up the subject on her own. Time is on my side, as I’m not hurting for money. The afternoon drifts away and is followed by our nightly viewing of a Spanish sitcom dubbed in French, which, in turn, is followed by dinner. Afterwards, she calls me over and we sit in two plastic chairs making small talk about her life in Kaolack and my politically correct observations of Senegal.I knew this conversation was going to turn to money, and when it did, I let her have her say, which includes the following: (1) I am a member of the family (2) She considers me her son (3) Life in the cities is more expensive (4) Life in Senegal is more difficult (4) Americans have money (5) The family is poor (5) She has no husband to help (he’s got another family in the Ivory Coast! Jerry! Jerry!) (6) She’s going to school and is working. (7)The family member sending money is struggling (LIE!!) (7) Electricity is expensive (8) I have to pay for private high school because my son has repeated multiple levels.

I should also clarify another point of contention in all of this. My predecessor was generous. It’s nice that he was able to help out the family in such a way, but I cannot and I won’t as he did. He paid the same amount that I am currently paying; in addition, he paid for the electricity, which, in total, equated to two-thirds of the stipend given by Peace Corps. Furthermore, I know he made donations, including a year’s school enrollment and school clothes. There is no way he was not using American funds.

Now, as I reread these points, I can imagine why it’s easy to take pity on them. But maybe I can explain my cynicism with the points that I made to her. In essence, they all rebuttals, but points nonetheless. First, I told her that I am paying the same contribution every month that my predecessor paid and that I am only responsible for my costs. Upon hearing this, she asked me how I knew what my predecessor paid and if my counterpart told me. I informed her I had emailed my predecessor, which did not go over well. Secondly, I noted, although she says I’m a member of the family, I was asked for money my first day her, and asked to give an abhorrent amount. Third, I said she doesn’t understand American life and cannot therefore make an appropriate comparison. Fourth, my American family will not contribute. Fifth, we eat the same, inexpensive thing, for lunch, and we eat rice with beans for every dinner and we are not village folk. Sixth, there is a family member in Dakar sending money. Seven, I am not responsible for the private education. Seventh, I am one person and will not use as much electricity as you think. Finally, I told her that my Senegalese instructor from the Peace Corps told me what I wanted to give was appropriate and if it wasn’t good enough I would move, implying she could take what I was offering or zero!

She accepted with the caveat of “we’ll help you out, since your family.” Whatever. So Saturday, I gave my contribution to the predetermined family member and got my receipt. I’m not taking any chances. She signed triangle with a line through it. Figures. Then Tuesday evening, I saw her with an expensive fabric that she bought for an outfit for an upcoming holiday. This happens here, and I’ve heard stories of other volunteers going through the same thing. I won’t let this get go, and I have decided to wait until Friday to bring up the fact our diet is absurd, and when they give me the “ain’t got no money” line, I’ll point out the fabric and threaten to call the mother in Kaolack to discuss a change in my contribution. Maybe this will be my justification for moving.

Despite all this though, I am making great progress with the children. We now have homework session in my hut every evening. It started when one kid asked to review and the others felt left o. ut. The boy that I wrote about in my last post is making great strides. He can now do double digit addition and carry over, which put his math skills above his class and currently, he is on the floor of my room writing over and over the letters A-M and almost recite without error. Last week, he could only say ABCD. He keeps telling me he is tired, but I won’t let him leave. Next, I’ll see if he can individually pick out certain letters. I found out that he sits in the last bench in the class, which is what happens to students who are duds. The teacher has so many students, that he or she will put the ones that are forerunners in the front and the duds in the back to be forgotten about. His problem is he has never had any reinforcement at home or at school.

My endeavor to have internet in my hut is progressing. Last week, I went to the Orange boutique in Koungheul to acquire information on having internet installed in. The worker (forthwith known as the “idiot”) was a complete dunce and I let my American culture come out in a flurry. First, the idiot didn’t know anything about the bandwidths or the prices or the installation process. When the idiot finally located the prices on the net with his computer, I asked him to email me the link and he promptly informed me it wasn’t possible! I asked him if it truly was impossible, or if he just didn’t know how to do it. And at that point, any hope of getting info is lost. Luckily, he did inform me I needed to send in a demand to the office in Kaffrine.

So the next day I asked my counterpart how to write a demand and he was actually surprised that I didn’t know. At least I knew what one was, thanks to a story I read in a French class in college. It’s a request for something written in formal French and looks much like a memo. I told my counterpart that demands are not commonplace in the US, and I left out why. After writing the demand, I sent it in and then I waited. Remember, lots of waiting in Senegal.

After a few days I received a call from the office in Kaffrine informing me that I needed to go in person to the office! The idiot never said anything about this. There was no way around this and so I was off to kaffrine. It took me two hours in a sept place to reach the office and, after finding the office, I signed up for what I wanted. The only thing that concerns me was the technican who will install the internet next week was the guy who filled out the paper work. I have receipts for everything, but this is Africa and one cannot be too careful. He did tell me that I would have to pay an additional CFA 10,000 ($20) for installation and I could pay it while I was at the office or when he comes in install the internet. This makes no sense, so I refused to pay it on the spot and I need to call the customer service again to get information about this so-called “installation.”

On an unrelated topic, the children of the house have started school this week, and I’ve gotten a glimpse into the education system of Senegal. My assumption was that is very much a European system of education, with a French influence. Well, I certainly see the French influence, but I don’t think it is as rigorous. The children start later and there is no preschool. Children may attend school anywhere from 5 years to 8 years of age but they cannot partake in the class, they may only listen and watch. At eight years old, they begin school and start as we have in the States with the ABCs and reading. Why they start late, I don’t know. Maybe there is backlog in the school system. I do know that there can be around 50 children in the class and teachers are not paid well. So one afternoon, the children were reviewing what they had done in class that day and I got involved by giving them simple addition problems. I noticed right away that the 8 year old could do more than the 10 year old. I knew they started later, but I could tell something wasn’t quite right. I later found out that the 10 year is now retaking, for the third time, the first level, and is in the same class as the 8 year old, his cousin. Not much reinforcement at home, as his mother is dead, his father is MIA, and the adults here have no formal education. For the past few days, I’ve been working with him on the ABCs and simple addition and he can’t retain anything. I sing the ABCs in French, by section, and ask him to repeat it and he can’t. I wrote out the ABCs with every other one missing, and he can’t complete the blanks, even after stopping to sing the song again. I showed him the same math problem 4 times and on the 5th, I gave it for him to do, and he couldn’t. He just laughs and smiles. My outlook is grim. At least he lives in a country wrought full of manual labor. Right now, as I’m typing this, he is stilling on my floor counting his plastic Fanta bottle tops that he keeps in his Micky Mouse backpack, and soon, he’ll probably get up and start going through my trash again. He loves to open the yogurt packages and lick what is left.

This past week was spent meeting new people in the community and getting to know my surroundings. Most of whom I met I can’t remember their names. This can be an issue because people here are insulted if someone doesn’t remember a name. “Big deal” I always think, but when your life is centered on daily market visits and sweeping the sand (yes they do that) remembering someone’s name is a big deal. What’s funny about the whole situation is that names are so repetitive here but I can’t pronounce them!

The money issue persists with my family and I’m working with my counterpart to find a solution. At the moment, I don’t believe it is wise to go into detail, but the biggest concern for me will my having to find a new family and move all my things. But I do think that can be avoided, as progress has been made, albeit in an odd way. In one foul swoop, in the form of a clandestine toilet window meeting, I found out that it is just one woman causing issues, and her past experiences in troublemaking is why she was sent from her husband and now lives in Koungheul with her sister!

I went to Kaolack on Sunday. I made it a day trip because I didn’t want to spend the night, and the Peace Corps suggest that we make every effort to spend every of the first month at site. It was a challenge for me because Kaolack is 3 hours one way by a cramped sept place. Luckily, one of my friends who lives along the main road needed to go to Kaolack as well to use the internet. She lives in a village north of the Route National One and has to walk through 7km through loose sand to get to The RN1, where she finds a car. In Kaolack, I picked up what I had accidently left behind in the regional house, which included my all my cooking supplies, which are now a God-sent because of the family’s lack of variety in meal selection. For the last 5 dinners, we’ve had the same thing.

While I was in Kaolack, my counterpart sent me a text me

ssage telling me his father had passed away. The veteran volunteers weren’t joking when they say we’ll see the full circle of life here in Senegal. I was surprised because my counterpart had told me he was improving. I’m not sure which illness his father had, but I think it may have been Parkinson’s or MS. Fortunately for my counterpart, his father lived in village about 25 kilometers south of Koungheul, just before the Gambia.

Monday afternoon my counterpart invited me to the funeral service. Since he was still in his father’s village, he sent his nephew to my house to escort me to the church. We arrived at the church early and wound up waiting for my counterpart to arrive. While waiting, I found out my counterpart was coming with his father’s body. Shortly thereafter, I heard a car horn and in pulled the church’s white (of course) mini Toyota pick-up with about 10 people sitting in the back. As the pick-up turned around, I noticed a crummy, blue box in the back and then realized it was the casket. I don’t know if this box was an impromptu coffin or meant to appear like this, but it was shaky and had slits in it. It was almost like a box car crate. After being unloaded from the pick-up, the coffin was placed inside the church, in the center aisle, and a short ceremony was given. Then, it was picked up, placed back onto the pick-up and off it went to the cemetery, with the multitude walking behind it.

The grave in the cemetery was already prepared and dug between some already disposed of people, and the crowd gathered around and more prayers were said. At the end, my counterpart’s father was relieved of his coffin and placed, well wrapped in tacky cloth, into the earth. And in the scuttle to place him in the ground, many of the crowd began to press forward to get a look and I noticed people standing on the graves of other people! I told one guy to get off. I’ve given up on respect in formal events here in Senegal.

Tuesday morning my counterpart called me and invited me to the funeral services in his father’s village. He told me to come to his house (which is on the other side of the cemetery) and we would walk to the car that was to take us to his village. After walking for about 10 minutes, we rounded a corner and I saw this “car.” The best was to describe it is to picture a medium sized U-Haul truck with the back converted into a flat bed. Inside cramped 20 people and off we went down the bumpiest, most sandy road I have ever been on. I still have bruised from the bumps. A few kilometers into the trip, we heard a cracking sound and the truck came to a stop. After a close examination, we learned the tire had cracked, which resulted in a two hour sitting fest while we waited for a part to come. Once fixed we took, it was another half hour until we arrived.

Once in the village, there was more waiting. We had to wait for the priest to show up, which took another hour, and when he finally arrived, I wound up waiting even more. I while I waited, I sat inside the hut of my counterpart’s brother and talked with some of the people who obviously came inside to see if there really was a white guy in the village. At some point during my waiting the priest showed up and the family meeting started. I learned this when my counterpart sent me a text message saying he was sorry that he had to be in the meeting. I hadn’t realized he disappeared. After a while my counterpart’s brother comes back into the hut all flustered, and on his heels is my counterpart’s wife. They start talking about something that is going on and the most I can gather is there is some problem between the brother and someone else.

By this point, it’s pushing 6 hours since I last ate and my blood sugar is starting to drop. It’s always been an issue with me, but now it’s worse because the malaria medicine that I take diminishes my circulation. I’m always fidgeting and switching positions because of it. So during a lull, I leave the hut and see if I can find a boutique to buy something. I quickly realize that there aren’t any then, it was realized the white guy has left the hut and needs to be returned. So I am promptly escorted back to my chair inside the hut. At this point, I’m starting to loose feeling in my arms and legs and realize I need to eat. So with my counterpart still trapped in the family meeting, I went to his wife and tried to explain, in French, what was going on and that I needed to eat. Luckily she understood and rounded me up some tasty rice with some mouton. She ate with me as she is still breast feeding and hadn’t eaten in a long time. My counterpart later apologized, but it wasn’t a big deal. I got food.

During my lunch, which by this point is an early dinner, I learned the ongoing issue is between my counterpart’s brother and his sister and their dying father had asked for them to be reconciled. After a few melt downs, I think they did. Though, I’m still not sure. Soon after, the priest gathered everyone around for a short ceremony, and it was nice, aside from the woman who disrupted everyone when she decided to shoo away a duck that started eating the sacrificial rice. Yeah, I know…. Sacrificial rice. They’re Catholic right?

On the way back I rode with the priest in the front seat! It took an hour travel back the 20+ kilometers . And this explains my first Senegalese funeral.

Last night I came face to face with the devil himself. I had gotten up during the night to use the bathroom when I came across a monstrous creature! Leaving my room, I grabbed my cell phone, as it has a built in flashlight, and I proceeded to the toilet. Everything was going as planned. I walked in, placed my cell phone on a ledge so I could use both hands and have light, when all of a sudden I hear this hissing sound. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a creature stir in the corner of my bathroom and then I realized what was making the hissing sound. All I saw was a lizard’s silhouette in the corner before I jumped back 10 feet to safety, or what I thought was safety. A few feet outside the bathroom door, I attempted to catch my breath when I started hearing the hissing sound again! And as if its life was at stake, this create came bolting out of the bathroom right at me hissing away with all its might! I jumped back another few feet and the creature scurried into a pile of rubble near my hut. All I could discern was it was it had the silhouette and walk of a lizard, was black, and hissed. In the morning, I spoke with my family and they told me it was some harmless animal that lived around my bathroom and it’s not to be feared. My counterpart on the other hand, told me it was some creature that does hiss and it SPITS urine that is toxic if consumed. This makes no sense! So I have done some research on the internet and this is what I have found.

In other news, it’s hot. My counterpart and I met up this morning to go meet some more officials, as we are doing this all week. On route to the only high school in a city of 19 thousand, the power to the city is cut, which means no fans! We make it to the school and proceed through the usually waste-of-time greeting and then head to the headmaster’s office which is hotter and more humid than a furnace. He offered very kind and philosophical words of encouragement but failed to see me dripping sweat. I finally said thank you and stirred enough in my chair to warrant an end to the conversation.

Today I decided to buy some chickens. My host brother is taking me to the market after lunch and I have decided I want two female chickens from which I will have eggs and raise chickens. Two chickens will cost me around $10-$12 dollars and food for a month is only $1. If I sell the chickens in the market, I can get around $5-$6 for each. I think it will be fun to try and if I fail miserably, I think ten bucks is worth the experience.

The past two weeks have been such a whirlwind of new events and experiences. This post will pick up from after our swearing in ceremony.

October 16th was the date of the ceremony and the following Sunday I left with several other volunteers for Kaolack, which is a large city in the south and also the location of our regional house. Unfortunately, it is three hours from my site, but such is life. The trek there was hell! The Peace Corps hired Sept Place drivers to take us, rather than drive us themselves. My driver was mean and thought he could take advantage of us. After loading up the cars, our caravan of white people took off and got as far as the first gas station before we struck problem. Our driver demanded money and was incapable of understanding that he would be paid for his services upon arrival. He wanted money for gas! One volunteer was given all the money for 5 drivers and was directed to hand out money only once we arrived. So we wound up arguing for a few minutes until the driver conceded defeat and paid for gas to be put in the car. Then, for the entire duration of a 4 hour trip, he played the same high-pitched-praise-Allah-give-me-a-headache song that made me want to scream. I thought about accidently spilling my drink on the radio. As if the radio wasn’t bad enough, every gendarmerie along the route tried to pull us over to check our papers. I guess the caravan of 5 cars of white people was just too much to resist. Oh and it was hot!

We arrived Sunday night and until Thursday morning, I acquainted myself with the city. Kaolack itself is not a pretty city. If Dakar is the “Paris” of West Africa, then Kaolack is certainly “Marseille.” What is nice about it is its size. It’s big enough so that we can buy anything we could need and then some –the ‘then some’ being western goods. I took a few days to buy what I thought I would need. By the time I was finished, I wound up with plates, dishes, a machete, buckets, silverware etc. What I figured I would need, I bought, as the Peace Corps gives us a generous amount for “settling in” expenses.

By Monday afternoon, with nearly 30 people in the regional house, there was no room left, but it was a blast and we all had fun. Feeding ourselves was getting expensive, so one of the volunteers who knew how to kill and clean a goat offered to collect money and make roast goat for dinner. His assistant, a volunteer of Greek decent (insert pun here) offered to help. I didn’t like it. The taste was excellent, but the texture and consistency of goat’s meat was not appealing to me.

Moving on to Thursday the 22nd. Charged with the responsibility of installing myself and another volunteer is will be very close to me was the security director and an assistant from the medical office. It took two hours in the Peace Corps car and we arrived in the afternoon. I was greeted by my host family warmly and they invited the PC staff and the other volunteer to stay for lunch. After lunch the PC staff took off to install the other volunteer and I was left with this family.

This family is interesting-I’ll leave it at that. I’ve been here five days and I know only one person’s name and have no idea how the family structure works. There is three women and many children. I know one woman is my host grandmother, and her daughter (my host mother) lives in Kaolack because she is in a technical school. There is a boy and a girl of high school age, though I don’t know how they are related. I do know the boy is the son of the woman in Kaolack and the boy told me his father is in the Ivory Coast working and can’t come back now because of money. I don’t know if he sends money every month or what. My counterpart later told me he is indeed working in the Ivory Coast, but he also has another family!

My room is nice and big. It has a thatched roof which is great with the heat. It’s spacious and I do like it. I’m having a dresser made and my counterpart has a fridge ready for me to buy. When it is all set up, I will send pictures.

The Peace Corps told us not to discuss money or our contribution for a few days because we needed to determine who runs the family and what an appropriate amount to give each month is. Unfortunately, before I was even here for 16 hours, my family had told me what they believed I should contribute each month. I thought it unfair and I am currently negotiating with the family. However, in order to cover my rear, I have already looked at a few other locations, though I am confident the family will be more reasonable. I wish I could divulge more, but it is unwise to do so on a blog.

The past few days have been spent meeting useless government officials who think too highly of themselves and becoming acquainted with the family and town. It’s not the prettiest site, but it’s livable and I am definitely not near central command, which may or may not have its advantages. On that, I will have to wait and see.

Sunday was the most interesting day here so far. My counterpart, who is catholic, picked me up to go to mass on Sunday. On this particular Sunday, the priest from the big cathedral in Dakar had come for a conference. He was a very interesting character, but I had to sit on a bench for 3 hours before we finally left! After mass, my counterpart asked me if I wanted to go with him to a nearby village to pick up some pork for a party later on. I thought why not and I jumped inside the car with my counterpart, some other guy, and a priest and off we went. We wound up heading north on some dirt roads that took us into the bush. After a while I asked what we were doing (I’ve really learned to just go with it here) and my counterpart said we were looking for a hunter who would be waiting for us by the side of the road. After a while, we came across the hunter who led us on a 20 minute walk though the bush to nowhere. When he finally stopped, (and we caught up) there, at his feet, was Pumba, dead as a can be. It turns out he meant wild pork. Back at home, my counterpart’s wife cooked up the meat and I did try it, and I loved it! It is some of the best meat I have ever had and it tastes just like domestic pork.

So far, those are my adventures. Please stay tuned.

Yesterday, I became an official Peace Corps volunteer!

The ceremony was held at the American Ambassador's residence,which comes equipped with a swimming pool, a cadilac, and enough space for over 100 people. Needless to say it is a nice place.

We were escorted from The training center in Thies by the Gendarmerie, and by "the Gendarmerie," I mean one dude in a uniform on a motor bike with a siren less potent than the one on my tricycle. Nonetheless, we arrived on time and had no trouble getting through traffic, which is perilous at best!

The ceremony started around 10:30 and we were presented to the Japanese and Korean Ambassadors to Senegal. Surprisingly, there is a Japanese Peace Corps, but we never cross paths and the only thing I know about them is that they have greater trouble pronouncing the languages. The highlight was the speaches given by the trainees in the local languages we are learning. There were many laughs, though I only understood the French, and Wolof speaches. I was at a loss with Mandinka and Pulaar. Finally, we took the Foreign Service Oath and became volunteers.

After the ceremony, we had a reception with tons of American food ranging from cheeseburgers to guacamole and I stuffed my face knowing I would have to face Ceebu Jeen (Fish & Rice)for a very long time.

Tomorrow I leave for the city of Kaolack, which is my regional capital. There, I will buy what I need to get set up in my residence. Pots, baskets, rugs, all these things. I feel bad for the drivers who have to take us.

Today the center hosted a party for the trainees and their families. In all honesty, it turned out better than I, and many others, had hoped for. Only one member of every one's family was allowed to come and at some point in the mid morning, PC drivers sortied out to collect the family members that were to come to the center, and so this left the trainees with some time to do nothing. Finally! Somewhere around 11 I went to put on something nice and figured I could wear nice western clothes since Friday is the ceremony and I would be wearing my grand boubou. I threw on my polo, a pair of jeans, and my chucks (none of which I have worn since arriving) and sat around and waited for my host mother to straggle in. When she arrived, she was disappointed to see me not wearing my boubou, so I had to go change. I got many compliments on it and it was better than anyone else's. Unfortunately no one will be surprised tomorrow at our swearing-in ceremony.

My host mother and the other family members from Tivaouane were the first to arrive, so we ended up sitting around for a good hour and a half before we finally lethargically moved over to dinner. People just don't move fast here. Lunch was great. We actually had chicken, which is a real treat here. After lunch, the music start, and that was the highlight of the day! What fun is was watching all the musicians and people dance.

The style of dance here is much more chaotic and the influence in many western dances is evident, as in Samba. Someone who wants to join in on the dancing will run in, dance for a minute or two, then proceed to the sidelines for a rest. It's a bad idea to have many people dancing at once, because, well, someone will get a broken nose!

After the music, we had a small reception and each family received a certificate stating they had hosted a PC trainee. The Senegalese love certificates and the Peace Corps passes out one for every event. Following the reception, all the families went home.

Now, it's onto Dakar!

My studies in Wolof are coming to an end and I feel more gyped than a fat kid at a Jenny Craig surprise party. This language does not have the conditional, subjunctive, or pluperfect tenses or any of their more compound variations. But it does have the Insha’Allah tense. Insha’Allah means simply “God willing” and this tense is used to express uncertainty as in “Insha’Allah it rains this afternoon.” It is also used to dispel laziness, such as “I can, Insha’Allah, finish building my house before I die.” There is also future Insha’Allah as in “I will, Insha’Allah marry an American and listen to Aye-kon all day on my cell phone.” Above all, though, there is the most important Conditional Insha’Allah found in such extraordinary expressions as “IF Insha’Allah it, I would have 5 wives and listen to Aye-Kon all day.“ This tense is very useful and seems only to appear where one finds a fire and brimstone concept of God.

A door-to-door salesman stopped by our house today selling household telephones and my host father bought one, though I fail to see why. I’ve yet to see a house phone in any other house and everyone has cell phones. I think it might use as a status symbol or as a conversational piece, though I would love to see all the cement block covered with plaster before we add decorations. But hey! We now have a phone. After the purchase, my host brother proceeded to build a shelf for it and it, for whatever reason, rests so high on shelf that I can’t see the buttons. I’m 5”10’’. Without seeming over patronizing, one of my favorite things to do here is observe how the population uses technology.

Yesterday was a bad day for me. I was really hot, tired and bored, and I started thinking about all that I had in the states what I didn’t have in Senegal. It transcribed into my wanting a cheeseburger and telling my host sister that we do more than play “musical shade” to amuse ourselves back in the States. The food here is so monotonous. Except for one plate, all means have either rice or couscous, and I rarely have couscous. The one exception is a fish sauce with salad and bread. It’s my favorite because it offers variety. I get so hungry hours before meals, but within a few spoon full’s, I’m no longer hungry. I guess that’s the way it goes with a diet based on empty carbs. I’ve never eaten so much fish before and it’s not uncommon to have it twice a day for both dinner and lunch. Breakfast is always sugar with a little bit of coffee and bread with chocolate or butter. A few times, I’ve had the previous night’s dinner on my breakfast bread and I hate that. I’ve decided that when I move in with my permanent family in my site, I will make breakfast and dinner on my own. That way, I can break up the monotony and it’s just WAY too hot to cook during the day!

Recall my oldest host brother and oldest host sister are actually my cousins and my host brother lives permanently with his aunt and uncle (my host parents) and his sister is here visiting. My host mother has left for Kaolack, which is a city in the south. Her brother is getting married and my host father gave her the money to travel there for a few days. Unfortunately for my host sister, she has to stay here until Tuesday the 20th because someone has to run the household. This is a problem because school starts on Monday the 19th and she lives in a city on the other side of the country. My host mother doesn’t see this as an issue. I don’t think she herself has an extensive education. At least my host sister won’t miss too many days.

In other news, I’m broke! I need to keep a spread sheet to find out where it all goes. The Peace Corps gives us CFA 29000 ($50) every two weeks, but I just can’t save it! I had a bunch saved up in my refrigerator fund, but it’s all depleted. I’m not sure what it all goes, but I can say that cold drinks are so much more appealing now and it’s so hard to refuse a trip to a restaurant with English speaking people. And I bought my grand boubou. It’s a piece of art that consists of a pair of pants, a shirt, and a large over shirt. All the pieces are white and the over shirt will be embroidered with silver. It cost a pretty penny, but it will be worth it for our swearing in ceremony. Also, Peace Corps gives up beaucoup money for “settling in” expenses, but I want to make sure I have enough for a fridge. I’m going to tap in to some American funds. Da Da Da Dummmmm!

The trainees were cut loose on Saturday and so we finally had some time for relaxation... well, some us us. Since Monday was Dakar Day, half of the all the trainees decided to head up to Dakar for Saturday night and Sunday. I opted to stay in the compound and relax and do a whole lot of nothing. My fellow trainees who went up early had fun, but most dropped about $50-$60, which on our teeny tiny "salaries," that's a bank buster. Im going to use my money for a refrigerator. I'm starting a Fund.

Dakar Day was fun. It reminded me of Athens, just less white. White buildings, that is. We were taken on a tour of the city and shown all the nice places to go such as the American Expatraite Club, and the embassy, and even the stip of beach sidewalk on which people get mugged! I don't think I'm supposed to go there. We ate lunch at the French Culture Center and I had a Moroccan cheeseburger. It's basically a slab of beef with North African spices. And there were french fries.

It's still hot here and I don't forsee a change anytime soon. I think the rainy season is over, which explain why my room is always so hot. It never gets a chance to cool off.

Our Counterpart Workshop was Thursday and Friday. Our counterparts and supervisors from all over the country came to the center for two days of workshops and meet-n-greets. For clarification, a counterpart is the individual with whom we will work on our various projects and who is is responsible for helping us acclimate into the community. Our supervisors are individuals on some governmental level to whom we report.

Overall, the conference was a success. My counterpart is very eager for me to get started on my projects. I finally see why I was placed in my site. I had said that I wanted to work cross-sector on projects, pulling in volunteers from Agriculture and Education. I just wish my site was half way to Nowheresville.

We discussed various topics and made a plan for my first three months at site. Well.... my counterpart and supervisor made it. I just sat there in awe as they listed out all the people who are necessary for me to visit. I have to go meet someone at the Post Office. Why not?

My predecessor left some big shoes to fill. My counterpart even named a son after him. I'm excited about all the projects that were left open and even some of the other potential projects in the area.

During one of the sessions, everyone was given the goals of his or her sector and told to discuss which goal would be the most important in his or her site. My supervisor and counterpart both agreed on technological education, particularly computers, so that the local producers of the on-gong agricultural projects can find buyers. I bit my tongue. I can teach someone how to use a computer, but I wonder if my counterpart and supervisor realize the buyers may not be technologically savvy. We'll have to see how it works out.

We're spending the weekend in the Center and then going to Dakar on Monday for just the day. We will be introduced to the city and shown around. It will be fun

For the past week I've been with my host family. I'm becoming increasingly more comfortable with the family and they are with me as well. I found out that my host brother, when he works, gives most of his money to his father, and my host mother does absolutely nothing, which is a sign of wealth. I did notice a change in the quality of diner since my last visit. My host sister was the one who made diner every night and after a few "blah" meals, I got the nerve to ask what was going on. My host sister informed me the maid was now making diner. However, for me, this posed a problem. The maid left in the early afternoon, so I am assuming she is preparing diner and leaving it out. Yuck!

Korite was on the 20th. It's the celebration that marks the end of Ramadan. We all had to wear our nicest clothes and I got to wear my boubou. We walked around asking for forgiveness from our friends and neighbor. It was fun and a great cultural experience

I'm trying to progress in Wolof. I find it difficult because it's structure is OBJECT+SUBJECT+VERB and the tenses are as developped or structured as English or French. Time markers (ex "yesterday" "today")are what really denote the tense. But I have to have a working knowlegdge of Wolof because adult women and rural populations are not as likely to speak French; although, I would often just prefer to use French.

Monday afternoon we left for Popenguine. We rented out a beach house for the night and just hung out and partied. It was a nice relief and a chance to catch up and exchange stories. Surprisingly though, most of us didn't tell our families we were going to the beach. I conveniently left it out. One of the agriculture trainees said she was going to plant "beach trees." I didn't ask if her family believed her or not.

This week is our Counterpart Workshop. This means that every trainee is having both his or her supervisor and counterpart come for a 3 days conference. Given that there are around 55 trainees, the population of the center will flood to about 150, which is way above capacity. To solve this conundrum, our leaders decided yesterday to have certain groups of trainees commute from their training sites. I fall into this category. I'm really looking forward to the conference and getting to met the people I will be working with for the next two years.

For the last few days, all the trainees have been visiting other volunteers for "demystification." I spent mine in Fatick. Unfortunately, I couldn't go to my site because my predecessor has already finished his service.

Fatick is a nice city near the coast. My volunteer took us to a few different locations. The most interesting was the handicapped center, where disables work on various projects in order to raise money. There is TV repair, furniture manufacturing, and even couture - that's just a fancy way to say clothes repair. Shortly after arriving, I noticed the power was out and after asking why, I was promptly informed the center needs an NGO as a partner because they can't pay the bill; although they are supposed to be self sufficient. I think there is some nifty accounting going on.

We spent the earlier part of our days there exploring the city and then we spent the afternoon sleeping or playing cards because, well frankly, it's too effing hot to do anything else. Luckily, many of the locals are Serere, which means they are catholic, which means there is booze. The city I train in is a holy city which means no booze. Pas de booze!

One of the other trainees had a rough encounter with a child during our trip. In general, you don't touch the kids. You just don't. They're dirty and have brain damage and did I mention, they're dirty. We stopped into a compound to talk to a family the volunteer knew and one little girl came up to me and shook my hand (this is OK because I carry a gallon of hand sanitizer with me at all times and her parents were watching). After shaking my hand, she retracted her hand, looked at it, and then, as if it was as common as tying your shoe, she licked her hand and extended it the other trainee. Needless to say, but we all have our "happy places" and she quickly visited hers.

Back to Thies for tech training.

Today we played a game created by an NGO for teaching about savings and the importance of utilizing banks. It worked just liked Monopoly except you could store your money in the bank (without interest) or just keep it on your person. What we failed to realize were the 'chance' cards. During the first round, our mattresses burned and we lost all the money we didn't have in the bank. The implication was to show us how we need to keep our money secured in banks and not in the mattress. The other chance card was to accept credit for our services, but we took the chance of default. Once again, the implication is to show that credit to your sister-in-law is bad. You have no guarantee.

I liked the game so much that I have already emailed the PC Director in Senegal and spoken to my supervisors about getting one. I'm told the NGO has dozens lying around unused.

My site is Koungheul!

It's a huge community with a population of 19,000. And yes, that is large. There are volunteers moving into villages with populations of a grad total of 280 and 400! Koungheul is about 8 hours from Dakar and around 4 hours from the regional Peace Corps headquarters. It will take less time once the Route Nationale 1 is finished.....Inshallah.

Our instructors handed out blindfolds and then placed us on a giant map of Senegal, and when everyone was in place, we removed our blindfolds and immediately looked down at our feet to see which city we were standing on.

On Saturday, we are heading to our permanent sites for a few days for "demystification." It’s when we finally get a half decent understanding of what we will be doing, and it’s also when many people quit. I wont be going to Koungheul because the previous volunteer has gone home already. Instead, I'm going to Fatick for a few days. I'm excited.

Everyone decided to go to a local bar today to celebrate. It was a sight - all of us in a small bar. And as usual, we got the cold reception that I would get in France. But it was fun retelling stories. I'm amazed at what some of my fellow volunteers have managed to get themselves into.

Thursday 27 August

Today is my first day back with my host family. They greeted me at the door and were genuinely pleased to see me. I gave them the small bag of dates that I brought as a small present, which is customary for someone who leaves for any long duration of time. For dinner, we had a spaghetti-like noodle and some meat and surprisingly, we ate it on the roof, which is more like an unfinished patio than anything. My comprehension of Wolof is growing, but not at the speed my family would like. They have all gone through the French system of schooling which is pure memorization. The American system offers more choices and learning techniques, and I have trouble conveying this to my hosts. And for now, this language is just a bunch of sounds to me.

The family is fasting during Ramadan, which means I eat breakfast and lunch alone in my room. I can’t complain though, because it’s nice to finally get some alone time without someone wondering if I’m sick or dead. This culture is very social and “personal time” just doesn’t exist. Breakfast is always the same; a baguette with butter and chocolate. Lunch and Dinner are always something different and I’ve yet to have the same meal twice. Lunch will most likely be leftovers from dinner the night before, which isn’t all that safe, and dinner is business as usual with everyone together.

Islam is so engrossed in everyday life and when I ask a question, there often seems to be a religious implication hidden in the answer. When I asked at what time the prayers were, my question was met with an explanation of how it is important to talk with God. I’m wondering what Senegalese Muslims are taught about Christians. So far, it appears Christians are not the infidel, just less connected to God. The call to prayer and various other religious announcements and songs are blasted though the speaker system that runs throughout the city. I haven’t quite decided which is more bothersome, the conniption ridden donkey next door, or incomprehensible Arabic being piped though my window at 6am.

Friday 28 August

Since it is Ramadan, much of nothing is going on. Life here has slowed even further because, in addition to being hot, everyone is hungry and irritable. Everyone fasting gets up before sunrise and eats and then goes without during the day. I eat lunch with the little children and it’s usually a meal of leftovers. The fast is broken every night by an announcement from the mosque and is shortly followed by some snack. Dinner is still at its usual time.

This morning I had a technical activity to complete. Each member in the Small Enterprise Development group was to find a local business and ask a series of question to better understand how the business operates and how business in general goes on in Senegal. My language teacher gathered us at 8:30 and we proceeded down the street until we came to a decent looking boutique. She asked the owner if he would acquiesce to an interview and the owner accepted. Then my language teacher looked at my fellow trainee and informed him that she would be back to pick him up in 30 minutes. I wasn’t under the impression that we would be left alone to ask questions. After leaving the boutique we searched for a tailor and found one willing to be interrogated by a “Tubob.” Again, one of my fellow trainees was left to fend for herself. Now it was my turn, and Lady Luck was not with me. We went to five separate stores and the owner wasn’t around in any of them. This process took well over an hour because my language teacher explained why we were there before asking if the owner was around. Finally, we found one, but he didn’t speak much French, and my Wolof is pitiful. I looked at my language teacher and informed her politely that this would go nowhere fast, and she told me that I would manage. I didn’t. I think I found out the owner is originally from Mbour and buys his wares from there too. When I asked about his mark-up, he just looked blankly at me. Culturally, the Senegalese don’t discuss money and business affairs with people they don’t know. So I’m not upset the owner wouldn’t tell me the details of his business. It was not the most productive morning and now, for my own sake, I need to do it on my own.

Saturday 29 August

Overall, today was a pretty good day. My comprehension is growing and I’m getting over the first hump of learning any language and I’m starting to hear words rather than just sounds. This morning, I tried again with my language professor to find a local business owner who was both willing to have an interview and spoke French. I found one who owned a small hardware store and asked him my questions. He was generous and patience and didn’t seem to mind.

I went to the market today to buy fabric for 2 more pants. These two will be made in a more western style and I hope the tailor can add a pocket in the back for my wallet. It took a while to come up with some fabric while in the market because every pattern I preferred was for women and it’s not easy to only enough fabric for a pair of pants. Usually, fabric is sold in enough quantity to make pants and the accompanying booboo, which is a neck to ankle shirt.

While at the market with my host mother, she asked where I got the white t-shirt I was wearing. I asked her why she wanted to know and she replied that she wanted to buy me another. I informed her it wasn’t necessary because I had brought 16 from the USA. She seemed puzzled, and after a few more inquiries, it was determined she, and unfortunately the rest of the family, all believed I had only one t-shirt. After I picked myself off the floor, I explained that I brought many t-shirts because they are cheap and easy to clean. Maybe I should change it up a little.

Sunday 30 August.

In class today I mixed up the verbs “to sell” and “to study” in Wolof and promptly informed my class that each morning in the market I study mangos. It was the highlight of my morning. Not much has happened today, so I’ll reflect on some of the oddities I’ve seen.

• Plastic bags make excellent non-degradable diapers

• Children are more “free-range” than the chickens

• Plastic teapots are better used for washing than tea

• Don’t worry about erecting fences, your goats know the way home

• If it ain’t broke, it will be soon

• A wheel on a stick trumps kick- the-can

• If it matches, don’t wear it

• Hand-me-downs are gender neutral

• Q: What’s for dinner? A: What do you think? Fish and rice, it’s what we have every night.

• I only ever see the one discarded sandal lying in the street. Does that imply the other was worn home solo?

Thursday 3 September

Class this morning was routine; said hi to more people than I can count or remember. Every time I turn around, there is someone new to remember and it’s impolite to forget someone’s name. I’m still amazed at how important greetings are in Senegal; people even to the extreme as to ask where your family members are. I usually have no idea. A typical greeting is a monotone mumbling of a set list of questions which last a good 30 seconds. So, typically, I have to start before I see the person, or at least until the second they come into ear shot.

After an hour or so of language class, we headed off to do our technical training activity. I look forward to these, because they allow us to have a change of pace. Today we got to talk to the mango ladies. Da Da Da Duuuum. The mango ladies are a force to be reckoned with. They all congregate in one area of the city, which happens to be very close to my house. On both sides of the streets they sit with their identical mangos all piled up in mango pyramids. Upon arrival, we were swiftly asked to be seated, and the flood gates opened. I was asked more about what I eat for dinner than about where I am from. I was asked, what I study, how’s my mother, will I marry their daughter, am I healthy, do I like Senegal? But in the end I did pick up a few new vocabulary words and I think I might be engaged.

Anyways, I learned how the mango ladies acquire their mangos. Once a week, they all travel to a farmer with their baskets and collect as many mangos as they want. They then pay by basket and return home to sell their mangos. They lady I interviewed said she buys ten baskets from the farmer and sells, on average, one a day. Some days are better than others and what is left is eaten by her family. At the end of it all, I bought 7 mangos for 500 CFA, or about $1. Needless to say, I eat lots of mangos.

For the past week, I’ve been with my host family, and it was a grueling experience. My family lives in Tivaouane (pronounced Ti wa wan), it’s about 30 minutes north of the training compound, and I’m one of the more fortunate trainees who lives near the training center and has electricity… well that is when Dakar decides to not push the red button marked Tivaouane. It always seems to go out around 4am and then comes back in the afternoon.

I was the first one dropped off and I was greeted at the door by my host mother and father. The organized introduction lasted a whole 3 minutes and then I was left with this family who didn’t speak English. Thank God I speak French. I am graced with the traditional African family, consisting of more people than I can count and more names than a Chinese phone book. In my house, there is my father, mother, my sisters of the ages 10, and 8 and le petit Mohamed who is all of a year and a half and poorly behaved. Also, there is a 20 year old boy and an 18 year old girl who was originally introduced to me as my brother and sister respectively, but it turns out they are my cousins and the boy has been living with my host mother and father (his aunt and uncle) since his father passed away years ago. The 20 year old girl is also my cousin and is visiting during summer vacation.

My father is a truck driver for a local company and walks many kilometers to his work which has varying hours. Sometimes he is around for dinner and lunch and I never see him in the morning. My brother, the 20 year old, is waiting to pass the BAC, so he can run off to college. He works a few hours 5 days a week at a garden nearby. My host sisters do much of nothing and just play around all day and get into arguments. Who would have imagined a wheel on a stick would be so amusing? But it beats the hell out of kick-the-can.

Home life and rules are segregated. My host mother makes me breakfast every morning, which is always bread and butter or chocolate and coffee so sweet it could make me a diabetic. Lunch is always prepared by the maid and dinner is prepared by my 20 year old host sister. Doing nothing, or very little is a sign of wealth, so adults are less inclined to do as much around the house as American adults.

The biggest obstacle is the house itself. It’s unfinished. Imagine living in an unfinished basement with drywall up. Houses are made of concrete blocks and cement is used to bind everything together. The floor in the hallway is unfinished concrete. The rooms are usually complete and have poorly laid linoleum on the floors. The toilet and the shower are in the same 4’X4’ room, with the Turkish toilet being raised up 6” and in one corner; the rest of the area being used as the shower. I leave my sandals on. Showers are bucket baths. I fill my bucket up and take it into the bathroom when I shower, which is twice daily and that is considered below average.

The food is pretty consistent. It’s either rice or coucous and has fish with it. Any other meat is rare and is a special treat. Last night my sister was thrilled that my host mother agreed to buy a chicken for dinner. I guess it was ok, since it was the first night of Ramadan. We eat dinner together around a large tray that hosts the meal. As customary, no one talks and everyone eats with the right hand, as the left is used for less dignified purposes. Luckily, the men in my family are granted spoons. Needless to say, I had to just suck it up and deal with the double-dipping. Very often, the mother takes it upon herself to divide pieces of meat and place them in front of various family members. It was nice not having to pick out my fish bones, but I don’t care for someone touching my food. My trick for getting through any meal is to not look up. I look at my spoon, the rice in front of me, or my knee; never anyone else.

Soon after arriving, I asked my host mother to take me to the market so I could buy some local fabric and have pants made. She agreed and she helped me to get a good price on some cloth. I took her to avoid the tubob price, or the “foreigner” price. I’ve been called “tubob” all week by little kids and it get annoying.

Language classes are going well. In one week, we are already formulating sentences in the present and past tense. It’s not easy, as Wolof is structured as Object + Subject + Verb and can be difficult to organize mentally. Luckily, the verb doesn’t conjugate.

On Wednesday, I’ll be returning to the host family for 12 days. I’ll write more about my first week tomorrow, but for the mean time, I hope this suffice.

This morning, we went over the language requirements. The language one learns is based on the assigned type of work and site and everyone must demonstrate a proficiency on the mid-intermediate level. Since I will be doing Small Enterprise Development (SED), my group will focus on learning French, mostly due to the reports and governmental rigmarole needed to be successful. If a trainee reaches the mid-intermediate level in his or her language before swearing in, then the trainee can begin learning another language pertinent to his or her site. Due to my level of French, I will jump right into learning a local language, which will most likely be Wolof.

In the afternoon, we had a cultural fair. We rotated between six stations that informed us about Senegalese life. They ranged from different fabrics and outfits, Islam, spices and food, food bowl manners, and well-water and toilet training. The last was the most interesting. Apparently, everyone has been told volunteers don't know how to get their own water nor wash their own clothes. Therefore, we had a well demonstration on the proper technique of lugging water out of a hole. Following that, we were demonstrated the best way to use a Turkish toilet. And let's just say, I know why the left hand is shunned. Thank God I'm SED! Most likely, I wont have this problem.

We landed in Dakar early this morning and after avoiding several harassment attempts, we boarded our buses for Theis, which, due to immense traffic, was three hours away. The road out of Dakar was laden with undeveloped buildings, horse carts, and many women carrying baskets on their heads.

When we arrived at the Peace Corps compound, we were greeted warmly by all the staff, whose names I cannot pronounce nor spell. Heck, I don't even know where the first name ends and the last name begins. Anyways, the compound is very nice and has several buildings, including dorms, a lounge, and various other rooms.

Lunch was served in large tin bowl to groups of five. We were all given a spoon and told to dig in. We had a rice and beef mixture and it was delicious and spicy, despite the constant and unavoidable double dipping. I suppose that isn't a big deal, considering the small pharmacy I am now carrying in my luggage.

The afternoon consisted of a meeting with our respective coordinators to determine which type of sites, rural or urban, we would prefer and which language we should begin learning. My coordinator determined I would begin right into a local language because I have a strong backing in French. After that meeting, I had my French exam which consisted of an instructor, a tape recorder and me. It went on for nearly 45 minutes. It should have been 15. She grilled me on my study abroad, my family, my hometown, and the importance of education and women in developing countries. The last one was a whopper!

The evening will be simple. Dinner at 7:30 and then bed. I'm still suffering from jet lag and not sleeping on the plane.