Last week I left for Kaolack to attend the Senegalese wedding of Jessica & Armand. I’ll post more photos of the celebration later. But for now, cheers to you two. (Lil Jon & the Eastside Boyz softly playing in the background)

So. Some of you know I have a bug problem. I wasn’t kidding. We just swept these off my wall.

(4 year old Aminata is playing in my room while I'm reading)

Aminata: Hey, hey. Hey Djingoudy. Are my hands clean.

Me: Yeah, your hands are really clean. I'm happy.

Aminata: Djingoudy, look at my hands.

(I look at her hands)

Aminata: Djingoudy, are you scared of my eyes?

Me: No. Why would I be scared of your eyes.

Aminata: (screaming) DJINGOUDY IS SCARED OF MY EYES!

Me: What?! No, I'm not. I'm looking at you right now.

Aminata: (screaming) DJINGOUDY IS SCARED OF BLACK EYES!

Me: Why are you screaming? Stop lying.

Aminata: Look at my hand!

Me: What?...

Aminata: (Slaps me in the ear, runs away giggling)

Me: (Internal dialogue: That bitch has it coming)

Another year, another round of well-played softball. Teams from around Senegal, as well as other countries (Gambia, Mali, and Cape Verde) made a showing to the annual Dakar event. Most teams (the PC ones), really stepped up their costumes. TambaGou (Tamba & Kedougou): Baseball Corps, The North: Snorkel Corps, Kolda: South of the Border, Kaolack: Girl/Boy Scouts, Dakar: French, Linguere: Suits, Cape Verde: Weird Medical Gear The magic wasn’t only found on the field. An incredibly competitive talent show was scheduled for the first night, followed by a prom themed masquerade ball the second night. The third night culminated in an all night, festive soirée. A good time had by all. Characters tested. Lives changed. Morals bent. That’s about the gist of it. Sooooo….here are some choice photos to sum up the event.

So so happy. Paul taps into his birthday baby keg.

West African Invitational Softball Tournament: Team TambaGou

After travelling for close to 17 hours, my car pulled over and let me off at a very quiet Ndioum intersection. It didn’t stay quiet for long (due to the loud uncreative swearing) because I immediately stepped on 4 or 5 thorny plant things that seem to be generously sprinkled across the entirety of Ndioum. And with my new foot piercings I hobbled to the regional house and passed out. Things were perfect from then on though. Good movies were watched. Heineken was had. Cookies and cake were eaten. Paul, Maddy, Evan, and I were lucky enough to have the regional house to ourselves. So to celebrate the new year, we played the “What’s Up” He-Man video on repeat, cooked General Tso’s chicken, and fired roman candles at each other. Overall, a really wonderful celebration, largely in part of the company I kept (and maybe also because of the booze). But seriously, it was the company. Once the fête was over, I had the chance to see Sinthou Diambo, Evan’s village. It was my first time getting to see a village in the north, so I didn’t know what to expect. What I saw was beautiful. It was like walking into one very large compound. There wasn’t really a clear division of houses, so each hut sort of ran into the next one. This all led up to the river, which you can see from Evan’s hut. Evan’s hut is pretty awesome. He’s got 2 windows and an attached toilet/shower area with a tall wall, so you can shower in peace (take a note Afia Seno, nobody wants their wiener exposed to every horse drawn cart that passes). His water table is also absurdly high, which made me blindly jealous at first but then I had to remind myself that…wait…nope, still jealous. Evan’s family are also all very nice, even though they did laugh at the way I spoke Pulaar, including Evan. (FYI - The dialect of Pulaar I speak is sometimes considered a little “country,” especially to northern Pulaars.) I was honestly impressed to see how comfortable and integrated Evan was in his village. The community there really does love him. After spending a couple nights in Diambo, we headed to St. Louis for the night. There, we went to La Source, a pretty fancy bar/restaurant, drank a bunch of wine, and then stuffed our faces with warthog, chicken, and fish. Oh the excess. It’s beautiful.

I’ve been travelling for the past few weeks and haven’t had time to update you. Whoopsy. And here’s the other thing. My camera is M.I.A., which is incredibly sad for me because there have been some really great drunken portraits of indoor gingerbread house baseball photo ops. Soooooo, to resolve the issue, I’ve resorted to stealing using pictures from my friends blogs and facebook accounts (thanks guys,…i really hope this is okay…). Now to distract you from what I just wrote, here’s a funny picture:

2 of the best guys I know here. Cheers to you Paul & Ev.

And if I don’t talk to you. Happy New Year. I love you.

(A fancy looking lady comes to get her eyes checked. Evan's finishing up her exam.)

Evan: Now what's this here?

Fancy Lady: A hand.

Evan: What's this here?

Fancy Lady: A star.

Me: Good.

Fancy Lady: Actually, I have a problem with my phone. (Some inaudible French, something about her phone) Understand?

Me: Hey Spence, Jillian, come here. (At Fancy Lady now) Explain to them what you just told me.

Fancy Lady: Well. Sometimes. When I'm looking at my phone, I see 3 bars. But really...REALLY...there are only 2 bars.

Spence/Jillian: What?

Fancy Lady: The bars on my phone. Sometimes I think it says 3 bars, but it's really 2 bars. I don't know how much service I have.

Spence/Jillian: So,...you want glasses so you can see how many bars are on your phone?

Evan: You have 20/20 vision.

Fancy Lady: Yes. But I need the glasses.

Evan: No, they're not necessary. Your eyes are perfect.

Fancy Lady: It's for reading.

Me: Your eyes are perfect.

Fancy Lady: I would like the glasses.

The Bakel Eye Clinic had its fair share of interesting personalities this year. The most memorable being a Pulaar woman called Kumba Sow. After her cataract surgery, she busted into the post-op room shouting, “Kumba Sow is not scared. Your dad, he’s scared. You, you’re scared. But Kumba Sow, Kumba Sow is not scared.” This was quickly followed by volunteers and Kumba Sow herself chanting, “Kumba Sow isn’t scared. Kumba Sow isn’t scared.” I would also like to mention, Kumba was rocking a sweet lady beard. Kumba Sow. A Bakel legend.

“Are you going to tell us a real update, or just show us more pictures?” -Anonymous This was in my inbox this morning. Fantastic. Maybe my laziness has finally caught up to me…hmm…nope. Some people (me), don’t like reading things longer than it takes me to shit. Sooooooo, with that said. Here’s a real update! We just got back from Bakel, the far north east of Senegal. The gateway to the ever pleasant country of Mauritania. Generally, Bakel is said to be the asscrack of nowheres-ville Senegal (because it is), but what’s not generally known is that it’s surprisingly beautiful. Seriously. Hills creep upwards and give great views of the rolling hills of Mauritania, the Senegal river somehow snakes its way through, and best of all, Dairy Queens scattered on every corner!…Okay, no Dairy Queen, but it was still pretty spectacular. We were there because the eye clinic came back. Right to Sight and Health posted up there for 2 weeks, removing cataracts, screening for glaucoma, and fitting people with eyeglasses. Volunteers were there again as translators and helped run other general busywork. As it was last year, people crawled out the woodwork to get there eyes fixed up here. But unlike last year, people didn’t stop coming. Waves of people would show up at the gates, slipping through side doors, packing the hallways, hoping they’d be the next to see a doctor for some kind of surgery. Unfortunately the doctors couldn’t get to everybody, which made things absolute chaos interesting. Volunteers were tasked to get people to leave the hospital that weren’t getting surgery, which, usually turned into a screaming match interesting. At one point, the hallway looked like a scene ripped from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. A pack of volunteers, shoulder to shoulder, on one side, casting spells at the Dementors who were trying to overtake the hospital. Good lord. It’s a good laugh now, but at the time, I wanted to unlovingly steamroll the lot. Overall, I think the doctors completed a bit more than 130 cataract removal surgeries. Mostly to people who were completely blind. So maybe I didn’t save the world single handed (today), but it feels pretty damn good to be a volunteer right now.

March 3, 2012 will be Senegal’s first annual “Race for Education.” The event includes a full marathon, half marathon, relay race, and 7k run. Join us as we raise awareness and money to support education among Senegal’s girls. Funds raised will go towards scholarships, girl’s camps, youth groups, and other empowerment activities. For donations:https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=donate.contribute.projDetail&p…*Click on donate and write ‘Marathon for Education’ in the comment section.For comments or questions please email senegalrunforeducation1@gmail.com or visit our facebook page at http://facebook.com/senegalrunforeducationFor information on Peace Corps and Women’s empowerment in Senegal:http://senegad.pcsenegal.org/http://pcsenegal.org/

Today’s International Volunteer Day. And looky-loo, we made it into a sweet little Senegalese pamphlet. (So to celebrate…maybe you should send your favorite international volunteer some honey mustard & bbq sauce…just saying…it’s not a bad idea…)

Through the power of Microsoft Paint and Google Earth, I made a professional map to my village. I’m pretty sure Starbucks & Jack in the Box are currently setting up shop there.

With the power of Microsoft Paint, I made a professional map to where I live. Enjoy! Professionally.

The Global Garden: A drought-tolerant tree called moringa: Moringa is awesome. Get on it America.

(Sitting next to Spence. He looks at my hair and touches it.)

Spence: Your hair reminds me of a dog I knew. I called him "Toothbrush."

Marie:...if there ever was a compliment.

Me: Yeah, fuck you Spence.

Funny story. Everybody around me is leaving to jog. I’m eating a day old biscuit and doing some “Sit & Be Fit” exercises. In short. No.

Baasal warataa kono na tampina

Poverty does not kill but makes one tired

***

Si bahe cumɗi gooto fof ñifata ko waare mum

If the beards are all on fire, each person must put out his own beard

***

ɓe nengasa ɓe ne nguuba yaajay kono luggidtaa

If some are digging and some are burying it will be wide but never deep

***

Mawɗo ina jooɗoo yi'ii cukalel ɗaroo roŋku yi'ude

A seated elder sees what a standing child misses

With the smiling faces and the thumbs up, it’s hard to tell that these kids were just circumcised.

Ice cubes. Lots of fucking ice cubes. Toss them in a cup of water, wait a minute, don’t jump the gun, then let that sweet juice splash the back of your throat, and slowly trickle and crash to the bottom of your stomach. Let it fill the void, let it calm the madness, let it open up the gates to heaven, let it release you from whatever hellish fever dream you had last night. Oh to have ice cubes. Or better yet, Kool-Aid. Ice cold Kool-Aid. Strawberry flavored. None of that blue shit. I cleaned my room the other day. My brother helped me move my trunk around to sweep behind it. Low and behold. Three baby snakes. Three living baby snakes, with no mother in sight. If there are two things in this world I just can’t deal with, it’s snakes, and darkness. Yes, I’m afraid of the dark. Get your laughs out. Whatever. But snakes, ugh (shiver). I’m pretty sure mama anaconda (or mama-conda) is going to slither its way into my mosquito net this week. Goodbye everybody. You can donate my remains to the Bodies exhibit (if you haven’t been, you should really go). That is depending, of course, if you can get me out of mama-conda. We completed another Tamba theater tourney this month. This time, talking about diarrhea, microbes, and basic hygiene. We dubbed it the Oh Shit tourney. It was a riot. Although I did end up getting sick by the end of it. Go figure. Not diarrhea related. Strep throat actually. It’s all cleared up now. Don’t worry. After that, I reprised my role as camp councilor at the Thies English camp. Those kids really know their English. (Seriously, they put my French “skills” to shame). Now I’m in Tamba. Good ole Tambacounda. Where the refrigerator is currently working on a fresh batch of ice cubes. It’s a good day.

“What we have done for ourselves alone dies with us; what we have done for others and the world remains and is immortal.” - Albert Pike

“It´s not the dress that´s making you look fat. It´s your fat that´s making you look fat.” - Kumhar (Jessica´s friend)

Dear Senegal, We need a break. I’ll be at Spain’s house. I still love you. À la prochaine fois. Mikael

“(Puts on my reading glasses) If I wore these everyday, I. Wouldn’t. Do. Shit.” - Hailey ***My eyesight is questionable.

One week. 7 days. However many hours. I don’t want to do the math…I know it’s not hard. 7 x 24, right? Well, whatever that is. I really don’t like using the calculator on this netbook. Not that I have to use the calculator on the netbook. I guess I could use a my phone. 168. Phil just yelled it to me from across the room. My friend Martin was here for 168 hours, give or take a few hours. He got to see as much of Senegal as one would want to fit in a week. It was awesome. Stops included the pristine city of Kaolack, including the labyrinth of cars known as garage Nioro, Tambacounda (or as the Lonley Planet guidebook calls it, (A Rough Lover), my village Afia Seno, Sokoutou, the Gambia river in Wassadou, Mbour, Warang liquor, and of course, Dakar. For the amount of traveling we were doing, Martin was holding up like a champ. Not being phased at all, even with all the T.I.A. (This Is Africa) moments. Examples: Our car breaks down 70km outside Tamba…so the solution, apparently, is to tie a single seat-belt from our car to another car, and have it tow us all the way there, going the same speed as we would have gone if our car didn’t go to shit. OR, while in a separate car (station wagon), heading to Mbour, 1 hour from our destination, a man, who is clearly sick (pasty, clammy, and sweating through his shirt), projectile vomits all over my back, then out the window. Martin is untouched in the front seat, thank god. 30 minutes later, car moving fast, with sick dude in the front seat, Martin behind him, then me behind Martin, sick guy droped his head out the window, spews stomach water into the wind, it flies through Martin’s window, hits me in the face, and miraculously leaves Martin untouched again. To sum up: I got vomited on twice. And Martin didn’t freak out once. Best visitor ever. I hope this post makes more people want to come and visit. Or maybe it’ll scare people off. I don’t know. It would be great though if more people came. I’ll show you some shit you’ve never seen. And if you have seen it. I’ll treat you to a nice steak dinner instead. In the states of course. Don’t expect a New York strip here. Unless that’s a euphemism for a sexy dance. Which, if you were wondering, is also not available here. To sum up, again: Come and visit. Steaks aren’t available. Neither are sexy dances.

(Ngor beach, with Martin & Jessica)

Rasta man: Hello my friend.

Me: Hello.

Rasta man: Would you like to buy something?

Me: No, thanks though.

Rasta man: Well, welcome to Senegal!

Me: Aww, thanks, but I live in Senegal right now. I work in Tamba, for the last 17 months actually. I'm not a tourist. I'm just here to relax.

Rasta man: Welcome to Dakar!

Me: Oh thanks again, but I've been to Dakar too.

Rasta man: (Starts pulling out rattle like instruments) Welcome to the beach!

Me: (Internal monologue: Oh shit, he's going to play them...) Seriously, thank you, but I've been to this beach before. And I don't think we want to buy anything right now. (Man starts shaking rattles) Please stop...

Rasta man: (Now singing): Welcome, welcome, welcome. Welcome to Senegal. Welcome to Africa. Welcome, welcome, welcome.

MAGIC LAND: The true jewel of Dakar. (The terrifying mountain on the bottom right is actually the entrance to a children’s puppet show.)