*This is Post #80, woohoo!

Youth in Revolt I may have mentioned once or twice throughout the last year and a half that in February, Senegal is going to partake in a major election. The Senegalese people will vote for the next president – either they will unseat the standing president and elect a new one from a pool of candidates, or they will elect Mr .Wade for another term. Since I came here 17 months ago, Peace Corps and all of the citizens of Senegal have been buzzing about this election. Many feel that the current president has been here for too long, and is too old to be running a nation; they want fresh blood in the big boss chair. Others feel that he is the best thing to happen to this country. Either way, conflict has been predicted as campaigns begin and the elections draw ever closer. One demographic that seems particularly disappointed by the current administration are the teachers; every year they go on strike for what totals weeks, because they either get paid late, or don’t get paid at all. Currently, we have broached the one-month mark of a teacher strike, and people, particularly students, are getting upset. As it turns out, in Kaffrine at least, the students are taking matters into their own hands and are striking against the strike. So, as teachers continually fail to show up for a full day’s lessons, the students refuse to show up as well. Through the grapevine, I have heard that the president told all the students of the country to do just this, though that is unsubstantiated heresay at this point. No matter how it was instigated, the kids are unhappy and they’re letting everyone know. This morning as I was going about my daily routine of errands, work visits, and social calls, I received word that people were burning tires in the road. Not long after, I had to pass by the place where tires were burnt, though luckily the excitement had stopped and people had cleared out before I got there. A little later, I passed by the post office (admittedly primarily out of curiosity – I’d had a feeling that the soccer field across the street was where students on strike would gather), and I found a large crowd there, facing off, though non-violently, with police. I was there long enough for one of my younger friends, a student at the high school, to locate me, and I asked him what was happening. He explained calmly and with a none-too-discreet air of adrenaline-fueled excitement that, simply, the students want to learn, and they’re tired of their teachers’ shenanigans. I asked if they were the ones who had burned the tires, and he said yes. I asked if he was there when it happened, and his grin got even wider and said, ‘I’m a student, I’m part of this. Yes I was there’. Being the obedient volunteer that I am, I told him I should leave before anything crazy happens, because we are strongly (very strongly) discouraged from getting involved in any political actions, especially ones that could endanger our safety. But as I was biking away, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement myself, because it seems like the people, the youth, are waking up. Whether they are justified or not, right or wrong, they are beginning to think and beginning to make demands, and that is the first step toward change. If they truly feel that they are being wronged, they will stand up for themselves and fight for what they believe is theirs. I can only hope that they will do it in a productive way, rather than resorting to violence and other foul play- I will certainly discourage any students I know from engaging in harmful activities; yet I can’t help but feel a little proud. Maybe I’m feeling inspired, and the students in Senegal galvanized, by all the people around the world who have stood up in the last year and demanded that their needs be met (I just read the Time Magazine person of the year issue – it’s fabulous, read it if you haven’t!), and maybe those protests are what sparked the flame here, or maybe not. No matter what, Senegal is beginning to take action from all sides, and it’s thrilling to be right in the middle of it (at a safe distance from flames, of course).

P.S. Donate!

https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=donate.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=685-198

Also, it's that time of year again! We are beginning to plan our annual Girl's Leadership Camp in June, and we've opened up donations for our grant. We've requested more money this year, and need all the help we can get. Even if you can only give $5, it will go a long way in helping to make this camp a success. If we don't get all the money raised, we don't get any of the money! So, spread the word, share the link, and show your support for all those beautiful African young women out there. Thank you in advance!

https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=donate.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=685-198

Wow, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? I find it amazing that, in the span of two months, seemingly nothing can happen, but then over only two weeks, everything can change. Peace Corps has felt like a chain of long, stable moments interrupted by short bursts of activity, excitement, and development. I can do exactly the same thing with little variation every day in Kaffrine almost feeling like I’m in a rat wheel. On the back side of a month away from Kaffrine, after having traveled long miles into different countries and back, I feel like I have reached a turning point in my service. I’m now looking at 6 months or less at site, and when I first started here, it was at this time marker that I figured I’d start slowing things down, closing out, and getting in all those ‘last minute’ experiences I wanted. However, being here, I feel a little panicky at the thought, and I also feel like I’m just starting with work, and will have plenty of it to do over the next several months. But first, a review of those thousands of miles traveled… I spent an incredible two weeks in Brussels, and I feel like I definitely did that vacation right. With the change in daylight hours, I had a perfectly legitimate excuse to sleep in till 10 am every day, and get back inside for the night by 5 pm. I literally had no obligations or work that I had to get done, so it was ok if I spent the day reading, playing games, or drinking an inordinate amount of coffee. Due to my complete liberation, I did all these things, and did them guilt-free. I barely even saw any of the tourist attractions! Luckily, Brussels has a grand total of about 3 key tourist spots, so the minimal effort required to see them, combined with the visit I had made three years prior, I was able relax about being a tourist. I was wholly fixated on re-entering the glorious world of America at Holidaytime, meaning too much food, too much sleep, and an abundance of good company. My second week passed fairly quickly between enjoying new toys and clothes, preparing for the New Year’s main events, and putting in my due time trying to empty out the refrigerator to make time for a yet another flood of leftover food. It was difficult work, but someone had to do it. We had a wonderful New Year’s murder mystery party (good news, I didn’t do it!) and enjoyed the luxury of really having no good reason to be up before noon on New Year’s day. After a final delicious meal and evening full of good company and good conversation, I left on the 3rd and made my long way back to Senegal. I had a nine hour layover in Lisbon, and let me tell you, if you need some advice on the inner workings of the Lisbon airport food scene, I’m your girl. I realized as I was boarding my flight to Dakar that I was not quite ready to be leaving my vacation behind. I felt that it had passed at a good pace, not too fast, not too slow; but when the pushing in line began, and I was hit by a baby strapped to a woman’s back, I was swamped by emotion and the realization that I was going to have to buck up again, put my thick skin back on, and get ready for the onslaught of Senegal. When I first got here, I had arrived with the excitement that comes with the prospect of new adventure, different scenery, and the chance of a lifetime. As the mystical aspect of newness wore off, I began to develop a certain sort of armor of a mental sort. I made myself forget all the things that make America what it is, and I did a damned good job of it. When you force yourself to be comfortable, even happy, in a routine that is utterly different from that which you’ve always known, you sort of shut out that old part of you. Going back to the western world, and to a certain extent, American culture, all those things that I had forgotten so well came rushing back, and I remembered what was so nice about my pre-Peace Corps life. As I was stepping back onto that plane, I was hit by the realization that I was going to have to rebuild my defense system; I can most definitely do it, but knowing exactly what I’m in for this time makes the whole thing seem more exhausting. When you go in blind, you keep an open mind and have infinite patience, and suddenly, the worst is over. But now I know exactly what I’m in for, and the thought of it sort of makes me tired. However, before having to get too far into all that, I had two weeks in Dakar. Going into my vacation, I knew I’d be using Dakar as a stepping stone back into Senegal, and what a stepping stone it has been. I’ve been mixing the things I love about the western world with the realities of life in Africa, making a tasty brew of readjustment. For example, cooking steak with green beans accompanied by a delicious glass of wine, followed by hand-washing my clothes; training sessions with every volunteer in the country followed by a tasty pizza at the restaurant nearby. It’s been a gradual process of easing myself back into reality but without having to dive headfirst into the cold water. I say all this knowing that I am most likely playing up my readjustment in my head. Yes, developing my life here has taken monumental effort at times, but through that effort I’ve built up a life that is now easy to swing back into, with a routine that is self explanatory and quite comfortable. I haven’t actually been back to Kaffrine yet, so I can’t know for sure that it will be as hard as I fear it will be, and a big part of me things that I’m subconsciously expecting the worst so that in reality, I get the best. I don’t mean to sound depressive, or like I’m unhappy here; it’s just that I so thoroughly enjoyed my break (which I coincidentally really needed), that I don’t want the dream to end. I expect it’s the same way for anyone who really needs that island vacation. Who wants to go back to the usual when you just had a taste of the extraordinary unusual?! Coming back, I’ve also had some new doors open to me; in the next few months I will have some decisions to make about how I approach my permanent take-off from Senegal. Will it be a gradual exit spanning a couple months, or will it be a cut and run operation, from which I find myself waking up unexpectedly in a new country? As many of you know, and some of you don’t, because of scheduling changes, my program will end two months earlier than previously scheduled. My replacement will be moving into Kaffrine in August, which means I could realistically move out in late July. However, this is only the case for business volunteers from my group; the rest still have to stay at least until September, if not October. I need to decide whether I want to get right on out of here; or travel for a while with my friends, or alone; or stick around until just before the holidays. All of the options have their advantages and disadvantages, but no matter what I do, I think it will ultimately be October or November before I’m back stateside. Either I will take some time to travel around, or I will stay here and help plan the trainings of new volunteers, but either way, the timeline between me coming home in August and the holidays is such that I would have to get a job, then immediately take vacation, neither of which I want to do. I’d rather not start working until the first of the year, which will give me time to enjoy being home, and will also symbolically be starting fresh and new, which I think will be encouraging. So, although I may be here for a while, I realistically only have 5-6 months in Kaffrine, at which point I’ll have to wrap up my end of projects and prepare for the transition to a new volunteer. This seems unreal to me, and I’m overwhelmed by it. So, yet again, I find myself at a transitional point, and where I go from here will have far-reaching implications for the end of my service, and potentially for my life back in America. It’s intense, but exciting, knowing that I am taking active steps to direct my life. Very little of the next year depends on anyone but myself, and my choices will have very clear repercussions. Maybe it’s just that I’m more lucid and aware of this, but either way, I like it. I’m excited to sort through all the options and make an intentional decision, then enjoy the outcomes. In all, not only was Belgium a great vacation and time of relaxation, but it was also a starting point of sorts for me; a time to wipe my hard drive clean. I’m still mentally preparing for my reappearance in Kaffrine, but by the time it gets here (Friday or Saturday), I’ll be ready to go back there and kick ass for as long as I can.

I have made it to Belgium!

I arrived here about mid-day on December 20th (Tuesday), and have been sinking my heels into this new way of life ever since then.

I beat Jeannie, my friend, here by three days, so I have been hanging out with her family and indulging myself in little pleasures, anxiously awaiting her arrival here in just a matter of hours. I've been keeping a pretty low profile so far, but I'm comfortable with that, since I'm still getting used to the differences here.

The most notable and shocking difference is, obviously, the weather. It is like I'm back home in Portland or something: very little sunshine, constant drizzle, and toes that never really warm up. I was surprised to find that I didn't immediately turn into a popsicle here, and continue to be surprised that I can be outside for fairly long periods of time without freezing up and shattering. I definitely wasn't prepared enough with clothes (I brought exactly one flannel, one sweater, and one waterproof shell; one pair of jeans, and three pairs of socks [the socks were a mistake, I meant to bring around eight or so, but somehow confused myself while packing]), but Jeannie's whole family has stepped up to loan me enough clothes to keep a small army warm.

I am also really having trouble adjusting to the daylight hours. It's eleven o'clock, but feels like eight, and when I wake up at 7:30 it looks like 5:00! In Senegal, the sun rises at around 6:40 and sets around 7:00. You can imagine how confused I am as I stumble out of bed thinking I'm getting an early start on the day, then look at my clock and see that it's 9:00 am. I'm having to talk myself into sleeping in, because there is absolutely no reason for me to be up before 8:00 - I'm on vacation! It's an adjustment, but I think I can do it.

Yesterday we went to an army base about an hour outside of Brussels, and even though I didn't go home for Christmas, I went home yesterday. It was a little splash of Americana in the rolling Belgian countryside. I must confess that I bought a BabyRuth candy bar, a pack of pop-tarts, and toys for my siblings in Senegal. It was a lot of fun.

I am definitely a little overwhelmed by how nice and clean everything is here, and by the sheer number of people (not to mention they're all white!) running about their daily lives. I was laughing in the airport in Dakar because everyone in line was obviously French, and oh, how French they were. I saw some pretty unique fashion styles there; but that was only a taste of the onslaught of Western culture I'd experience. I absolutely love being here, but it's also hard not to notice how much people consume here. They drive cars all the time, have left-overs at restaurants, go out for drinks, buy that extra bag of treats at the grocery store, because 'why not'; it happens because people can do all these things, and I'm sure that if more Senegalese people could afford to drive all the time or go out to eat three nights a week, they would. But as it stands, they can't, and so they don't. This has significantly changed my perspective on consumption on all levels, and it's just surprising to see how abyssal the gap is between the two places. I can't imagine how stark that contrast will seem in America!

However, I am benefitting from this culture of consumption in such a way that I am eating all the food I want! And I haven't touched a bowl of rice in 5 whole days! I've had the small things I missed about America: cold-cut sandwich, cheez-its, burritos, etc; but I also have been enjoying the good Belgian beer, and for the first time, I had mussels last night. Turns out I kind of like mussels! Who would have thought? And I have coffee available to me as my whimsy deems it appropriate. Naturally, I come to be with friends at the holiday season, and all I can rave about is the food.

But, in all seriousness, from three days in, I am so enjoying being in this new setting, and reaping in all the benefits of it, from food, to friends, to a warm bed. The first reviews are in, and vacation gets two thumbs up! So, for all you curious travelers out there, Belgium is to Senegal what the Ritz is to Motel 6. Or maybe my perspective is just a little wacky. More to come...

Much love to all

I'm back again, just for a quick little update to spew out all the observations I've made and thoughts I've had in the last week or so about what would be a great idea for the blog.

Firstly, to address the title of this post, for those of you who don't know, the Muslim New Year just passed on Monday night/Tuesday. To celebrate here, the tradition is to eat lots of millet with special sauce reminiscent of a tomato-based stew (very good, in fact), after which children wear clothes of their opposite gender and run around the streets trick-or-treating for money.

The girl I replaced taught my sisters about Halloween and 'Trick-or-Treating', so when they came to me and said the magic words, I naturally gave them lots of candy. I had saved some from a package I recently got, and reminded them about what happens at Halloween. They were unsure about the tropical flavored jelly beans, but were big fans of the sour twists. That was unexpected, but children are always full of surprises.

I also thought it would be appropriate to announce that I am taking my Christmas holiday in Belgium this year. My wonderful friend Jeannie and her family graciously accepted my invitation to let me into their home this year, and I am so wonderfully excited to join them. I'll be leaving Kaffrine on the 18th (10 days!!), and I fly out of Dakar at around 2 am on the 20th. I'll be coming back Senegal-way on January 4th. In case I don't survive the frigid air and first-world comforts of northern Europe, Mom, I love you.

Otherwise, I spend my days poking around town, getting little tasks done, and laughing at all the silly things I see here. Nearly every day I wish I could film some of the absurd situations I find myself in, or which I witness nearby, so I could really demonstrate to the wider world how my life in Senegal is. I have felt good-humored about all these happenings lately, and continue to feel a sense of contentment at being here. This isn't necessarily news, but I've been thinking it a lot lately, and thought I would share. There are certainly still daily pains that make me damn certain aspects of the way society functions here (Example: last night, the gas truck making a turn into the station, under-estimating his turning radius, backing up and trying again several times, all the while blocking the flow of traffic on the international highway running through town; Americans would NEVER put up with that sort of imedence!), but I am laughing more and more at these situations. At least, eventually I laugh about them, even if not at the time.

I apologize again for my infrequent and somewhat babbling posts; I constantly have things I want to be sharing with the world, but no easy medium for doing so. Today I've commandeered the computer at the agricultural office (luckily I've made friends here), but often find that I have nothing but my tiny iTouch to write things on. If and when Kaffrine gets a computer for its office, I promise to make more frequent appearances. I must thank everyone for patiently putting up with my sporadic nature.

I hope everyone is diving into the Christmas (or, to be PC, the Holiday) spirit of peace, joy, friendship, and togetherness. I am doing my best to make it happen here, listening frequently to my one Christmas mix-CD and putting up the few decorations I have for the season.

Though I am happy here, it's this time of year that makes me miss being home the most, and I really wish I could go around the country greeting everyone face to face. I am there with all my friends and family in spirit!

I'll try to write again either right before I leave for Belgium, or right after I get there. Until then, hugs for everyone!

Ok, so I'm done making promises about my blog. Because there is only so much time in Dakar and so much to do with all my fabulous friends, I found that I didn't actually have the chance to write another post like I thought I would. Sorry!

Thanksgiving at the Ambassador's was a blast, and I spent the day hanging with friends, listening to music, and preparing dishes to bring with us for the big meal. We went over at around 4 pm, ate dinner at about 5, and by 8:30 I was napping in bed. Literally, I was down for the count. I think that third layer of food was the final straw. I shall have to be more careful next year.

The rest of my time in Dakar was spent doing fun things, using the internet, calling America, and trying to rest. And spending way more money than is appropriate for a Peace Corps Volunteer; but such is the way of things.

So, this is just a quick update to apologize for my false alarm, and to announce to the world that I am safely back in the sleepy town of Kaffrine, where I intend to stay until I make my way to Belgium in three weeks (woohoo!), not spending any money. Because there is not much to spend money on here. Alhamdoulilah!

I will attempt to get a more inspired and lengthy, intellectual post up sometime soon, but for the time being, I'm stillworking off that tryptophan haze and can't think past the next cup of coffee.

Until next time, happy shopping season!!! Try not to spend too many big bucks.

Love and hugs.

November 7th was the culmination of the Muslim ‘holiday season’, with Tabaski rearing its head. One lunar year after my first Tabaski experience, I realized this year that there was a lot I had to learn about Senegalese culture and holidays. I think it took me experiencing all of the events leading up to Tabaski (Ramadan, Korite) to really appreciate it; also, the weird things that people do before and on the actual day make a lot more sense to me now – or, I should say, are less shocking – than they were three months into my stay in Senegal. This year I was far more involved in the preparation, and was able to get a lot more photos than I did last year. I was too overwhelmed by the newness of life in Kaffrine; by watching a sheep being sacrificed; by not understanding anything anyone said to me; and by people telling me all these crazy things that I had to do that I really didn’t get the chance to just slow down and enjoy the festive air. Not this year! The most exciting part for me (if I’m being perfectly honest) was getting my hair braided. I resisted for a long time, because we all know what white people with corn rows looks like (as my friend Jamie says, we all look like 90’s backup dancers); but this year I couldn’t resist, because, why not do it at least once to say I tried it? So, I have some fabulous photos of me with braids, a very Senegalese outfit, new shoes – the whole nine yards. I also spent part of the morning of Tabaski peeling and slicing potatoes, which I insisted on this year, because I always cut my fingers when I chop onions. While I was doing this, the sheep sacrifice started, but this time I was prepared for it, not at all queasy, and in fact, zoomed right up on the action with my camera. I have a great photo of my host father sitting with a very commanding look on his face over 3 large bowls of butchered sheep. You can even see the eyeball! If I get enough requests I’ll work out a way to put a few photos up, but I don’t want to get too graphic if people don’t want to see that sort of thing. That afternoon, after having eaten some delicious grilled liver and ribs (that’s right! I most certainly did), I got fancied up and began my trek across Kaffrine to greet people. I was out for probably 5 hours walking around, saying hi to people, showing off my great style, and sampling other peoples’ cooking. It was very similar to Korite (Mom & Rich), but the weather was much more accommodating. I got home at around 8:45 pm and ate more meat with my family, sat and chatted, then crashed. The next two days were full of more walking, visiting, eating, talking, eating, meat, carbonated beverages, eating…by the end of the third day, we were left with only the intestines, which I politely refused. They have never tasted good to me, and I draw the line at eating three-day-old non-refrigerated meat. That’s not so unreasonable, is it? Since Tabaski, my life has been all about school gardening and working to establish our office. Not much progress on the office front, but the school gardening effort has resulted in three new participating schools with teachers that seem genuinely interested in the program, and motivated to succeed. We held a gardening techniques training with them on Wednesday, and I think it was very successful. I think we have ironed out all the rough spots, and have come up with a solid program from start to finish. I’m excited to see what will be different this time around, now that teachers have the whole school year rather than just a few months to get their gardens going. I’ve also been consciously making observations about all the funny little things I experience here. I know that it’s these small things that are most easily forgotten over time, so it’s those that I hope to track in writing, so I can go back over the years and laugh about how absurd my life can be at times. This idea has begun expanding in such a way that I really hope to write somewhat of a ‘thesis’ about Senegal, my experiences and development here, and descriptions of my favorite people and their funny quirks. I can’t say what form this piece will take on, it is merely a rough idea as of now, but I know that I have a lot of observations and a lot of things to say about Senegal. It will probably be very therapeutic to spend some time right after I’m done putting this all together; a good form of closure for an experience that can’t be described or digested in a single turn. That’s all for now; but luckily for me, I’ll have a whole week’s worth of computer access, so I will hopefully find more to say in that time. Keep your eyes peeled!

I thought I might take some time to describe the projects I am currently involved in, as I make reference to them frequently, but feel that the details must seem very vague. Also, since the last time I wrote strictly about my work, that work has changed.

As it stands now, I have three major undertakings, all in Kaffrine. I believe I mentioned last month that, unfortunately my work with the USAID project dealing with organic sorghum didn’t pan out. It was unfortunate, but has ultimately freed me up to be more active locally, which has done great things for my life in Kaffrine. Two of my projects are related to urban gardening, and the third is all about business. Since I am a business volunteer, we’ll start with that one.

Around the month of May I went into a school- and office-supply store to purchase a few things for myself. As often happens, the proprietor asked me what I was doing in Kaffrine, whether I was the toubab with the field ‘over there’. Many people in town know of Susan’s garden because they have either walked by it and seen the white girl, or have heard of it through other people who have walked by it. It is one of the few places in Kaffrine where one can reliably find at least one toubab, thus many people assume that that’s where we can all be found. When I explained that, no I am a commerce volunteer, the owner, Pape, instantly perked up. He said he could really use my help, and he’d love to have me train him in the delicate art of doing business. I get this almost every time I explain my work, and usually people ask me what I can teach them, and when I can find work for them. However, since he already had work, I told him it was possible for me to help him, but he had to have a specific problem, and he had to complete some ‘homework’ before I would help him. Immediately, much to my surprise, he cited inventory as his biggest problem; he said, if I can manage my stock better, I know I’ll be able to run my business better. This comment nearly floored me, and I was skeptical of whether he needed my help at all. This level of awareness of business concepts is generally far above the local standard. In any case, I told him before I’d help him do an inventory, he had to organize his heaping mess of stock (it was much nicer than that, don’t worry); in order for us to be accurate, all similar products had to be grouped together. I told him I had to leave for about two weeks, but when I got back I’d come back to check up on his progress.

I went to St. Louis for the Jazz Festival, and did some other small work-related visits to other cities, and when I got back, I was utterly shocked to find that he had done what I told him! This was my test to gauge exactly how motivated he was, and generally the point at which business owners lose my attention. However, he absolutely gained my attention, and I’ve been working with him ever since.

First we inventoried his entire stock, which took about two weeks. Even after he organized everything, I came to find that he had little piles of ‘baggage’, as they call it here, stored in all the small corners of his store, and in order to create a fully inclusive inventory, we had to take all that time. Once we were done, I created an excel template for him that would automatically track remaining inventory on a weekly basis; calculate revenues, profits and expenses; and would total his sales for the week. Of course, this required his tedious adherence to noting each sale, which, sadly, has proven to be the big wrench in our system. With the opening of the school year, his store has been in a constant state of bustle, and he hasn’t been able to keep up with it. However, he really likes the idea of the system, so he made the decision to let it sit until the end of the calendar year, when he would redo his inventory, and get himself into the habit of tracking sales so as to be prepared for next school year’s mad rush. This is wise of him, and I fully support his decision.

In the interim, I am focusing all of my attention on the two gardening related projects, which incorporate business concepts as well (hence my participation). The first is a continuation of the school gardens, which I spoke a little bit about in the spring. In March, Susan and I trained eight school teachers the most basic concepts of urban gardening, gave them a gardening and classroom lessons guide, and did our best to usher them into the world of healthy and active living, through gardening.

This (school) year, we are continuing our program, working both with the teachers from last year, as well as adding new schools to the docket. We aren’t sure exactly how many new schools will be incorporated, as their participation depends on a fenced yard area, enough space in the school yard, a water source and a motivated teacher; but we are aiming for three to four more schools. This week and next week are dedicated to investigating candidates. We have planned another training session on November 16, in which we will introduce the new participants to the ins and outs of gardening.

In the time leading up to this training, we have been developing a workable schedule that will allow us to pay bi-monthly visits to each school, as well as improving the written resources which we provide the teachers at the training. This has taken a lot of effort, and has worked its way into about half of my weekly working hours. However, this is a project that I feel has a really positive impact, with little involvement from us. We are merely facilitators, bringing knowledge to the teachers, but leaving them in charge of their own programs, which will make our eventual departure less impactful on the program. So, all this work is what they call a labor of love. It’s just too much fun to watch those kids get their hands dirty, have fun, and learn a lot in a way that schools here don’t normally allow. All in all, it’s a lot of fun.

Lastly, we have the two women’s group’s gardens, which we have been slowly building up since about March. Before I arrived here, Susan had scoped out two groups of women who were good candidates to receive a grant to take on gardening. As I came along, I added my administrative skills (not that Susan was lacking, but I took on some of the work), and gradually got to know the women, learn gardening skills, and just delved into the project, which has also been a lot of fun.

We put fencing up, and recently got basins for water storage installed. The women have put in a lot of effort, coming day and night to water, weed, and give their plants the requisite love. Just in the last few weeks, they have begun harvesting okra and selling it in the market. About a month ago we had a ‘business’ meeting about selling strategies, such as where to sell, whom to sell to, and when to sell. It’s been good to see the plants producing, because that is ultimately the best way to encourage continued hard work.

However, this past Monday we stumbled across a pretty huge road block, which, in the short-term will stall our work, and in the long term may require us moving the gardens (gah!) to a new spot. The genesis of this problem was in our effort to get a water faucet installed in each field, with which to fill the basins. We were strung through many official offices, filled out request after request, and generally spent more time than we should have trying to make it happen.

The last step was to go to the office of urban planning, where the bomb dropped. I went there Monday morning, sure that by Monday afternoon we’d have all the documents in order to get the ball rolling – oh how wrong I was! The director of urban planning in Kaffrine informed me (before he informed any other government officials, mind you) that the land we are currently occupied, which the women acquired in 1994, has been set aside by the state government since 2003 (note the time gap) for a new teaching hospital. Where we need to be is on land specifically destined for agriculture, about 200 meters to the east of our current location. Despite us discussing our intentions with every government outlet in Kaffrine, and possessing a deed for the land, we were not made aware of the state’s intentions until well after the point when plans could have been easily revised.

What grates me the most about all of this is the assumption that big government can come in whenever they please, make plans on property that has already been allocated – officially! – and not tell anyone about it until it’s too late. The women put a lot of hard work into getting this started, and this man made light of their effort, essentially minimizing the value of all of our time. I had a few heated exchanges with him, but he hasn’t budged on his opinions that we absolutely must move. However, he doesn’t know when we’ll have to move, because he doesn’t know when they plan to start building. He literally told me it could be a year or it could be five. In the mean time we should keep working where we are. That would be great, except he won’t give us permission to install water! Without water, we will have no plants. So we are in a corner, and not happy about it.

As things stand now, we plan to inform the local governmental officials of our plight, call a meeting with all of them, and find a solution to the problem. There is no way to know when the meeting will happen, what solution will be found, or when it will be executed. We are keeping our hopes high, and will work our way through this muck until a solution that meets all of our needs is implemented. So, this is a major, and majorly frustrating, roadblock, but is one we’ll try to get through quickly. Updates as they happen.

I hope this has clarified for everyone exactly what I’m up to here, and what I mean when I say ‘I’ve been so busy lately!’. It’s mainly me making my way upstream through all sorts of bureaucratic channels, building relationships with people I’m working with, and occasionally getting my hands dirty in those gardens.

Facebook is a wonderful networking tool, as I’m sure many of us can attest; but even more importantly, it serves to show me just how many things I’m out of touch with. It’s also great for stalking, a platform from which I can follow the progression of many friends’ and acquaintances’ lives. However, the longer I’m here, the more shocking this ‘research’ tool becomes. Today I’m celebrating the one-year anniversary of my move into Kaffrine. That was perhaps the second-most uncomfortable day in my life, preceded only by the day I moved in with my PST host family, because of the stark contrasts blatantly visible between myself and my new family. I have come a long way since then, and, as Facebook tells me, so have my friends. It has been fun, if not a little saddening , to watch through the News Feed as my friends enter into relationships, get new jobs, travel, wander aimlessly, take part in activism, get married (WHAT!) or just play it small and enjoy the peacefulness of an uncomplicated life. When we graduated, none of us really knew what would happen to us (duh), who we’d stay in touch with, where we’d go, and that’s to be expected. But as we all come fully into our adult selves, which seems to be happening a lot more lately, I am continually tickled to watch the progression. I really can’t wait to re-introduce myself to these people that I was once a kid with; to talk to them about grand ideals or simple pleasures we didn’t know we’d value so much. Seeing what new endeavors people undertake inevitably brings out a tinge of jealousy in me. When I joined the Peace Corps, I saw it as a two-year long adventure abroad, but what I failed to see was that, excepting certain movements of a limited nature, I would actually be stationary for two years – the longest I’ve gone without going somewhere in years. Within the frequent blandness of my everyday, I forget that this is, in itself an adventure. I may not be taking part in international demonstrations or risking my health (or am I?) to bring change to the world, but being a volunteer here is no cake walk. I must constantly remind myself of that when I wish myself into a different place, doing different activities, meeting different people. But no matter what, my heart swells with pride as I see the people I love most going out and putting their good brains and motivation to use, and it baffles me to see what my peers are capable of. I’m also realizing how far out of touch with American culture and current events I am. I hear and read blips about government freeze, NBA shutdown, US foreign policy, and the like, but I really have no idea what any of that is all about. For example, can someone please explain to me what Occupy Wall Street is all about? I’m sure it’s for a great cause, but I haven’t the slightest clue what that cause is. When I came here, I assumed that since I had computer and at least somewhat regular access to the Internet, that I would be able to keep tabs on the happenings of the motherland. But even before my computer was stolen, I found my determination to keep up, along with a frustratingly bungled system of internet access, had left me fairly well out of the loop; and now, with no computer it seems almost doubly so! Though, I can’t deny that the sweet release from technological chains has made me a willing accomplice in the campaign against my worldly knowledge. So, in sum, life has proven to me once again that it never happens with anything near resembling accuracy to our most educated predictions and expectations. As it stands now, I’m ok with being mostly out of the loop; what concerns me is one year from now when I’m standing in a group of my peers, and everyone is talking about some wild dance sensation that struck the twenty-something age group of America last year. Not only will I not know what they’re talking about, but the closest I could hope to get to demonstrating it would be the ‘Youssa’ dance popularized here! (Ask me about it sometime, it’s laughably easy and will win you the eternal affection of any Senegalese child in front of whom you show your mad skills). And then I’ll just look weird, get embarrassed and turn away to ponder the many complexities of the bottom of my wine glass. I think part of me never felt like I’d make it to the year mark here, just because I couldn’t project myself into the future. It was more unknown to me than it had ever been in my life, so lacking the ability to picture myself here and now, I did the exact opposite. So now I’ve surprised myself in a good way, but am also really feeling the effects of being gone for a long time. These are all thoughts that I pondered on my ride into Kaolack this morning, knowing that I really wanted to post a blog. When I got here, I was further assured that I was out of it, just through scrolling the news. But, the good news is that, since I have no good means for worrying about the affairs of America, I can go back to enjoying my delicious lunch, which I’ve been planning for days, so that I may celebrate with a full belly this landmark day in my life.

One of my more selfish reasons for joining the Peace Corps was so that I could avoid that inevitable event called Career Selection. Upon graduation, both high school and college, the most ubiquitous question thrown at the recent grads from all angles is, ‘So, what next?’…Um, what? My degree is still hot off the press and now I have to make a decision that will direct the rest of my life? Yeah right, give me a margarita instead. When I arrived here, I had two wonderful, full years before I had to figure out just exactly what I’d do with my expensive degree and back-to-basics volunteer experience; yet now, with almost one full year still to go, I find myself and others beginning the process of divining exactly what our post Peace Corps lives will entail. Try as I might, I can’t keep that problem from trailing me wherever I go. I’ve given it a lot of thought, spent many a quiet hour at my desk journaling, reading and exploring the depths of my brain, the shape of my passions trying to answer the timeless question. What next? After all this thought, I’ve decided that what is best suited to my interests, personality, penchant for good food and new languages, is to retire and spend a large portion of my year abroad, while donating my time to worthy causes back home in America during the remainder of the year. I hear that early retirement is all the rage these days, and I really see no other option for myself. I’ll have plenty of time to be near family and friends, but will still be able to explore my ever-growing list of exotic destinations. This world has a lot of things to see, and we only have a limited number of able-bodied years to see them; so let’s get crackin’! And when I have had my fill of overseas adventures, I will come back to America for good to open a café/bakery featuring my mom as the head baker, and use those quiet mornings to enjoy a strong cup of coffee while writing memoirs of my encounters. By that point in time I’ll have enough travel street-cred to be picked up by a national publishing house, and will instantly jump to the top of the New York Times Bestseller list. Once the writing is done, I’ll use my spare time to respond to my adoring fans, telling them how happy I am to have touched their lives and instilled a spirit of adventure and openness in an otherwise wayward generation of video-game players. If there is one thing I’ve learned and come to fully embrace through my time abroad, it’s that we take things like careers way too seriously for my taste. Now, I see myself as very motivated young person, with ambitions, a desire for general success and security in all forms it may come in, but I’ve begun to see that that doesn’t necessarily come from working in an office staring at a computer screen for more than half the day. I can achieve personal security by being aware of my surroundings and learning how to defend myself; I can gain financial security by not living outside of my means; I can be food-secure by growing some of my own favorites. There is a lot to be said for someone who can provide food for themselves for real; I’m not talking about having enough money to buy a car that will carry you to the grocery store to buy imported treats, but rather reading some books, putting seeds in the ground and tending the little guy until it becomes a plump, zesty, brilliant red tomato. I’ve lost interest in living by the standard that more hours spent on the clock translates into more success. No sir, no thank you, I’ve got better things to do! There is only the minor problem of financing all of my endeavors, acquiring critical acclaim as an author, and convincing the people I love to put up with my frequent absences. Minor details, entirely surmountable. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

The time that my parents were here and I was in Dakar getting my medical checkup went by quickly for me, but so much had happened that I also felt like I had been away from Kaffrine for months. Riding back on the bus, I honestly felt like a stranger here. The changes were mostly internal, but I felt like a different person coming back here, with a different perspective. As with any two-week break from work, things piled up for me here. I got back on a Sunday, and that Monday at 9 am I dove right back into my work with the women’s groups; Susan and also had a long talk about everything we need to do this month, and in no time, my entire month was almost completely scheduled. We have visits to the prefect, school inspector, mason, a day dedicated to compiling consolidating school garden paperwork; I’ve also got almost-daily visits with Pape, the paper-store owner, and I’ve been running around like crazy getting everything in order to open up the office in Kaffrine. That’s right! The office in Kaffrine has been officially approved, and I actually handed over the first rent on September 15th. We don’t have any furniture, power, water, or internet yet, but these are all on my list of things to do this week. This is a very exciting time for the region, because we now have a good solution to the over-population of Kaolack problem. As soon as we get the place fully functional, the only reason (at least for me) to go to Kaolack, will be if I need a few days to get out of site and unwind a little. However, I don’t anticipate that being so high on my list of priorities, as I will be able to get online, have quiet reading time, cook American food, and do other such sundry activities here, without having to pay to get to them! This will surely prove to be a major change to my service. Speaking of other changes, as I mentioned, a few have taken place for me over the last few weeks. A very notable external change has been that I’ve decided to leave PCE, the USAID-funded project working with organic sorghum. While I still very much believe in what the project does, I’ve just come to realize that by taking it on, I was spreading myself too thin. Every month, my presence was needed outside of Kaffrine for several days on end, and I frequently had to make day-trips to Kaolack, as well. Ultimately, this just became too stressful for me, knowing that I had things to do here, and also knowing that I had a commitment to my family. I made an active choice to spend more time in Kaffrine during my second year, and a large part of this commitment meant leaving PCE behind. I’m giving a lot of thought to joining a project like this one sometime after my service, when I will have more freedom to travel around as much as is necessary; but for now, it’s just not feasible. On a more internal scale, I can feel that I’ve broken through the wall I was up against right before, and somewhat during, Ramadan. I felt apathetic towards my work here, didn’t really see the point to what I was doing, because I didn’t feel like it would really make a difference anyways. I also felt plum worn out by being in a different country; sometimes, always talking in another language, navigating different cultural norms, and tolerating a more extreme climate just wears you down, and you want nothing more than everything that’s familiar. However, something familiar did come to me – my mom and Rich! We spent the week talking about lots of things that are familiar to me from back home; updates on friends and family, news from around the country, things we need to do when I get back. I was physically still in Senegal, but for that week, my mind got to be fully elsewhere, which felt wonderful. However, showing them my life in Kaffrine also made me realize how much is left to do here. I want to leave knowing that, if nothing else, I gave it my best, and that I have friends here that I can come back and visit in three or five years. Taking that little break, and having people from home see what I’m actually doing revitalized me and made me ready to spend the next year doing my best. I know that plenty of people back home (not to mention people here) have high expectations for my service, and I’m not about to fall short! In sum, I gave myself some time to wallow and then enjoy a mini-vacation, and now I’m back in the game. It feels good, I have to admit. Typically, when I make decisions like this, or admit out loud that I’m feeling good here, something happens to undo my good feelings. This trend actually makes me feel rather fickle, which is a new one for me; sometimes I also consider whether it’s just plain insanity, but I don’t think that’s for me to decide. However, knowing that, I will work to not let the tables turn so easily. So, inchallah, this will not be a fleeting feeling, but one that carries me through the next eleven months. I suppose that’s the bulk of my update this week! Just me over here in Senegal, always undergoing changes, having new experiences that I never could have predicted. Although, c’est la vie, so I hear – no matter where we find ourselves, we’re bound to see things we never could have anticipated and to learn something new from them. So, until next time all, I wish you peace and happiness!

I am writing from the tail end of a week spent in Dakar after having dropped off the parents at the airport. In a fantastically therapeutic, though full, week, I took my mom and step-dad around Senegal, showing them the major places and people of my life here. I think it is safe to say that they were very enlightened about my life here, and in some ways, them coming here enlightened me a little as well.

They arrived on a Saturday morning, the 27th of August, and I threw them right into a car to whisk them out of the capital to a calmer, more relaxing spot called Toubacouta. We stayed at a camp (in huts and everything!) for three nights, talking and enjoying each others’ company. Although the ride down from the airport was long and tiring – at one point the driver got stuck in a huge mud pit, and we had to call over some cow herders to help push us out, along with Rich’s help - it was a wonderful relief to have that sort of uninterrupted catching-up time. After our time in Toubacouta, we made our way to Kaffrine, via Kaolack. We happened to be traveling the day before Korite, the end-of-Ramadan fest, which brought out huge crowds at the market and unseen levels of traffic, but we still got to experience all the places in Kaolack that I go to. At around 7:00 pm we made it to Kaffrine, to the cheers and smiles of my host family. I had been preparing them for weeks before the big day, and the kids were especially excited to see my family from America. In a strong show of affection, my host sisters completely bypassed me as we walked in the door and hurled into my mom and Rich, giving them big hugs. My host mom joked that they were mad at me and now loved my American mom more than they loved me! But I was glad we had such a warm welcome. We had two full days and three nights in Kaffrine. The morning of the first day we just spent organizing all of the baggage and gift-age brought from America, and took some time to recover from the previous day’s travel. It also happened to be Korite, but as I have described before, the day had a lot of hype but turned out to be much less exciting (from a foreign perspective, at least) than it seems like it will be. This, however, was a blessing, because we were allowed some time to get comfortable and take it easy. After lunch, with our bellies full of tasty Senegalese cooking, we donned our holiday best (grand boubou and fitted complets) and I dragged my guests around the hot, dusty streets of Kaffrine to visit a few key friends and work partners. Though it was a long, sweaty afternoon, I really enjoyed introducing these people to my parents. I think it really helps ground me in people’s minds when I can show them that I have connections and attachments in America, that I’m not just some random person who appeared out of nowhere. We got back to my house at around 8pm, tired but cheery after having experienced the famous Senegalese joyousness and hospitality. My parents were certainly the guests of high honor on this holiday. We ate another tasty meal at home, then turned in. The next morning we continued our rounds, starting at Susan’s garden, then making our way into the market area. We did a little less walking this time, but it was still a full morning, and we got back just in time for lunch. We had decided that it would be best to get all the visits that were left done in the morning so we could just relax and spend time with my family in the afternoon – which we did. My mom forever endeared herself to my host siblings by playing with the pipe-cleaner jump-rope the kids had made with part of the gift given to them. Pipe cleaner, for anyone who is curious, is a great gift for young kids in Senegal! Early the next morning, we piled into a car and made our way to Thies, again via Kaolack, so I could make a secret negotiation for a mask that Rich took a particular liking to. After about a two-hour layover, we continued on to Thies, where we found our hotel and made a bee-line for lunch. The biggest item on the Thies agenda was a trip to the training center, where I spent my first two months in Senegal learning all about this place. It was a big part of my time here, and still holds a strange sentimentality for me, despite the fact that I sometimes felt caged up there during PST. We tried to take it relatively easy after that, walking quickly through the market and back to our hotel, where we rested for a couple of hours before going out to dinner. We had a lovely dinner at my favorite restaurant in town, bought some beautiful Niger-made silver jewelry, then went back ‘home’ for the night. We woke up and were out of the hotel by 8:30, on our way to the big city: Dakar. The plan was to get to the hotel, put down our stuff, then go to an island off of downtown, called Ile de Goree (Goree Island). This is a famous symbol of the slave trade, as a place where captured slaves were held before being sent across the Atlantic. It holds a lot of historical significance to Senegal, and is also a popular tourist destination here. I won’t get into the dirty details, but suffice it to say that we had a discouraging interaction involving the wait staff and the police at the café and the ferry port, and almost didn’t make it to the island. In a last-minute decision, we went, not wanting to miss out on the experience or the cost of the tickets, and it turned out to be a very enjoyable afternoon. I was disappointed to have a negative experience on their last day here, but, as I’ve said before, it’s impossible to get a complete impression of a place if you don’t see its less savory sides as well. At the very least, it was good practice for my Wolof, and we put up a strong resistance against being picked on because we’re tourists! If anyone would like full details, either email me or call my mom. That night we had a really nice, very fancy dinner out in downtown Dakar with Jack. After a week of ‘roughing’ it outside of the big city, this dinner was especially luxurious, and I can safely say that I never had, and probably will never again have, such a nice meal in Senegal. They usually don’t allow dirty Peace Corps volunteers into respectable establishments, but since we had decent looking guests with us, we were given an exception. Early the next morning we jumped into a cab, and I dropped off the ‘kids’ at the airport to go home. It was hard to say goodbye knowing it would be another year before I’d see them again, but I felt satisfied that they had gotten a fair view of my world here, so that was good enough for me. I slept for a long time that day! Overall, the week was a success, and despite certain challenges, was really good for my mental health. I’m not sure we could say this was Mom and Rich’s favorite vacation destination, but I know that, if nothing else, they acquired a firm perspective about this part of the world; and I felt so relieved to finally have someone get a better understanding of the context for all of these blog posts. Also, I know that they can give me a look into the oddities and differences that I’ve become used to, or just haven’t seen at all. I forget what it’s like to see Senegal with fresh eyes, so while they were here, and well after they’re gone, I know they will be making observations about things that I don’t take much note of. It’s really good to have a fresh pair of eyes (or two) on an old situation. After they left, I had to stick around in Dakar to do my mid-service medical exam. Now being on the other side of it, I can officially say that I have no cavities, normal blood pressure, no observable changes or problems anywhere on my body, and I’m am tuberculosis-negative! Here’s hoping the next year is met with the same medical success. Tomorrow (Sunday) it’s back to Kaffrine, settling back into the daily groove of life here; to be honest, I’m really looking forward to it! More life updates as they happen; and as always, lots of love from Senegal.

One of the great things about Ramadan, as it is this year at least, is that it coincides with the rainy season here. Often the barraging rain can be a nuisance that limits work, floods entire streets, and is the cause of all known illnesses in Senegal (at least if you ask any mother around); but the rain also provides a great opportunity to spend an afternoon getting to know your community. It’s even better during Ramadan because no one is expected to do anything in the afternoons anyways, so sitting huddled under the awning of a store is nothing but normal.

Today, Saturday, is a very rainy day; the third our fourth in a string of rainy afternoons, and for the third day in a row, I found myself faced with a decision to either brave the storm and make my way home, or to try to wait it out. In opposition to the prior two days, today I decided to wait it out. I was already at a boutique, my collection of clothes are getting sopping wet faster than they can dry, and I had nothing else I needed to be doing for the time being, so I waited.

In standing around at a boutique, I witnessed the personification of a situation that I’ve wondered at since coming here, and have guessed has been an issue, prominent or not, for the status and development of Senegal. The situation was this: a group of three Pulaar men dressed in the traditional fashion- which tells me that they were most likely herders of some sort- one of which, probably between his mid-thirties and mid-forties, was speaking with a younger Pulaar man who was wearing ‘toubab’ clothes, aka skinny jeans, a printed tee and flashy looking shoes. The only reason I actually knew this younger man was Pulaar was because, over time, I’ve learned to distinguish certain distinct Pulaar characteristics, and he was also speaking the language. In fact, I first didn’t know what was even happening, because their discussion was completely in Pulaar.

However, about halfway through their talk, they switched to Wolof, so, for my own amusement, I began listening. Initially they were debating the usefulness of Pulaar in a predominantly Wolof area, and I gathered through the gestures of the older man that he somewhat lamented that younger whipper-snappers weren’t more prolific in their use of their native language.

The younger man was citing the utility of Wolof here in Kaffrine, and seemed to be making fun of the older man’s traditional habits, dress and speech. When the shepherd cited his seven full years in school, the younger man actually laughed at him, and appeared to mock his pride in such a short learning career. He then went on to say that he had been in school for twenty-two years, which the shepherd literally could not believe.

Many other things were said, which I didn’t catch due to noisy distractions and limitations in my understanding of the language, but one thing that I heard clearly and which resonated in me was when the older man said, ‘…during this discussion you laughed, but I haven’t laughed’, insinuating that the young man was being disrespectful and not taking the conversation seriously. Now, I could be completely wrong about this and projecting my own thoughts onto this scene, but this comment especially seemed to highlight the issue of the value of keeping to tradition and practice, as it has proven itself for generations, versus the necessity for higher learning if the people of Senegal wish to become ‘developed’ by a certain standard.

I’ve mentioned before the difference between Dakar and the far eastern regions of Senegal; there are still places where there are no roads or running water, whereas in Dakar you can find just about any luxury you can think of, except Starbucks. I personally see this gorge between rich and poor, educated and illiterate, as one of the largest roadblocks to Senegal becoming what it says it wants to become. I’m deliberately vague in saying ‘developed’, because that term has become so objective to me since coming here; but the government and many people I speak to wish for their country to migrate to the Great West and adopt the associated Ways. If this is the case, there is a long way to go.

As a person educated in the West, and as such given a huge amount of opportunity and comfort, I can’t deny the value of education, technological advancement, and availability of resources. It would be hypocritical to take advantage of all those things myself, then denounce their use in third world countries as ‘evil’. However, I see huge value in the old wisdom that abounds here. This older Pulaar man may not have had the deep knowledge of poetry, world history, or mathematics that the younger man did; but he has learned many of the lessons of life that I am sure the other guy didn’t either. He also demonstrated a much higher level of respect for the younger man than he received in turn. One thing that makes me incredibly sad is when one man can look down on another, as the educated one seemed to, because he chose, or was given, a life that necessarily excluded academic learning. If that is what a Western education has given to students here, I think it might be better had we not come in at all!

This is all a long diatribe to say that, because of the fortunate timing of rains and Ramadan, I was able to kill some time this afternoon observing the people around me, and what I observed was profound. There is a huge gap between the ‘haves’ and the ‘have-nots’, though it’s hard to say which is the better for it. Unfortunately, this time, I can’t think of an easy fix to give everyone what they want. The two opposing sides of Senegalese culture are fully at odds with each other, pulling the country in different directions. As an outsider there is no way I could ever have enough cultural knowledge to offer a solution; that is totally up to the people who live here. My sincere hope, though, is that a middle-ground is found that allows for a vibrant traditional culture infused with the benefits of modernity. This is one thing that I think we got way wrong in America, but there is still time for Senegal…Inchallah!

There are few sensations that compare with the blissful terror of sleeping without a mosquito net. It is a simultaneously liberating yet horrific experience, in which one appreciates the openness and airiness that comes without being enclosed in a mesh box, yet also inspires the huge fear of the malicious bite of a mosquito. My first night sleeping without my mosquito net was sometime during the hot, dry season, when the mosquito population experiences a severe decline. As you may or may not know, mosquitoes much prefer humid, warm climates, and they thrive during the rainy season here. But when it’s nothing but dry all day and night, you’d be hard pressed to be viciously attacked. Despite the logical, intellectual argument you present yourself when endeavoring to sleep exposed to the elements, you are still coming off of several months of caged, worry-free sleep. In my case, I had never spent a single night in Africa without my mosquito net, and it had become sort of like a tolerated friend; I knew there was a time in my life before this friend came around, and I knew that my sleeping career was more enjoyable without it, but I had since become used to its presence and had accepted it as a normal part of life. Then that is taken away, and I am left with open air, and the threat of all of mother nature descending onto my one cozy spot of heaven, intent on crawling on me, biting me, and consuming my flesh. Suddenly, without your security blanket, you feel naked, vulnerable. You know those bugs are out there, and as you lay your head on your pillow and turn of the light, you see it as only a matter of time before the incessant swatting begins. Your heart races, and tired though you may be, you can’t fall asleep – you have to be ready to shoo those creepy-crawlies away before they can have their way with you. But you are also thrilled, because what brings out more adrenaline than challenging the very nature and habit of your lifestyle, which has become bland, ordinary? What is more frustrating than succumbing to circumstances beyond your control, dictating the way you enjoy the private paradise of sleep, and more gratifying than suddenly taking charge? You came here knowing a certain way of life, a certain way of sleep, and suddenly you are forced to go against what you know, forced to put yourself into a cage every night, and sleep in an unfamiliar way; this is unacceptable. So now, you throw off the shackles, carve out your own destiny and defy the status quo. It is, in one word, liberation, and you are the liberator. That first time sleeping without a mosquito net is a quiet cacophony of emotions, a turbulent ride with peaks and valleys that tests your very will to sleep. You are unsure of the wisdom of your decision, but know that you can’t take the circumstances as they are for much longer, so you are forced to act, and this is the result. Once you take matters into your own hands, all you can do is hope or pray that you don’t wake up to the feeling of a live spider traveling down your throat, or to the deliriousness and discomfort that is malaria. But that is the risk you must take, the price you must pay, for your own liberty.

Many people wonder at the phenomenon of fasting – why do it? In many Muslim countries it can actually be a health risk, and often I hear people remarking that they don’t see how it could bring anyone closer to god. In this post, I will detail the key aspects of Ramadan, and how it’s done, to the best of my knowledge. Firstly, fasting has been a very important pillar of the religion of Islam since the time of its inception in the seventh century. It was written down by Mohammed as he claims to have received the words from God. It is a time for one to show one’s devotion to God in following this difficult requirement, and also in using time usually dedicated to food to pray and open a more full dialogue with God. In Senegal, it seems that this spirit of the fast is lost. I can’t speak for other Muslim countries, but I would guess that in countries that were converted later in history, such as African countries, and perhaps areas of the South Pacific, the meaning of Ramadan has been lost in the annals of history. Based on what I see and hear, people fast because there is intense social pressure to do so, but often they don’t know anything about it beyond that God commands it. I’ve only seen a few of the more educated and pious men in my community – usually on the aging side – devote the extra time to prayer. Most other people can be spotted sitting under trees talking, lying down on mats sleeping, or otherwise occupying themselves while moving as little as possible. Farmers are among the few who have maintained their regular schedule of work, but that is mostly because their lives and livelihoods depend on it. During Ramadan, the idea is to push back all the meals until after sundown. You ‘start’ the day with breakfast at sundown (about 7:35 pm here, earlier for countries further north); then you eat lunch a few hours later; and just before sunrise, or around 5 am here, you eat your dinner and drink the last bits of water before beginning the fast. I’ve heard that the breakfast meal in many countries is rather extravagant, as a way of celebrating the accomplishment and rewarding fidelity to the task. Here, the meal is slightly more luxurious than normal, eating a piece of French bread with butter or chocolate spread and either coffee or a local tea, called kinkiliba. The lunch meal is the same as every other lunch meal, rice and fish, or any other type of local rice dish. I can’t say with certainty what the 5 am meal is here, because I prepare my own in my room; this is my only chance to eat a nutritious meal, so I tend towards a banana-honey-peanut butter sandwich, accompanied by some other small item, like oatmeal or another piece of fruit. A major issue many of my foreign cohorts have with Ramadan, especially here, is that it is wildly unhealthy to abstain from drinking water during the hotter months. Also, the meals aren’t generally enough to make up for the nutrition deficiencies accrued during the day; and the social stigma is so strong that often women who are pregnant or nursing fast, despite a clear clause in the Koran stating that women in such state are not to fast. This is when a better understanding of the Koran would be very useful here – if women knew its contents themselves, and understood the strength of the words contained within, perhaps they would feel less pressure to put themselves at risk. Some people also feel that this isn’t really fasting, but rather it simply moves meal times and encourages laziness during the day. So ultimately, the feat of fasting is not accomplished, and one also does not tend to get closer to God in partaking. Again, this applies more specifically to Senegal, and I can’t speak to the way Ramadan manifests itself in other countries, but there is something to be said for this argument. For my part, the experience has been important in building relationships here. I have more time to make social visits and chat; I break the fast with other people and get a look into each family’s unique approach; and as a foreigner I earn higher respect of many people for being willing to participate in this important cultural and religious endeavor. I am a little saddened that it would take something like this to earn the respect of people here – it would be nice to be able to do so through living here, speaking the language, and working to help the community – but on the other hand, I think this is seen as a rite of passage that everyone must go through. The no-food part of the fast is getting easier every day, and on less active days, going without water is even becoming easier. However, I’ve started getting back up to my regular level of activity – I went to visit a friend 20k into the bush on Wednesday – and I’ve still got no reservations about keeping myself hydrated. I want to share in the experience, but my health is definitely my top priority. On a completely different note, today is my one-year anniversary of arriving in Senegal. I got here at 5:50 am on the morning of August 11, 2010. Although the last month has been a little slow to move along, on the whole it’s amazing to me that a year has gone by. Chronologically, it seems nearly impossible, but when I look back on the changes I feel within myself and the sheer amount of revelations I’ve had about the world – and the number of books I’ve read! – it becomes impossible to believe that it’s only been a year. And by all accounts, I hear year number two goes by even faster! At this point in my service I feel comfortable with where I am in terms of integration, language skills, and work projects, but there is definitely still more I’d like to accomplish. If I had to be sent home tomorrow, I don’t think I’d feel like my work was complete, so my second year will be spent accomplishing that sense of completion. This is a very appropriate time to get mushy and say a huge thank you to everyone who has given me a helping hand this past year. It really has been the presence of all my friends and family at home that has helped me get through many exhausting, frustrating, or maddening moments. Phone calls, texts, packages, emails, letters – always full of love and encouragement – remind me that I have people out there rooting for me, and that is some powerful medicine. It’s amazing how capable I feel now that I’ve conquered the feeling of loneliness. So, thank you to everyone who has made efforts to be a presence in my life, it helps so much more than I can say. Now, wish me luck in year number two! I hear weather in America is beautiful and warm pretty much everywhere; I’m hoping that you’re all getting out there and appreciating the summer season! Drink some extra lemonade for me.

With love, until next time!

The signs are everywhere: no bean ladies out on the street; bodies splayed on mats all over the market, motionless throughout the heat of the day; those who are vertical are moving very slowly; time inches forward, meandering its way to 7:32 pm. Ramadan is here. I have officially completed one day of fasting, and I am at the head of the second day. I feel that I am bound to get looks of surprise when I tell people that I’m going for day 2 – many of them were shocked that I’m fasting at all, and a few told me flat out I wouldn’t want to do it again after day 1. But comments like that, combined with my pre-existing stubbornness, make me want to prove a point; yes I can! And I will! Granted, the first day was very hard. I woke up at about ten minutes past five in the morning and started straight into the three hard-boiled eggs I had made the night before. I debated eating some peanut butter for good measure, but by the time the debate had begun in my head, I was already back in bed, and my tired body won out. I am really full, I said to myself, I don’t want to make myself sick. I’ll be fine. Then for the first time ever, I slept past eight o’clock. This is the great thing about Ramadan; if you’re fasting, you don’t need any other excuse to sleep, or at least lay down, throughout most of the day. It’s also why you’ll catch men sprawled on their mats anywhere they can find space near their places of work. In the mornings, the women aren’t afforded the luxury of resting, and in fact, they ultimately get less time to rest throughout the day than men, because they have to do shopping, cook meals for anyone who isn’t fasting, and probably do some cleaning; but they still make sure they get what’s theirs. At any rate, no one made any comments when I opened my door after nine o’clock, no less than an hour later than normal. My body wasn’t so happy about the fasting, to be honest. Until around noon it was patient with me, probably guessing that I had just forgotten my mid-morning snack of peanuts or yogurt. By two o’clock, my eyelids were getting heavy and it took a lot of mental power to convince my arms and legs to do what I wanted them to do. During the hottest part of the day, between 3 and 4 pm, I actually felt a little feverish, and I was worried that this was going to not work out in the end. My head was foggy, my muscles even more ornery, and I had no desire to do anything. Ever. Luckily, in the morning I was relatively fit to go about my normal life; I went and did inventorying for a few hours with the paper store owner; then I made a few stops in the market to make sure I had enough food for the next morning’s meal; then I went to the agricultural office, where Susan’s garden is, to say hello to the guys there. Susan had told me stories from last year, about how they literally don’t move from their mats under the tree all day. I had to go see for myself. They gave me a hard time about making it through the month, tried to get me to admit that I was cheating and stealing sips of water (only once to take my medicine, which is required by Peace Corps and prevents malaria – I have no regrets), but finally acknowledged that it was cool that I’m fasting. By that time, though, I was spent, and went home and did nothing but read the rest of my day. When the time came to break the fast, my throat was parched, my hands shaky and my body immobilized; but never has bread and margarine tasted so good to me. With the first bite, all my saliva came rushing back and my stomach was rumbling with pleasure. Although, I don’t think my body knew exactly what to do with this food. I noticed that, right away, several bodily functions changed, and I’m convinced it has to do with not drinking any water. The most noticeable, though, was my sweating. Yesterday was very humid, cool in the morning after a rain shower, then noticeably warmer as the day went on. Normally, I would have had sweat gathered in the creases of my clothes just by walking outside. This time, though, there wasn’t much to be found. By the time I made it home in the afternoon, I noticed that the only sweat I was getting was of a more feverish kind, and I could tell that my body was noticeably warmer. My internal cooling system was defunct, and I think that’s what contributed to a lot of my weakness. They say that the first three days are the hardest, but then your body adjusts and it gets a lot easier. So my thinking is, once I get through the first three days, it’s almost a done deal. My temperature will be regulated, my belly won’t howl as much, nor will it feel sick once it does get food. I’ll be able to go back to a more normal routine, though if I feel like being lazy, this is also my only free pass. So it’s all just about those first three days. Or that’s what I tell myself, at least. I’m sure there is some arrogance on my part about that, so I’m excited to see what sorts of lessons I learn throughout the month. As I get more into the swing of things, I plan to be more active in visiting other people, breaking the fast with different families, and seeing how different people approach the month differently. Already I see differences between my Kaffrine family and my Mboro family, although this time around, I have a lot more context, and not only because I’m fasting. I spent some good time yesterday reflecting on the meaning of this fast, the importance of suffering and sacrifice, and the joy of finally satisfying your body’s cravings. There is a reason people celebrate Ramadan, and my hope is to discover the full meaning of that reason. My thoughts will ultimately be different than the people who fast every year; it is not a chore but a challenge for me, and I know this will be a unique experience I can reflect on in the future, versus a month whose coming I regret every year. I also have done more reading about this month than a lot of people here, so it is possible that I know why it’s done better than some. I can’t be certain of that, nor of whether people dread the coming of Ramadan, but that’s precisely what I hope to discover. But first I need to stay awake… Until next time!

One thing I was never good at in America is meteorology. I called the Portland area home for over a decade, yet every year I was still tricked by the first sunny day that would come in early spring. I always believed that this year would be different; when that sun came out for the first time, the entire world would warm up, and it would definitely be shorts weather. Wrong. It’s great being here because the weather is shockingly easy to predict: 8 months of sun followed by a 4 months of regular storms and rain. You can even predict when the storms are coming, as there are hallmark signs that are easy to detect. This is how you know a storm is coming in Senegal: Sign #1: The most obvious of the storm indicators are large, sinister-looking clouds. They roll in quickly and block out the sun, making you want to rush home and hole-up in your room until the sun comes back out. However, these cloudy conditions, as it relates to Senegal, at least, are the best time to be out, because it’s SO much cooler than the rest of the time. This brings us to sign #2 that a storm is coming; Sign #2: The temperature suddenly drops to around a balmy 80 degrees. You may be skeptical, but even 80 degrees is a pleasant change in temperature, especially when the descent occurs in a matter of minutes (maybe an hour). Often, there will be clouds but it will remain very hot, which usually suggests that they’re just passing through, they’re not planning on depositing any baggage in your area. If you have the looming clouds but without a change in temperature, it probably isn’t going to rain.

Sign #3: Sudden onslaught of wind. One minute the clouds will be far away and there will be hardly a whisper of a breeze, then suddenly the sun goes out and you’re looking at dust-devils and getting all kinds of airborne projectiles in your eyes. The force of the wind is exaggerated if you are frantically riding your bike trying to get home before you take an unanticipated shower. There is a lot more debris in the air than you would think. Sign #4: You unexpectedly find yourself in a ghost town. Locals know the signs like it was their sixth sense. They are also highly hydrophobic, so you will be hard pressed to find anyone besides the town crazy and children who linger outside when a storm is imminent. Shop owners pull in their merchandise, women run around their yards collecting clothes off the line, at the moto drivers push their cycles to the limit, driving even more crazily than normal to ensure they get to shelter before the zero hour. The people vanish, and you are the only one crazy or stupid enough to still be outside. Sign #5: You’re suddenly really wet, because the clouds are moving faster than you anticipated, and you really didn’t have 10 more minutes before it actually started raining. But it’s ok, because there is something savagely intoxicating about playing in the rain; maybe the kids and the crazies have the right idea after all.

Does everyone remember the opening scene to the Lord of the Rings (correction: not the very first scene that takes you back through centuries of Middle Earth history, but the first scene in which we are in the present)? There is a panoramic shot of a beautiful countryside with slight rolling hills covered by a blanket of green that looks so soft you want to roll around in it? There are low, wide trees that are plump with green leaves, under which one could pass hours picnicking and reading. I was just there today. I have been going to the countryside over the last three days visiting organic sorghum sights doing follow-up meetings with PCE (Projet Croissance Economique). This morning we turned off the main paved road onto a bright red gravel road which would lead us to our destination. As I have mentioned, we are tumbling on through the rainy season, and mornings frequently commence with low-hanging clouds that make it feel like it’s 6 am, when really it’s 9:30. This was one of those mornings, and as I was looking around this new place I had never been before, the scene before me was this: a beautiful countryside with slight rolling hills, covered by a blanket of green that looks so soft you want to roll around in it. There were low, wide trees that are plump with green leaves, under which one could pass hours picnicking and reading. I was remarking to myself how beautiful Senegal becomes when the seemingly endless parch of the dry season is quenched by torrents of water during the wet season. In no time at all, bare trees and brown earth are replaced by vibrant green everywhere. It’s as though the entire country has woken up from a long slumber, refreshed and rejuvenated; it’s like that moment when the wan sufferer of heartbreak finally bursts out of the darkness and decides they are ready to take on the world again. It’s time to take a shower, put on clean clothes, and reclaim the former beauty that was tinged by suffering. This is the Senegalese countryside in the rainy season. As I was making these observations, it suddenly occurred to me that Director Jackson and crew could have taken Senegal for their shire setting just as easily as they took New Zealand…well, maybe. One thing I love about living in the city is that I never cease to be amazed by the country. There are plenty of volunteers who are resignedly accepting of their rural locales, but who constantly long for the excitement of the big city. I would say I am the opposite; I accept that I am in the city, and must therefore take the advantages of electricity with the disadvantage of not being as full a member of the community, but I simply love taking trips into the rural world to get away from the un-pleasantries into the simple purity of the country. And much to my content, for about 4 months out of the year, that country is home to a fictional race of people who also appreciate the simpler things in life.

Today was the launch of the first annual (semi-annual? Bi-monthly? It’s anyone’s guess) pancake breakfast at the Ba household. In attendance were the matriarch and patriarch, Kine and Serigne Moor, respectively, along with three youngsters, Mame Fatou, Mami and Coumba; also in the role of guests of honor were neighbors Susan Trainor and Kourtney Rusow. The chef was none other than Emily Schauer, alias Mariame Ba. The family rose early to watch and assist in the preparation, cooking, and enjoying of the feast, and the atmosphere was light and contented. Everyone at their fill of pancakes topped with either, butter, honey, or chocolate spread. I think that this press release, my first ever, will be good practice for any future press releases I will need to conjure up, eh? After much persistence, my younger sisters finally convinced me to get some pancakes onto the ‘griddle’, and they were nothing short of ecstatic when I told them yesterday that I would be taking on the project. My ancienne, Lindsay, had made pancakes for Mother’s Day 2010, and about once every month or so the girls bring it up. When I was out of town this Mother’s Day I thought I’d never hear the end of it! Also, I just really felt like it was time for me to eat some pancakes; it had been far too long. Lately my mood has been picking up, and I’m slowly working back up to pre-theft levels! The rain is starting, albeit very slowly, and after we had a big storm Saturday night, I’ve felt much refreshed. The whole scenery around Kaffrine is beginning to change as the trees bloom, grass grows, and the water begins to turn the roads a deep red. All the colors are becoming much more vibrant, and it feels as though Senegal has finally woken up from a too-long hibernation. Senegal is a popular destination for many species of birds, and they are coming back en masse. I’m not sure how long they stay here before they migrate back to wherever they came from, but it’s fun trying to pick out all the different types. Also, when I went for a bike ride yesterday morning there were so many frogs on the path that I had to slow down to a crawl for fear of squashing them! I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many frogs in my life, and I heard even more as they croaked out their symphony of love (or maybe just mating). The big puddles on the sides of the road were constantly rippling as the little guys made their way to and fro, going about their business unaware of the comings and goings of the wider world. The rains were late to start, and are building up much more slowly than typical here, so there is very much an air of waiting mixed with some apprehension about success rates. Typically, farmers wait to plant until they are sure that the rains have started – as opposed to planting at the first rain, after which it could be weeks before the next one, as it was this year – so they won’t have to worry about watering from other sources. However, if the planting happens too late, they won’t get a full harvest, which can spell trouble during the non-farming season. There is still a little time before anyone has to really panic, but I get the sense that the weather will be cutting it close this year; perhaps it is to serve as a reminder that we can’t count on anything with one-hundred per cent certainty in this world. This coming weekend Susan and I are headed up to Dakar for some modest fun before Ramadan starts. We intend to do a lot of cooking, perhaps go to the beach, and generally let any work concerns and other worries fall to the wayside to clear our mental palates before the fasting challenge. There will be a few other people up there that we’ll see as well, and I’m very much looking forward to it. We’ll be taking the midnight bus on Friday from Kaffrine and should get there between 5 and 6 am Saturday morning. I am going to be on the lookout for strawberries, my last big indulgence before fasting. My host father and I were talking about them last night, and I haven’t stopped thinking about them since! In other exciting news in Kaffrine, a space has been identified as a possible office for the region. Tuesday morning our Safety and Security Coordinator (SSC – we like acronyms here, remember?) will be making his way down from Dakar to have a look, as well as to try and negotiate a fair price. We’re not sure it’ll work out due to certain size restrictions, but it’s still a possibility, and we’re all very excited about it. So everyone cross their fingers, do a little dance, or say a prayer to invoke the good will of whoever is in charge so that we may get this space! More updates on that as they happen. That’s about as much as I can think of in terms of updates for now. Within a week I want to write another post about Senegal (I’ve got some ideas on cultural quirks that will be fun to share), but I didn’t want to overwhelm with a ton of writing in one post. So, everyone keep their eyes out for a double-whammy of blogging action! As always, I hope this finds everyone in peace and enjoying the world around them. Love!

Greetings all! I can’t believe how quickly the last month has gone, and how utterly absent I was from the computing world. It’s weird how easy it is to get disconnected. Sorry to those who have been waiting with bated breath (I flatter myself!) for the next post; I’m obviously still working out a good system here. For the couple weeks after my last post, life here was pretty quiet. We wrapped up our school gardening program for the school year with an evaluation meeting with our teachers. We got some really good advice, and have some great ways to improve the program for our next class of teachers, who we will be training sometime in October. Although it didn’t turn out exactly as we had planned (teachers didn’t use the gardens as a teaching tool as much as we had hoped), it was a good first experience, and things are sure to be better with the next one, because the teachers will have the full school year to implement their gardens, as opposed to only 2 and a half months. After that, I did a little work with a women’s group here who are starting a garden – I’m going to be teaching some basic business concepts to them in the hopes that they will make some money off the garden – followed by a week-long Girl’s Leadership Camp. You may remember the cyber-schmoozing I did a couple of months ago to raise funding for the camp. We (obviously) were able to get the camp fully funded, and it was a huge success! The girls arrived at the camp on Sunday, June 26th, and left Saturday, July 2nd. During the week, every day was full of different activities for the girls, many of which followed specific themes. For example, Tuesday’s theme was health, so they had a long discussion with their teacher mentors (there were six women who teach in the area that came for the entire week and led many sessions; their help was invaluable because they were able to communicate certain ideas that we just couldn’t. The camp wouldn’t have been the same without their local point of view, language skills, and examples as women who didn’t follow the traditional path) about women’s health; there was a demonstration about how to easily make a lotion that is mosquito repellant (using the leaves of a tree ubiquitous in Senegal); and I personally showed them how to use the ingredients of the food that they always eat to make stir-fry, a much healthier meal than the local rice and fish dish. There were other such activities to correspond with each day’s theme, but we also had daily yoga and team-building activities, sports (in which many girls swam/floated in water for the first time EVER – these girls are between 13-16 years old!), journaling sessions, arts and crafts, a campfire during which we made s’mores (I think the volunteers may have been more excited about this one than the girls), a group of drummers, and much more. I really think that the girls came away with at least some enlightenment as to what all is out there for them. They are all very lucky to still be in school, because it’s at their age that families often decide that it’s too expensive to keep their daughters enrolled, and that they would be more useful either at home cooking and cleaning, or out selling things in the market. The hope is that, as the girls go home and rave about their experience, their families will become more supportive in helping them achieve all the goals they envision for themselves. It’s impossible to say who will do this and not, but I feel satisfied in knowing that they have at least been shown the door to a different life. I feel very rewarded to have been able to participate in the camp, and my role wasn’t even as active as it could have been. My hope is that next year I will be able to play a large part in the planning and execution of the camp. I was brought back to the days in high school when I would volunteer at a camp for 6th graders, and I felt the same surge of joy as I watched the transitions that happened in these girls as I did when those bratty middle-schoolers learned to love the outdoors and learning. It’s sensational to know that you had a part in making that change occur, and like an addict, I want that emotional high again. After the Girl’s Camp was the Peace Corps 4th of July celebration in a region called Kedougou. This is the furthest south-east region, and almost as far away from Dakar as you can get in Senegal. It took us over 8 hours to get there, but it’s absolutely worth it. The whole region is wildly beautiful, with lush greenery, rolling hills (mountains, if you live here), rivers, waterfalls, and an overall relaxed atmosphere. On the 4th we had a day-long barbeque with music, food, and games that went well into the night. We also did fireworks, and only once was anyone’s life in danger (the rocket didn’t fly off the way it was supposed to, and almost exploded in one guy’s hand – luckily he threw it aside just in time). The following day I went tubing down the Gambia river, which was wildly fun! There was one are with a little dam that was terrifying to float through, but a little bit of danger always adds to the excitement. There is also sometimes a risk of encountering hippos in this river, which, if you think about it makes us all very stupid for jumping right on in, but there were no sightings and we all made it out uneaten. I have to admit, though, a little part of my stomach was aching the entire time out of nervousness – I’ve been prepared for bear attacks in the Northwest, being chased by alligators in Florida, and how to deal with jellyfish stings and snake bites - but I’ve never been told what to do in the event of a hippo appearance. Luckily I didn’t have to find out the hard way. All in all the weekend was a success, and I came home Wednesday good and tired. I haven’t slept so deeply in years! It’s because I had to wake up at 3:30 am to make the 10 hour trek home with one stop over, lots of rain, and lots of heat. I plan on sticking around Kaffrine for the time being, perhaps going to Kaolack only to get rent money and to refuel on books. Our house in Kaolack has turned into an oven, and will remain so until the end of the rainy season; also, we tend to get a very dirty lake in front of the house, and the whole city in general is pretty dirty when it rains, so it’s just not a place I want to be. Ramadan starts next month, and I will be fasting until I go up to Dakar to pick up the parents (woohoo!) at the end of the month. That will be quite an experience, and I’m excited to see what it’s like. I was here for Ramadan last year, but didn’t fast, because it’s hard enough adjusting to an entirely new place while learning a local language; I definitely didn’t need to add the strain of fasting. I plan on making lots of visits to people’s houses to break the fast with their families and just talk with people in general. There won’t be much work to do, as life slows down quite a bit for the month, so it’ll be a fun change of pace. Other than that, I can’t think of much more that needs updating. I apologize again for my silence. I have to admit, I have been sucked into the appealing world of hermitry, radio silence; it’s almost easier in a way to go about each day not worrying about what emails I have to write, or scared that if I go a week without getting online, my life will be over. That’s not at all the case, and my computer-less situation is a little liberating, though frustrating for those on the other end, I’m sure. Either way, by the end of August I’ll have a new computer with me and will be able to resume life as usual. I hope everyone is in peace and is enjoying what I assume to be beautiful summer weather. Sending out big hugs to all! Ba bennen yoon (Until next time)!

I just talked to my mom yesterday, and she said she's gotten some worried phone calls/emails concerning my lack of posting in the last couple of weeks.

Was I kicked out of Peace Corps for taking of my rose colored glasses? Did my family find out about what I said and refuse to feed me? Did Senegal find out about my last blog post and throw me in the slammer to teach me a lesson?! No, not in the literal sense, although I have to say, I certainly got a karmic slap on the wrist, I'm convinced, as punishment for the somewhat scathing criticism I most recently published.

As a matter of fact, I was on my way to Mboro after a long sojourn away from my Senegalese roots, to visit my first family in country. While I was waiting in Thies for our car to fill up, it seems that someone stealthily slipped their fingers into my backpack (which was in the trunk) and ran off with my computer, iPod, and toiletries bag. Retribution at its finest.

The loss is heavy, yes, but it could have been much worse. I'm happy with my pre-service self for having backed up all of my important documents and music at home, so I can recover everything but some of my work and photos created here. Such is life.

I must admit, I was further discouraged about Senegal after this material reassignment, and I'm still working on a full emotional recovery, but I've decided to not let myself be embittered toward this country or its people; I have too much time and too much work left for that. It's sad that I will always be seen as an easy target, but I can also work to protect myself by creating ties in the community and actively demonstrating that I am not some snooty French tourist who comes here to vacation and take advantage of low prices and imported knock-offs.

Unfortunately this means that I won't be able to write as profusely as I have been up to now, as my streamlined publishing system has been interrupted (I used to write my posts on my computer whenever I had free time, save them on a usb, then upload them whenever I found internet), but I will certainly be writing as much as I can. I've already felt the pangs of loss as I continually see funny things I'd like to relate to the world. I will find a way to get writing again!

Malgre tous, despite all of this, I had a wonderful time in Mboro. My family there is wonderful, and I never realized it because I could never understand what they were saying. This time around 8 months later (I'm a terrible daughter!), we were having full conversations, laughing, joking and overall enjoying each others' company. I will most definitely make efforts to get out there again soon.

Sorry again for the lack of communication! Please be patient and I will do my best to keep up my regularly scheduled programming.

Projecting all my love and happy thoughts out into the universe; may you open your hearts and feel it pouring into you.

*Disclaimer: This blog post was written at a time of frustration and does not reflect my overall feelings about Senegal or my service here. There are many good things that happen every day, and plenty of good souls who welcome me and treat me as one of their own, for better or for worse. So, let’s be honest about serving in the Peace Corps: there are days that all you can see are the little obnoxious cultural nuances that, while usually charming if not informative, are suddenly unforgivable and intolerable. I usually try to write my blog posts on days that I’m loving Senegal, with all its curiosities; but I’ve realized that part of my job as a cultural reporter is to give (relatively) objective snapshots of every aspect of the culture in which I have been immersed. This includes the bad stuff, and sometimes, you just really need to say it all anyways. With that it mind, we’re going to get down to the nitty-gritty and unearth all the things you won’t find in the lonely planet guide – no sugary love letters about Senegal today! Undesirable #1: Wolof People This actually covers a rather wide variety of my complaints, because I am in the heart of Wolof country, where no one’s feelings are spared. Generally speaking, the Wolofs that you know on a personal level are really great people who have had the unhappy fortune of growing up among, what I would argue objectively, the most abrasive people in the entire world. When I think of ‘Wolofs’, the image of one specific woman instantly pops into my mind. Her name is Ami, and she lives in my neighborhood. She is very tall and thin with a loud, nasal voice. If she comes over to our house, the instant she opens the door she is demanding something – food, water, gifts of other sorts. She saves her greeting for after she gets a few steps into our house, and never at any time in her parole is there anything resembling a request for these things. In fact, in Wolof, there really is no good way to ask for things; you just have to demand them. However, to avoid being considered rude here, you should put every effort into avoiding saying ‘no’ to anything (this means making commitments you knowingly can’t keep), and dealing with your anger at someone else passive-aggressively. Confrontation is rarely used as a means for resolving problems, and often minor affronts can snowball into large family, sometimes inter-family, feuds – just without the fun prizes at the end. If you offend someone, that someone will surely talk smack about you to other people, sometimes right in front of you. But they will never (exaggeration; rarely) approach you directly about their problem. Ami, after being given what she asks for, usually leftover lunch, starts talking while eating, mouth full of mashed up rice and fish. She makes mean jokes, mocks my grandfather in what is sure to be the only time she’s ever quiet, knowing that his hearing is not so good, and always asks me to give her some object of my outfit. Keep in mind, none of this is considered out of the ordinary by anyone here but me – in fact, people in my family seem to find her to be rather hilarious. As soon as she’s had her fill, she washes up, demands that I drop what I’m doing to give her cold water from the fridge that’s in my room, then moves on with her day, leaving our ears ringing with reverberations of her cackle long after she has closed the door on her way out. Other characteristics of Wolof people are: stating the obvious (oh, Mariame, you’re sleeping, huh?); pointing out any and all flaws (you’re really bad at Wolof); pretending to work while actually accomplishing nothing (this is largely on the male side, women typically do far more work than they should, in my opinion); believing that money is the source of all that is good in this world (Me: How are you? Wolof: I’m ok. I have no money, so I’m not in peace….bull honkey, I say!); inherent stupidity when it comes to operating modern technology (aka moto drivers driving as though they have a death wish every day), but this sometimes can’t be helped; and the list goes on. I’ll stop now so I don’t lose my audience. Undesirable #2: Sharing is Caring To a degree, sharing our possessions is a very positive social interaction, and leads to bonding and general social amiability, and is something we Americans tend to not do enough of. However, here in Senegal, everything is ‘up for grabs’. I put this in quotations because, usually you can get away with not actually sharing your things and avoid looking like a stingy jerk; but that doesn’t mean you’re ever free of the request for things, or of being expected to offer everything. If I wear an article of clothing that looks even slightly clean or new, invariably someone will ask me for it; if I travel and bring my family a little gift, there are at least two people who will come to my house within a day or two of my arrival and ask me for their share; if your friends are strapped for cash (or if they just say they are), often the toubab is the first person they think of for a loan, because, let’s face it, all white people cook their money up in a stew and eat it. There is a certain cultural trait that, before the advent of foreign aid, was likely a wonderful social welfare system, but has now morphed into one-sided greediness or stinginess, depending on what side you ask. Senegalese, and in fact, most African cultures are founded on the principle of universal community contribution as a way of assuring everyone’s survival and prosperity. Some aspects of this survive today – I could knock on any stranger’s door at lunch time and be given food no questions (or money) asked; but often this tradition of giving has be re-sculpted into a type of pressure to get newbies and tourists to part with their precious money. If I were to turn someone’s request down, I run the risk of being perceived as stingy, rude, uncaring, or ungenerous. This is amplified at holidays, weddings or baptisms, in which people spend an exorbitant amount of other peoples’ money to throw the biggest ‘party’ known to all man kind (see my ‘Tabaski’ post for the low-down on all Senegalese parties). In many volunteers’ experiences, this amounts to dozens of dollars, thousands of cfa, lost to family members who promise to repay, but who never do. In this instance when it is convenient to the family or community, we are accepted as members of the community, and as such, we are required to help out just like any other member of the community. This leads into … Undesirable #3: Racial Slurs I don’t think it is unfair to say that Senegalese people are racist. They make assumptions about people based on their skin tone. Everyone lighter than them is a wealthy toubab who is here to flaunt their riches, and everyone who is really dark is ugly and belongs to a class of people whose lineage runs back to slavery. As white people we are constantly subject to racial slurs that indicate that the people here reject us as inhabitants of their country – until they need our money, that is. By saying these things to us rather than giving us the standard polite greeting, they are saying, ‘ you’re not welcome here, give me everything you can, then get out of here’. The two most prominent of these slurs are ‘toubab’ and ‘xonk (pronounced honk) nopp’, which literally translated means ‘red ears’ but, I have been told, is the cultural equivalent of the ‘N’ word in America. Today, in fact, I passed a group of girls, around the age of 15 or so, who greeted me with a melody of ‘xonk nopp’s….wonderful. I make comments about toubabs getting together en masse and there are plenty of available punch lines that incorporate the word, but the reality is, it’s a way of separating me from the people standing next to me. Every time someone calls me ‘toubab’ they instantly create a divide between themselves and me. I try not to get mad at being called toubab, but I also limit any behavior that would encourage its use; I try not to respond to people who call me toubab, or, if I do, it’s with a ‘kid’, or ‘black person’, to show them that I think it’s silly of them to point out the obvious. When it comes to a ‘red ears’ comment, I either ignore it or make a scene of telling the person that they are rude and they should go back to their mothers. There are insults that are equally offensive that I could say to them, although it’s usually not advisable to engage people in that way, in any country. I’ve sometimes found that people use the term about me while talking to other people, not realizing I speak Wolof. When I confront them about it, in Wolof, they are taken aback and say, ‘I didn’t know you speak Wolof’! So, is it only acceptable to insult people when they won’t know they’re being insulted? People also try to play down its meaning to us (volunteers) when we call them out on it, but they all know how offensive that term is, and they say it deliberately. Even if people greet me with a ‘bonjour’ because they think I’m French, they’re still refusing to offer me the respect of the ‘asalaam maleykoum’ greeting. I know that people who greet me with a ‘bonjour’ are not as actively trying to point out the differences between them and me, but the fact remains that I am instantly perceived as an outsider who either doesn’t know or doesn’t deserve a more polite greeting. In very few instances would one Senegalese person greet another with anything but ‘asalaam maleykoum’, yet I can’t count on more than one hand the times I have received the typical, respectful Muslim greeting. If I want a polite greeting exchange to occur, I have to initiate it. Walking or riding my bike down the street, I am never immune to slurs and other mean comments. They vary from funny to extremely rude, and they are seemingly never ending. I get people who ask me to transport them on the back of my bike; give them my clothes or groceries if I have them; I get called ugly; I’ve seen people point me out to little children and instruct them to call me ‘toubab’; I get hissed at; I get people who demand that I buy them things, ranging from peanuts to a can of pop, to a bike; I get marriage proposals; I have to give all the details about my family, what neighborhood I live in, and in whose house I live; I’ve had people tell me that, in fact, I don’t live here in Kaffrine, when I’ve been asked where I live; and the list goes on. Intellectually I know that the ignorant and the rude people of the world are always the most outspoken, and that not literally everyone here wants me to leave; but on some days it is hard to keep the emotional side from taking over and letting me get angry at these people’s lack of common decency and appreciation for what I and my fellow volunteers have given up to come here. Undesirable #4: Punctuality (or rather, the lack of it) I know I’ve written about this before, but since we’re airing all the dirty laundry, it’s worth revisiting. People here seem incapable of being on time! Even the most well-intentioned, polite, competent people you come across here, who make lofty promises to be on time or –gasp! – early, usually arrive no less than a half an hour late. My only explanation for this is that punctuality is a uniquely western value that we place an extreme importance on. Deep in the annals of Senegalese (West African, really…this far back there was no Senegal vs. other countries) history, there were no such things as clocks or watches. You met up and did things before the sun rose, or after it started going back down. Whether this interfered with the efficiency of life or not wasn’t so important as simply avoiding working in the heat of the day. So, to this day, you simply can’t get a group of Senegalese people to accomplish any great tasks between the hours of noon and five pm. And if you ask them to show up at nine, for some reason it’s impossible to arrive before 9:30 – even though in all likelihood they woke up before 6:30 am. This particular trait hasn’t caused too much pain in my life. I’ve certainly been kept waiting, but from day one, that’s what I’ve expected, so I always come prepared. Somehow, I am able to find patience for tardiness, though I still can’t let myself go Senegalese on this one. I always have to be on time. Undesirable #5: Privacy…? In my particular case, this issue has been greatly improved over time, and I find moments of privacy here and there every day, but on a grand scale, it still doesn’t exist. Whether I’m deeply absorbed in work, reading, or a nap, I am never free from people wandering in and out of my room. This can be any one of the girls coming to complain, show me something, ask me for something, etc., or it is my mom coming in to get her veggies or water out of the fridge, or it is a guest knocking at my door asking for water. My fridge has been passed down from volunteer to volunteer for probably at least eight years. It is old, and must be tired, and I honestly would not be sad to see it churn out its last cold beverage during my service. Sure, I use it sometimes, but more often than not, if you were to open it up you’d see over a dozen bottles of water and a bowl of veggies on the shelves, and my small bag of coffee on the door and maybe some Tupperware of food. Even when I’m working at mine or someone else’s office, there is a constant parade of visitors just stopping by to say hi, always intrigued by the white girl, never seeming to noodle over whether I actually want to talk or not. Children here are natural spies, and they inform people of your whereabouts when you don’t even know they’re around. Somehow, people on the other side of town will know when I went to such-and-such a vendor in the market, what I bought and how much I paid. It is really a wonder how much people know about my comings and goings. Nothing I do here goes unnoticed, and as such I really have to make sure I’m always being appropriate and reflecting a good image of myself, the Peace Corps, and America. No pressure… Undesirable #6: Polygamy This is a topic that opens up a can of worms not only about an inherent pillar of Senegalese culture, but also about Islam, which can lead into intense religious debate. Because of this, I wish to keep this section short to avoid serious retaliation from concerned parties. However, polygamy is strongly supported and defended here in Senegal, and it is something that I have not yet come to terms with. I see its effects all the time, and just can’t let myself support what it means for women’s rights. Many of the defenses of polygamy that I hear are not religious related at all, but more based on the realities found here in Senegal. For example, the most common argument in favor of polygamy is that there are far more women than men here; how else would all these women find husbands unless the husband did his duty and took another wife? And what is the husband supposed to do if his wife is pregnant, sick or menstruating (yes, I’ve heard this)? Never mind that the population is just barely tilted towards the females, a roughly 49-51 split, men to women. The biggest cause of this misconception, in my opinion, is that men tend to marry women far younger than they, often crossing generations. This gives the appearance that women are more plentiful than men, despite the realities of the situation. The discussion on polygamy, and ultimately religion, tends to be one that Senegalese love to enter into with Americans, knowing how much we dislike this practice of their religion. I can only speak for myself, though, when I say that I try to avoid it, as it can lead to tension among peers. I am determined to never decide for another person what is best for them, though I also can’t support certain decisions, so I find it best to just leave these conversations unsaid and move to a more approachable, amenable middle ground. Conclusion: We come, we see, we don’t conquer, but we move on… There are some parts of the Senegalese – sometimes limited only to Wolof – culture that I think I may never understand. And the list of things that I’ve given here will continue to randomly attack my spirits, and that’s just a fact of being here as a foreigner. Luckily I can say that 9 out of 10 days, it’s pretty easy to forget all these things when I come home to a family that smiles when they see me; when I am thanked by a group of women for coming to help them; or when a class full of students gets up and dances to ‘Thriller’, which I brought them as part of an ‘American Culture’ lesson. I don’t think much that I do will greatly impact the way foreigners are seen or treated here, but I certainly work hard to undo rude behaviors whenever possible. Now everyone should come visit me!

As soon as I approach the school-yard, before I’ve even had a chance to dismount from my bike, the laser-eyes of hundreds of children are fixed on me. Though they often cannot find a pen laying unobscured on a tabletop, their aptitude for spotting a toubab is dead-on. They couldn’t miss me if they wanted to. I make my greetings and enter into the school grounds, find a place to park my bike, and hope that the kids don’t mess with the gears too much. It’s always hard to get your bike going again when the gears are the exact opposite of what you left them in.

I step into the doorway of the classroom and am instantly greeting by the screeching of chairs against the cement floor as the entire class stands up and says, in unison, “Bonjour Madame. Merci, Madame,” without necessarily waiting for a response from me. This perfectly timed salutary chorus does nothing but convince me that the schools here are not created for education; they’re here for making robot-children.

I begin teaching the lesson I had planned out, about the relationship between government and business here, and am happy to see that the kids are all really excited to answer the questions I ask them. The lesson goes well, and I think they understand why it’s important to pay taxes; but we may not know for sure for quite some time. We close the lesson by standing up and singing American songs. Initially we learned the “Itsy Bitsy Spider”, but we have now moved on to “Row Your Boat”. The words aren’t entirely clear, but the melody is there, and maybe next week we’ll try it in rounds. So, perhaps these children aren’t robots after all, laser-beam eyes and monotone recitations aside.

One thing I’ve become accustomed to here that I had never even seen (heard, rather) in America, is the braying of donkeys. When I first got to country, I would hear these crazy pained wails of donkeys, and every time my heart would break as I imagined its owner hitting the poor beast with a whip. No wonder Eeyore is always so sad! Eventually I came to realize that, contrary to my assumptions borne from a life absent of donkeys, they don’t make these noises when they’re anywhere near their owners; rather, they happen at odd moments as they’re sitting under trees, drinking water, or hanging out with friends. I actually think they bray out of joy, though no one would ever jump to the conclusion that that was a happy noise without any prior knowledge of donkey habits (much like my pre-Senegal self).

I often forget now that, before 9 months ago, I had never stepped within ten feet of a donkey, but now I find myself pushing my luck on my bike as I whiz down the streets, trying to bypass the slow donkey-carts before the next car comes down the opposite side of the street, sometimes coming within inches of a donkey’s protruding belly. Goats in windowsills, sheep riding on motos, and horses eating out of feedbags are also oddities that have become old-hat to me.

This only goes to show that our minds and bodies are remarkably adaptable, and that’s pretty dang cool.

It’s interesting to me how noticeable the transitions I experience here are. At almost every point in which I’ve stopped to look at where my life stands, and where it may be going, the outcome is different. When I first got here, I thought I’d be doing large training sessions about basic business classes and looking for an office for volunteers in Kaffrine; a little later on, I was convinced my work would take me to a women’s group outside of Kaffrine, allowing me a few days per week out of the busy market streets of town, and in the peaceful routines of the country. And now, as I take another moment to take stock, I find it’s all changed again.

Change is bound to happen, and I’m sure that if I had done a thorough job of evaluating my circumstances in America, I would have been able to pin point the changes there as well; but for some reason, transitions here are easier to see, label, evaluate. Perhaps it’s because my eyes are opening more and more to the realities of lives outside of the US; or because I have more time to absorb and digest my environment; or maybe changes happen more here than they did in America. I can’t deny that every day I spend here, something happens that I could not have foreseen. I can’t honestly say every day was like that in America.

The changes I’m talking about take all shapes and forms: prospects for projects here, the top objectives for my service, places I want to travel to, even the landscape – I arrived in the throes of the wet season, when everything was lush, green, flooded; and now when I go out every day, I am looking at a barren dessert. When the seasons change, there is no easy transition from one to the next, it’s all abrupt. One day it’s raining, the next it’s not, and it doesn’t for the next nine months. It’s a very interesting context for the way life here transitions in small ways. Yet, like the seasons each year, the overall pattern of life doesn’t change much, and in many ways, Kaffrine is the same now as it was 10 years ago, and will be just about the same 10 years from now.

This context of change has been keeping my mind busy lately, that is, when I find free moments to think. I think the root cause of this contemplation is the fact that I’ve now been here for 9 months, the better part of a year, and it’s remarkable to look back on my arrival and see the personal transitions that have taken place. It doesn’t feel like it could possibly 9 months ago that I stepped off the plane, because I can barely remember what’s happened between then and now. There was a time when I could barely speak Wolof? When the heat felt unbearable enough to go home? When my family still looked at me and treated me as a stranger, rather than one of the ranks? You say these things are true, yet I find it hard to believe…

The biggest change, and point of most personal pride, that I’ve noticed is that at some point, I couldn’t hope to say when, Senegal became home to me, and I feel capable of handling myself in any situation. Most importantly, I feel capable of adequately showing guests around. Until some unknown moment in time, the thought of having to show people around, get friends and family through the shark pits that are markets here, the unreliable (sometimes terrifying) transportation system, used to make me nauseous. Now, it seems entirely do-able – difficult and tiring yes, but absolutely worth the joy of uniting my old and new lives. That has always been my personal gauge of integration: could I do this with my family, who speak no French or Wolof, in tow? Now, the answer is a resounding, yes! I guess this is why they require a two-year commitment from Volunteers. We couldn’t hope to get half as much done in one year as we can in two. So this crazy system is starting to make more sense.

The forward movement I’ve experienced is all well and good, but I’m left with one nagging question: If all of this change is happening here, in a place where change doesn’t really come about quickly or notably, what am I going to do when I get back to the good ol’ USofA after having allowed two years (which may as well be two light years in the Senegalese context) of change to pass?!

Although I’m not in any hurry to get out of Senegal, and there are still many months before my return, I’m going to throw this out there now: I’m going to need lots of help from my more America-savvy friends and family when I get back. I think I’ll just be completely lost, so you’ll all have to be patient with me, throw me pointers if I’m being accidentally offensive, and pardon any weird habits I come back with. Thanks in advance.

On a less abstract note, not a whole lot has been happening here outside of the daily routine. I’ve started working with the organic sorghum people, am still visiting school gardens every week to make sure they’re moving along, and will be starting business lessons with a women’s group that is soon to start a garden. Otherwise, it’s all about keeping cool in the heat, slowing ticking away the days until the rainy season, when all things green will burst out of their hiding places, doing a lot to beautify my quaint little home. I can’t wait!

I would also like to break the norm and give a shout-out to my mom, who graduated from Washington State University on the 14th. Congrats MOM! I'm so happy that you have finally made this dream a reality. I love you tons, and hope your quest for knowledge continues :)

Thinking beautiful thoughts of everyone, much love…

Where did last week go?! In my mind’s calendar, I could swear it has only been a week since I wrote my last post, yet my desk calendar seems to suggest otherwise. In fact, it has been two weeks! I’ve been racking my brain all morning to try to explain this phenomenon known as ‘flying time’. There doesn’t seem to be much logic to this speedy retreat of time, yet I know plenty of people who experience it. Perhaps someone can try to explain this to me?

My past two weeks have been full of a bunch of running around finished with a wonderful Easter weekend at a friend’s island site. Don’t get too excited at that phrase, folks; I’m sure that this island is much different that what you all picture at the mention of an ‘island getaway’: clear blue water, white sand, no mainland to be seen on the horizon, and a beach-front bar with coconut shells as cups with little colored umbrellas sticking out the top. No, no, this was not my island vacation, but I’ll get to that shortly.

I became very familiar with the banking system here in Senegal last week. After my whirlwind tour of Senegal, I was given a reimbursement check for my expenses, which, for volunteers, is like the monetary kiss of death. Most of us do not have banks at our sites, and have to travel for any number of hours to get to a place that does have a bank. In my case, mercifully, I only have an hour’s car ride into Kaolack to conduct my banking business.

I, however, try to stay in Kaffrine during the week because, in working with schools, we have committed to visiting each school once a week to check on their progress. We don’t like to do every school in one day, so we spread our visits out; thus being here during the week is rather important.

I made a total of three trips to Kaolack to get my banking in order; the first was an attempt attached to the tail end of a normal visit there, so it was less painful for me. But I went to my bank, waited for my number to be called, and when I got to the banking window, the clerk took one look at my check and told me “you’re in the wrong place. You have to go to the other bank to cash this.” Excuse me? My check was issued from another bank, and apparently, they can’t be cashed elsewhere. I asked her if she couldn’t deposit it into my account? “Yes, we can do that, but you have to go to that other woman over there,” as I look to where she’s pointing, I see a line of at least 15 people and my heart drops. I had every intention of getting home well before dark, and we were encroaching on the mid afternoon. Even though I’m only an hour from Kaolack (driving time), the process of getting door to door can take twice, sometimes three times that long, so it’s a bit of an ordeal. I was tired anyways, and knew I’d be coming back the following Saturday to record my radio show, so I gave it up.

When Saturday rolled around, I woke up before dawn just so I could get to Kaolack and be the first one to the bank in the morning, to be done with this terrible chore. I make my way to the bank, not the first one there, but without much of a line, and instantly talk to a woman at a different counter. I tell her I want to deposit my check, she shakes her head in a definitive ‘no’. My shoulders droop as I hear her say that check deposits can’t be done on Saturdays, Monday through Friday only. Seriously!? I wanted to lecture to her, to plead her to be sympathetic to my cause, to understand what I had already done to get this damned piece of paper off my hands! I wanted to raise my voice and point out all the bureaucratic faults of this nation, make clear to her why it really isn’t that hard to deposit checks on Saturdays, and generally cause a scene that everyone around me would go home and tell their families about; but at that moment, I couldn’t think of any of the right words in French or Wolof, and ranting in English would accomplish only one thing – making me look insane. I channeled my inner Buddhist, took a few deep breaths and let it go. I would be coming back again, and next time I would make sure it was on a weekday.

Finally, on my third attempt – a Wednesday; I thought if I came in the very middle of the week I would have an adequate buffer of days to ensure that I would get my misson: impossible accomplished – I was met with success. I had gone to Kaolack Tuesday night, woken up at 6:00 am in order to go through my morning wake-up routine in time to get to the bank by opening time. At 8:15 I walked in the doors, walked to the correct desk, exchanged friendly greetings with the woman who finally agreed to take this little nuisance out of my hands, and by 8:25 I was walking back out the doors to go relax after a job well done. This is not entirely untrue of everything here; it takes several tries and infinite patience to get almost anything done, especially if what you need to get done carries any level of personal importance.

Now, to elaborate on my Easter celebration: south of Dakar you will find a very large river delta. It is in this delta that much of the tourist activity occurs in Senegal, because the area is, objectively, one of the most beautiful places in Senegal, and is relatively easy to get to, compared to other beautiful places here. Tucked away in the middle of that delta is a little island named Mar Lodj, where an Eco-Tourism volunteer has led a very peaceful, sea-blasted life for the past year and a half.

It is there that I went with another friend and spent two nights reveling in the blissful quiet of an island where there are no cars, trains, or big parties. It was a last-minute trip, and I decided to go because my mom had nixed my idea to take my three sisters to church here in Kaffrine. I think she said ‘no’ because my grandfather would have had some strong words to say about that (he’s very strictly Muslim).

So on Friday night, after having gone to a wedding nearby with some other PCVs (where, as it happens, I danced like a Senegalese wild woman and earned myself some fabric!), I made my way into Kaolack so I could get an early start towards the island. Through a series of cars, buses and boats, I made my way to the little paradise, and the three of us spent the evening hanging out together and with the family of the volunteer who lives there. Everyone there is so wonderfully nice, and because of the tourism industry, is used to seeing white people around, so we didn’t get ‘toubab-ed’ at all. At night there was absolutely no noise aside from the wind whirling softly around the windows, and the sound of the water lapping up onto shore in peaceful rhythm.

For Easter, we went to the church, which is shaped like a very large hut. I like that about it; it’s like they’re embracing the roots of the parishioners, rather than trying to turn them into good Western Catholics (this island is predominantly Catholic). The service was very well done, and the singing was beautiful, accompanied by fast-paced drumming. The one thing that was amiss with the scene was that there were as many white people as Senegalese. Living in a place where I am by far outnumbered and usually the only white person around, I was actually uncomfortable. I couldn’t accept that these people really appreciated the culture, and was especially disappointed to see women in short shorts and tank tops. That is not appropriate in any setting, least of all in a church on a very important holiday. For the first time since coming here, I wished there weren’t any westerners around. That was an interesting sensation.

Despite that, I very much appreciated the service, which was done in French and Sereer, and was glad to have gone. The rest of the day was spent socializing with locals and hanging out with each other. We had a special glass of Pastis, because of the occasion, and just meandered through the day with no particular agenda. That night we made macaroni and cheese with Vache Qui Rit (Laughing Cow) cheese and just sat and talked.

The next morning we were off the island after breakfast, back to real life. It was a very quick trip, but so relaxing that it felt like I had been gone a week. It was also fun to further advance my campaign to see all of Senegal, and I continue to be amazed at how different each area of this country is. Next up on the list is Kedougou, in the south, for the 4th of July.

Happy belated Easter to those who celebrate, and for those who don’t, I hope it was a peaceful Sunday. Big hugs from across the ocean!

I don’t believe I’ve mentioned this aspect of Senegalese culture very often, if at all, but it is a major one that deserves some spotlight. And as I went to my first wrestling match this past weekend, this is an ideal time to talk about it! There is a rather large wrestling circuit in Senegal, and, I believe, in West Africa; wrestlers vary from children into the streets all the way up to celebrity professionals on a wrestling career track. Much like soccer is to South America, wrestling is to Senegal. Everyone gathers around any available TV or radio to share in the anticipation and excitement of the next match. First, we’ll go over the basic technical aspectsof wrestling. It’s very simple, really, and often matches last less than five minutes; but essentially, the object is to get three of your opponent’s limbs onto the ground. That can be either two knees and an elbow, or two elbows and a knee. There is only one round, so whoever goes down first is the loser, no questions asked. There is a low of showboating that goes along with this as well; it’s quite a spectacle. Firstly, the wrestlers enter the ring after the crowd has been pumped up with some traditional drumming. They come in very slowly, wearing some sort of robe, followed by an entourage of young men shouting motivational phrases. The crowd goes wild as they remove their robes to reveal a rather scantily clad body underneath. The traditional wrestling uniform is what I would liken to a loincloth, but made out of leather, along with some protective bracelets or anklets (known as gri-gris). After liberating themselves from the bonds of clothing, they stomp around the ring, do warm-ups, douse themselves in specially blessed liquid concoctions (I have it on good authority that these mixtures do not smell nice), and basically find any way to express their superiority of muscle and skill. This goes on for several minutes, if not up to a half hour or more, and all the while the spectators are walking around showing off their beautiful new clothes, hairdos and dancing skills in front of the drums. After a lot spectacle, the whistle finally blows, and the wrestlers get down to it. Everything starts off calmly as they feel each other out, throw sand onto their bodies (not sure why they do that), and smack each other around a little. Outright hitting is not allowed, but they swat at each other to get a reaction and provide some entertainment. After any length of time they actually start the wrestling, although the wrestlers are so sturdy that, from the spectator’s view, it looks like they’re just standing still, possibly hugging in a strange way. But really, they’re pushing against each other with all their force and straining to get those knees onto the ground. Eventually one of them hits a weak point, moves too soon, or just gets tired, and they start really pushing and pulling. Once this part of the match happens, it’s a quick jump to finding the winner. Someone makes a false move, or just proves to be the weaker of the two, and then the match is over. The winner is announced, and is allowed to advance to the next level, while the loser leaves the rink, either quietly or in a highly dramatic fashion. Several matches occur, depending on the tournament size, and after an hour or two the wrestling is over, the winner takes the prize (either cash or a cow), and the soirée starts. All the young people who came to watch rush into the ring and show off their awesome dancing skills, socialize, and have an all-around good time. This party lasts till the wee hours of the morning, and so on wrestling weekends, everything moves a little more slowly as everyone recovers from the rigors of the night before. Typically the Sereer ethnic group is most actively involved in wrestling, but I believe that anyone is welcome to join the circuit if they are skilled enough. I happened to be in a Sereer village last weekend, which is why I was able to witness this class of entertainment first hand; although I definitely did not have the energy to stay up all night dancing with the Senegalese teens. Maybe next time. The most famous wrestlers that I’m aware of are Yekini and Tyson. They are both massive men who compete with each other for the title of champion each year. They are ubiquitously known celebrities, and I’m guessing they enjoy all the perks that a rock star would have in America (fewer illicit substances, though, I’m guessing). People are particularly vocal about their love for these guys on match days. When there is a match on TV you’ll know it; everything goes quiet during the warm up, and as soon as someone downs the other guy, the entire city bursts in to uproarious cheers and celebration. It’s really fun to hear everyone so excited, even though I’ve never been a part of the TV audience on any such occasion. As you see in the pictures above, these guys are huge! You can also do your own research for videos, if the mood strikes, just to give an idea of what it all looks like in action. If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll get to see the real thing some day! Happy weekend to everyone, I hope it is well spent and relaxing. Peace and love to all!

After last week’s post, I’m afraid I don’t have such exciting news to report this week. In fact, I can’t believe it’s already been a week since I last posted! Since coming back to Kaffrine from my whirlwind trip, I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting on some of the discussions I had, and people I saw. I feel like I got a very clear view of the different areas of Senegal, and, in going from one to another so quickly, it’s a marvel that all the regions of this country are considered to be one country. In fact I wonder why they all live under the flag of the Republic, and that calls into review the way Senegal came together. In that vein, the theme of this week’s post will be the development of Africa. Since the Western world first became aware of the ‘plight’ of Africans, being good Christians, we’ve (the collective ‘we’ being the Western world) wanted to do something to help out. Initial reports found that Africa simply had no money, so our first response was to throw money at any country, village, or tribe that could prove a need for it. We hoped it would be properly distributed into those who needed it most, managed well and utilized in such a way that the money would build on itself and create wealth. That was terribly easy, proving a need, seeing as no one had any money to begin with. Another first reaction to the destitution in Africa was to dump surplus food into countries that had starving populations, intending to feed them well for one season so they could build muscle, then go out and work hard to produce their own food. In these actions and more, we intended to give a jump start to a region that desperately needed it, in order to allow them the chance to get motivated and ‘make it happen’ for themselves. Well, we all know what they say: the road to you-know-where is paved with good intentions. Fast forward several decades, and you’ve got countries engaged in civil wars, people still starving, corrupt leadership, and governments complaining that the western world still isn’t doing enough; and a young Senegalese child whose first reaction on seeing me is sticking out his hand and demanding 100 francs. Is that all we’ve managed to do in all this time – teach kids how to stick out their hands? The money problem, the starvation, the vastly different regions falling under one republic; it all comes down to a few key factors, most relevant among them (in my opinion) is Western powers meddling in issues of which they have no relevant knowledge or practical expertise. I’m no so cynical as to blame all of the problems of Africa on foreign influence – to lump Africa together is a fatal error (one which was made many times over) that is useless; and I’ve also seen plenty of capable young men and women doing absolutely nothing with their time, except complaining about all the things they’re missing in their lives. However, I do think we’ve had our noses in other people’s business for too long, and I feel that we do not have the appropriate understanding or context for doing the things we do in the name of making the world better. We also aren’t encouraging innovation, effort and modesty of our possessions in our aid work abroad – three hallmarks of Western life, and, objectively, three key reasons we have experienced development to such a high degree. We worked our butts off for what we’ve got, and for that, we are proud and want to keep what we worked so hard for. That sense of ownership and pride is absent here, at least in Senegal, and is one reason that few people have motivation to make their world better. I’ve theorized about why there is no motivation to be found, and I’ve come up with a few possibilities. Most likely it is not simply one or the other, but a combination of factors; and certainly, many of those factors have escaped the realm of my thought, but are relevant nonetheless. I think one key factor is the arbitrary delineation of boundaries on the part of colonizing empires. In West Africa, that would be the French, but in other areas the Portugese, Belgians, English, Dutch and others are culpable. There is little interest in helping move your nation forward because there is no identification with one’s countrymen. The interests of the cow-herding Pulaars of the north-east are vastly different from the peanut-farming Wolofs in the central regions. However, these elements weren’t taken into consideration (at least not very well) when the colonial powers that be played chess with their conquered territory. Another major inhibitor to development and general motivation is the gap that already exists between the goals of the government and the realities of the vast majority of its constituents. In Dakar, the president has started building a new airport and recently unveiled plans for a massive ‘cultural complex’ complete with a history museum, while some villages around the country have to deal with total water inundation that destroys roads and leaves them inaccessible during the rainy season. Some people still don’t have access to clean water or education, and there is still plenty of illness out there that can easily be dealt with, given the proper governmental direction. Historical and cultural centers are great, but the basic needs of every citizen must be assured before such luxuries become an objective of any government. Lastly, beneficiaries of foreign aid are, in large part, not taught how to deal with the sudden rush of wealth given them by others. Someone says they need money to assure that their kids get medication they desperately need, yet so often, that money goes to buying more food, better food, or towards home improvements and other life luxuries. Despite the fact that X amount of money was given for the specific use of medication, people here will by and large spend free money on what they see as most important. Given that this person is either an adult who can conceive of many other problems besides a sick child, or a politician who sees the world through a narrow, ego-centric scope, the well-intended money does not go where it is most needed. Additionally, say the money does go where it was intended and does help some child in the bush recover from an illness. Great. Now, the next time a kid gets sick, who will the parents turn to? They now know that someone else cares enough for that child to give them money to buy expensive medicine; why not ask again? In no time, the expectation, rather than the exception, is a hand out from some foreigner with lots of money. And in turn, any foreigner who shows up is viewed as someone with lots of money, and is expected to do what? Give handouts. This is a bleak perspective on development, I know. We all have genuinely good intentions and want to give others the chance to live as we do. Luckily, I think word is starting to spread that the methods we’ve used up to this point just aren’t working, and people are actively seeking new ones. I was very encouraged by the level of discussion that was had between motivated and empowered Senegalese men as I was on my tournée with them; they seemed to understand that it was up to them, as citizens of Senegal, to take matters into their own hands to make real change. Though there were things they said that I don’t agree with, they have real determination to stop relying on handouts and start relying on their own abilities. Saying all this calls into question my presence here in Senegal. As it stands now, I feel that what I’m doing most effectively is creating cultural exchange. I’m providing a view of the Western world that goes against everything the Senegalese learn on TV: I’m poor, I live humbly, I have an adventurous and exploratory disposition, and I have to work hard for what I want. Although I try to teach business concepts where possible, I honestly feel like Senegal has been given about as much information as it needs, and now is the time for action. I honestly don’t think Peace Corps presence is necessary here anymore, and I believe we are hindering progress by acting as a crutch. Luckily, we don’t give out money, and therefore I think the Peace Corps model is among the strongest of the aid agencies; but even by just being here, without giving any training whatsoever, we are injecting huge sums of money into the Senegalese economy. Therefore, we are still indirectly lending a hand for Senegal to hold. That being said, I am extremely happy to be here, and will continue to spread my knowledge in any way I can and in any way that is needed. I believe in being here in the spirit of sharing myself and my world with others, so I don’t lament, regret or resent coming to Senegal. However, I have most certainly learned that when I read about development, those numbers and statistics must be taken with a grain of salt. It is imperative that agencies look like they’re doing something with all that money, and even the most accurate numbers-report cannot reflect the indirect effects of aid. We should by no means stop helping each other, but we absolutely should be knowledgeable and questioning in selecting how we go about it. Any thoughts on development from the American side?

Sometimes we have to stop and look around and ask ourselves what decisions it were that we made that brought us to where we are right now. Some of these instances are less enjoyable, like a bad date that you have no interest in. You’re half listening to the person sitting across from you; you’re pretending to be listening to what they are saying, trying your best to convince your taste buds that this spaghetti is delicious, all the while mentally going through each false step that could have led you here.

Other instances, this thought occurs to you as an awakening, a breath of fresh air. You suddenly step out of a haze and emerge into the clear crisp sky, look around, and appreciate everything about your life, because it is precisely everything in your life, nothing more and nothing less, that brought you to this wonderful place in which you stand now.

I had a moment (of the good variety) today as I was in an air-conditioned car jetting from Tambacounda to Ourissogui with four guys who are a part of a USAID organic sorghum project. They want to recruit Senegalese sorghum farmers to organic farming – or in the eyes of the farmers, the more traditional farming methods of their pre-pesticide forebears – in order to meet the demands for organic sorghum in Europe. If they can successfully connect the farmers with the buyers, everyone will gain from the transaction.

I found myself in this plush carriage in a very quick turnaround of events. Two days before I left on this trip I was contacted by a PCV with an invitation to join a team that was going up north to do a training session on what it means to be organic. They thought it’d be good for me to tag along so I could see exactly what they’re all about, so as to have some background for whatever work may lay ahead of me. If I were to work with them, I would be helping manage a vast database of information that tracks the status of all the farmers involved, and I would also be working with farmers in Kaffrine to help them keep their information updated. I won’t actually be working in the north, but that’s where the training happened to be, so there I went.

During our time traveling together so far, the conversation has been wonderful. Debates abound about the need for development in Africa, how development is defined, and whether development agencies are doing more good or bad. It was extremely interesting to hear the perspectives of several educated locals, relating to the balance between moving forward towards good, but also maintaining the special character that makes Senegal, Senegal.

At one point, as I was listening to a debate launched from a question that I posed, I had to think back to Anna Karenina. There is a scene in which two adults on the edge of falling into a dangerous liaison encounter each other at court. The tension among other members of court is palpable, and their feelings of awkwardness begin to morph the conversation into a false one, with the courtiers trying to cover the inappropriateness of the situation with a surplus of gaiety.

The hostess, a countess, artfully intervenes in the conversation between the man and woman in question, and with grace that never falters, steers the conversation back to a more appropriate topic. Tolstoy describes a good hostess as one who can do just that – lead the conversations of her guests in such a way that everyone is involved and intrigued, but do not cross the line of politeness set down by the rules of society.

I can’t say that I saved any conversations from falling into the depths of impropriety, but at several turns, questions that I saw as innocently curious sparked conversations that went on for quite some time; I was delighted to learn the perspectives of these men, but also privately content at the thought of me hosting the Russian court of the 1850s. I have to say, I believe I could artfully achieve hosting success!

All in all, the tour de Senegal was enlightening to me for many reasons. I got to see a very large portion of the country, including St. Louis, the former capital, and all the towns situated on the circuit of the Route National 1; and I had a grand old time sitting in the middle seat listening to the constant back and forth debates among locals who are really working for change here. I believe it’s people like them, not me or any other foreign aid worker, who will bring Senegal to where it really wants to be.

Now I’m sitting in Dakar (some of this was written a few days ago) enjoying the company of some fellow PCVs, reflecting on my tour and mentally exploring all the possible opportunities that may come from my involvement with this project. I really can’t give any more details than that, but will gladly give updates as they come. I’m excited to have a work project with a workable goal and structure to support the work that I do.

Otherwise, I have been feeling really happy here, and have been able to stop focusing on all the annoying things that separate Senegal from home, and instead find excitement at all the prospects that lay before me. I have friends in Kaffrine, and every time I leave it gets easier and easier to go back. It feels so wonderful to have that sense of comfort with my surroundings, especially considering I never thought it would come. So it’s nothing but sunny skies over Senegal. Alhamdoulilahi!

Lots of love…

How is it that another week has gone by already? It feels like I just sat down to write an update, yet here I am again, a week later, giving my report. I have to think a lot to even know what has transpired this week. We’ll say the ‘reporting period’, as it were, began last Wednesday after I posted my last blog. I’d count Wednesday and Thursday as my weekend, because from Friday through Tuesday was nothing but work. It started out with me going to a neighboring village, Ngodiba, to help another volunteer paint murals onto her health post. I left Kaffrine fairly early to take a horse-drawn cart the five kilometers to her site, and we started the drawing and painting right away. I worked there all day Friday and through lunch Saturday. It’s hard work painting murals, especially under the scorching sun with snarky high-schoolers lurking in close proximity. But it was a fun project, and it’s very rewarding as a SED volunteer to be able to see exactly what you’ve accomplished in a day, especially when they’re beautiful murals! After lunch on Saturday I rode back to Kaffrine to meet up with Susan to buy all the provisions necessary for our school gardening training. In Senegal, when giving seminars, it is appropriate to provide a “pause café” – mid-morning break with coffee and bread – and lunch with the various accoutrements therein. That was a pretty easy chore and didn’t take more than an hour, which left me some time to get a little bit of cultural experience in before dinner. As I have mentioned before, my counterpart and some women working under him have recently begun giving AIDS causeries around Kaffrine in attempting to bring this issue to the forefront among the younger generations. In this vein, they organized a neighborhood party with music and giveaways about AIDS. When I stopped by my office on Wednesday (?) they were all harassing me saying that I just had to come, and that my presence would have a huge impact on the success of the event. So, despite being covered in paint, sweat and dirt, I went to this little fête and hung around for a half hour or so. Anyone who knows me from my childhood days through middle school, and somewhat even into adulthood, will be very proud to know that I got up and danced in the middle of a large circle of teenagers for several minutes. I even got a mini dance-party started! I’m achieving personal growth in leaps and bounds - or maybe, steps and hip-shakes – during this Peace Corps service. Sunday was all about gathering gardening tools and other preparatory items and taking them to the school where we did the training. We took a horse-drawn cart with all of our baggage to the school, and the driver (intentionally, I believe) took us right through the middle of the market, where there were many laughs and demands for money. I think he felt a little bit like a celebrity. Monday and Tuesday were the days of the training, and having debriefed afterward, Susan and I decided it was a success. The goal of the training was to train teachers the gardening techniques that they would need to successfully pull off a school garden, as well as to give them some ideas for lessons they could incorporate into their classes that use the garden as context for important knowledge. For example, with a school garden, the students can learn health/nutrition, business, science, math, geography, and much more. Overall the teachers were engaged and involved, and seemed excited to get the gardens going in their classes. We even had three school directors present, and the city inspector of schools gave the opening remarks for the training. We found that having the inspector there legitimized the training, and we think that gave us some solid credibility among the teachers involved. High fives for us! After all the effort that went into this training, I have awarded myself some rest time. I’m going to train a couple of women in how to use the internet, but for the next few days, I have liberated myself from work duties, and I intend to clean, read, and hang out with my family.In the coming week, it’s back to Kaolack to deep clean the Peace Corps house, and who knows what else? I’m trying to make a point of not planning too far ahead anymore, because things change so quickly that you can’t rely on many plans. I’m also trying to incorporate my Buddhist training from last January by living in the present, not focusing too much on what lies ahead. If I don’t look around now, I might miss something important! Unfortunately this week I don’t have too many deep cultural insights. I’m getting little bits and pieces every day, but the major revelations are coming less frequently now. I’ve definitely experienced some of the work-related frustrations of Senegalese culture, such as timeliness, and an incessant lust for money; but there were no earth-shattering awakenings this week. I guess one earth-shattering event per week might lead to some dire results, wouldn’t it? From that perspective, I’m happy when things can stay fairly stable. A little excitement here and there is wonderful to keep things lively, but there is value in the calm as well. I suppose this is where I’ll end it for now. As always, may peace be upon each and every one of you! Love from Senegal

As I mentioned in my previous blog post, this past weekend I went to a wedding in Senegal. It was my first taste of weddings here, and it was great fun. The wedding was between a local and a volunteer who will be leaving Senegal within the next couple of months. Apparently they had been dating throughout her service, and it seems she just couldn’t leave without him! He’ll go to the States with her when she leaves. There was a group of about 35 volunteers, mostly from the Kaolack region, who went to the wedding. We added a distinct American flavor that you wouldn’t normally find at a wedding here, but that’s only natural. We rented an alham (that bus-like thing I wrote about in the transportation post), and we actually had more people than seats. Don’t tell anyone at PC headquarters, but there was some lap-sitting going on. We arrived at around 12:30 pm, and pretty much sat around all afternoon. We interacted some with the villagers, greeted her host family and gave congratulations, but the rest of the time was spent meandering or sitting. Lunch was purportedly to be served around 2:00, however we didn’t actually eat until 8:30. Unfortunately we were rather lethargic most of the afternoon, because we didn’t think to bring snacks and we all ate breakfast around 8:30 am; but there was still some dancing and drumming that happened, and for the most part spirits stayed high. At one point there was a procession in which the bride walked to every compound in the village and greeted the families. That was really cool to see, because she was escorted by various women important to her life in village, and some drummers. It was a really slow, because they stopped at every house, and occasionally would stop mid-step to have a mini dance-off. But everyone was very happy, and I thought the bride looked remarkably calm throughout the entire day. To me that means she knows this is the absolutely the right thing to do. Mid-afternoon brought a trip to the mosque for the men, where there were apparently plenty of speeches about the unity of the new couple, and the joy the villagers felt that this marriage symbolized the equality between Americans and Senegalese. We’re not quite sure if a bride-price was exchanged at this meeting or not, though there is speculation. During this time, all the women stayed under any shade they could find, and we were offered frozen juice to keep cool, which was heavenly. After the trip to the mosque, the marriage became official, at which point the party started. There was a mixture of live drumming and recorded Senegalese top hits, and I had a great time getting my groove on. I was dancing mostly with kids, but after a while I found myself quite a fan club. At one point when I was resting, two little girls came and grabbed my hand and pulled me back onto the dance floor so I would dance with them some more. Despite my low energy, their enthusiasm kept me going and I had a blast. At the end of the night, as a gift to the bride, her two closest friends gave a little thank you speech, then all of the volunteers came onto the dance floor to teach the Macarena – because what’s a wedding without the Macarena, right? All the locals thought it was SO funny, although none of them came and joined us like we wanted them to. Not long after that, we were all on our last reserves of energy, so we said our goodbyes, piled back into the alham and made our way back to Kaolack. We made it home around 2 am, and I’ve never heard the house so quiet. Everyone went straight to bed, and slept with happy wedding dreams. All in all, it was a successful day. Most of the past week was spent in Kaolack. I needed to get into little America for a while to make some skype calls and just give myself a mental break. I didn’t necessarily accomplish much work while there, but I had also promised myself not to stress too much over work things, knowing that I needed a break. I stressed a little anyways, but that’s just how I am. Maybe by the time I’m done here I will have learned to take a break, eh? Now that I’m back in Kaffrine, I’m making final preparations with Susan for our training session on Monday and Tuesday for school gardens. Hopefully right after spring break the teachers we train will start their gardens, and there will be some growth before the year is out! Inchallah. I’ll also be doing a training session with a women’s group outside of Kaffrine on Friday, which should be fun. I’ll be spending the night with a volunteer there and helping her with some murals too. In no time it’ll be back to Kaolack for a going-away party and a deep clean of the house. With 50+ people sharing one house, things tend to get disorderly, and on high-traffic days, it’s as though the house can’t possibly be clean. We’ve decided to purge it of any unlabeled and unnecessary items, bleach the floors and walls, label things and generally spiff it up before the next batch of volunteers arrives. We’ll have even more people running around Kaolack after the next 3 groups come in, and it will be a little crazy. But crazy is the nature of a Kaolack volunteer J So those are the mundane updates that are most relevant to me at the time. I’m also taking on the task of reading Anna Karenina, by Tolstoy. I’m equally excited and terrified at the prospect, because it’s a dang big book, but it’s one I’ve wanted to read for a while now. It will slow me down on my quest for 100 books in two years, but I’d take quality over quantity any day. Hope all is well out in the world. I’m putting all my love out into the universe, all you have to do is reach up and grab it!

Saturday was a big dose of culture for me. It started out fairly normally, with me going into my office to get some work done, but after lunch I was introduced to a process that I had never seen before. The people who work in the mini-organization of which my counterpart is president and with whom I share said office have begun working in the sphere of AIDS awareness. They have developed causeries (do we say that in America? I can’t remember…but if not, they’re basically info sessions) and trained some young trainers to go out into their communities and talk about AIDS. One of the young men who is doing these info sessions invited me to go to his and see how it’s done. So, there I went, with another young trainer and we watched how it happened.

The first valuable lesson for me was that Senegalese people show up late to events no matter who organizes them. People don’t come late just because this random toubab girl invited them – no, they take their fashionably late arrivals very seriously on every occasion. As such, we didn’t start talking until 5:05 pm, although the causery was meant to begin at 4:00 pm (nothing happens here between the hours of 1:00 and 4:00 pm, because lunch/post-lunch tea takes forever, and it’s just too dang hot).

But tardiness is not the cultural immersion I was referring to; I pretty much already knew about that. What was really cool was to see young people opening up a discussion about an extremely sensitive topic with other young people. There was definitely some shyness in regards to audience participation at first, but at the first causery I went to, there was one young man who was really talkative, and asked a lot of questions. After some teeth-pulling, the young women who were present began to open up too.

From my general understanding, AIDS in Senegal is only a little more prevalent than it is in America, so this isn’t necessarily a direly necessary cause to undertake. But to me, what’s encouraging is seeing that it’s possible for the younger generation to open up, and also take charge of their own enlightenment. There is a very visible difference between the older and younger generations, and it will be interesting for me to follow how things change as people my age and younger begin to take over prominent positions in Senegal.

After this session, I went to see another causery near my house, run by another woman in my office. She had finished her discussion already by the time we got there, thanks to our late start, but when I got there, I found a huge group of high-school aged teens sitting attentively around this woman – Fatou. She introduced me and asked me to add anything pertinent about AIDS, and naturally I was terrified, because a) I don’t know enough to add anything worthwhile to what she said, and b) speaking in Wolof to a group of teenagers is not what I’d call a day at the beach. So I just told them that abstinence and fidelity are really important, and that in order to have a bright future, they have to take care of themselves. They were all very gracious, an atypical trait of most Wolof high-schoolers.

They also asked me if I could talk to their group about the prospects for the future, maybe give them some business training, or any other sort of training I could offer. The president gave me his number and a flyer detailing their group’s purpose, and I was immediately impressed.

The flyer said that they are a group that wants “prepare our future and participate in the development of our neighborhood”. The even have rules posted right there about fees and attendance. To date, this is the most organized group of teens I have ever seen here, and, based on first impressions, they seem to have a really fluid system in place. If I got the chance to just sit and talk with them, and offer relevant work/life advice as is necessary, I would be so happy. I think real change comes with the youngest generations, and if I can work with them and influence them to make positive changes, I’d be very happy. And it wouldn’t hurt to have a group of teens who don’t want to make fun of me running around Kaffrine :P

After all this, I came home and found a big group of people at my house doing Koranic studies. This mostly consisted of alternately singing in Arabic (I think?) and praising Allah in Wolof. I sat off to the side and watched, because I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to fully participate, but it was a cool example of social gatherings here. Everyone was really happy to be there, and very enthusiastic about the singing and religious theme. Even my host mom, who is normally fairly reserved unless scolding her children, was moving along with the music, and at one point got up and said something in front of the entire group. I think it was the first time in months that she’d had fun. Of course, for her, fun is being near huge numbers of people, so it makes sense.

In other news, I have had to postpone the training session I’ve been talking about for the last couple of months. At the critical moment, it happened that not enough people signed up for it, and of the ones who did, only a fraction were literate. These conditions were not conducive to a successful training, so I’m going to wait. This decision came with its own frustrations and lessons on Senegalese culture, but in the end, I find it to be a blessing in disguise. It will happen eventually, and as it stands now, I have a lot of more pressing and interesting work to be doing. I’d rather focus on that than stress over a training session that won’t go well, and that I don’t really want to do. It was my counterpart who really insisted on the training to begin with, and part of the problem was that he himself lost interest in it, and wasn’t helping me put it together.

However, the school garden project is in full swing, and Susan and I will be training teachers from four schools how to implement the program into their classes at the end of the month. In the meantime, I’m doing prep work for that, helping two new Kaffrine-area volunteers, who are ‘refugees’ of the Niger program (it was suspended due to conflict in Niger), get settled into their new homes, hopefully meeting with this teen group, and, next weekend, going to a Senegalese-American wedding! That’s right, one of our volunteers is marrying a host country national, so I’ll get to see my first wedding here. I’m quite excited.

And now, I will leave you with a fun anecdote: after all the activity on Saturday, I retired to my room around 10 pm, and had decided to watch a movie and gently fall asleep. I put on my jammies, crawled into bed, tucked in my mosquito net, and got into movie-watching position. While I was doing this, I had started the movie to get through the intro credits in time to get settled for the start of the movie. Part of those intro credits was the cuddly MGM lion roaring his welcome; what I didn’t know was that the volume was all the way up on my computer, so, wearing my headphones, that friendly roar turned into a smash of thunder right next to my eardrum. Long story short, that damned lion terrified me, and nearly screamed because I couldn’t figure out what was going on at first. My adrenaline was pumping for the first 5 minutes of the movie. The good news, though, is that the movie was really good. If you’re feeling artsy-romantic cliché summer in Spain, watch Vicky Cristina Barcelona. I’ve been meaning to watch it since it was at the Cannes Film Festival while I was there, and I’m very glad I finally did.

Waves of love to all!

For starters, I would like everyone to know that I am back on the blog train! There shouldn’t be any more major interruptions in my routines for the next couple of months (fingers crossed!), and so, the blogging should be back on schedule. Sorry again for that communication breakdown the last couple weeks.

Here will be another lesson on Senegalese Culture: the party. This past weekend Susan (my site mate; sorry if I get repetitive with the hints, I am never sure that people will know who I’m talking about!) came to town with her parents. They came from the States last Wednesday, did a little traveling in country, then made their way to Kaffrine to meet all the new family and friends.

When big events like this happen, it is practically social suicide to not throw a huge party with lots of food and drinks (soda drinks! Get your minds out of the gutter, we’re in a Muslim country!), and music if the occasion permits. You can also have a huge party for baptisms, funerals, weddings, etc.

So yesterday was Susan’s party for her parents. In the morning they slaughtered a lamb, and Susan’s family spent all day cooking a delicious meal called Yassa. Yassa is essentially some sort of meat (chicken, lamb, fish) with an onion sauce, usually poured over rice, but this time was just the sauce with potatoes in it. She bought lots of bottles of pop, and some of the women even made beignets, which are basically doughnut holes.

All the important people in Susan’s life came over to greet the esteemed toubab parents who came so far to meet them. All in all there were about twenty to twenty-five people present, although, several people trickled in and out throughout the day, as will happen at all parties.

The guests started showing up at around 1 pm, and we all sat around under the shade of a tree until around 2:30. It was a particularly hot day yesterday, which I personally took as a sign that there’s no avoiding it; hot season is right on the doorstep. The heat added a sort of dreamy sleepiness to the occasion, and everyone seemed at ease and friendly with each other.

This is the great thing about the Senegalese – in an effort to always show their great openness and hospitality, if you put two complete strangers in a room and they didn’t completely hate each other after five minutes, they could spend hours talking. This being such a common trait, there were very few awkward lulls in the conversation. Everyone was very patient with the language barrier, and the mood was high. At around 2:30, the food was brought out, Alhamdoulilah! A few people had started playing with the idea of complaining of hunger, so the timing was perfect. We all sat down, grabbed some bread, and dove in to the Yassa, scooping up mouthfuls of bread, onions and potatoes.

I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this before, but Senegalese cuisine is quite oily. They love the oil residue, and at my house, the girls fight over who gets to lick the bowl. It’s funny how things can be so similar, yet so different between my two cultures. I always wanted to lick the bowl as a kid, and frequently fought my brother for the high privilege, however I never wanted to lick a bowl of oil! Perspective, I guess.

So this meal was especially good because the oil was pooling, mmm..! I was on a slight downhill slant, too, so I was especially lucky that the oil was gathering right in my section of the dish.

Once we finished the food, people started trickling out, as many of them had to go back to work. Those who stayed were treated with more drinks and beignets, and of course, the pleasant company of four whole toubabs!

So it wasn’t exactly a hoppin’ party like we would imagine, but that’s what Senegalese fêtes are usually like – mostly sitting and talking with a few lively bursts here and there. The conversation was wonderful, though, and a lot of laughs were exchanged. For example, Mama Susan (Sally is her name), was completely Senegalese because she was wearing Wolof clothes. Susan and I were finally real women because we were wearing full complets, not pants or western skirts. Apparently, I’m not a woman every day! I had no idea. We also talked about how one man had gone skiing several times in Senegal, and he was going to show us his favorite spot next week; however, he still preferred his quick trips to the Alps and back, because that’s where the good stuff is.

If you ever find yourself at a Senegalese party, all you have to do is somehow demonstrate your love of the food, smile a lot, and tell everyone how great Senegal is. It doesn’t matter if you speak the language, it’s just a matter of miming what you’re thinking. They’ll understand, and in fact, are quite good at telling you exactly how you feel about something.

All joking aside though, gatherings like this are great because they are good reminders of all the genuinely wonderful people you can find here; and I’m sure this is true all over the world. Sometimes in Kaffrine, I come across people who are blatantly and deliberately rude to me, simply because of my skin. It’s easy to be bothered by these ignoramuses, because they’re often the most vocal. For example, two days ago, I was minding my own business in a boutique, and an old man came up to me, called me toubab, then told me I was ugly. Totally unprovoked! He said that since I wasn’t African, and especially because I was American, I was just plain ugly. Obviously, I ignored this guy, because he was just trying to get a reaction out of me; but you’d never experience that at home!

But then, you get together with a bunch of people who are normal citizens of this country, but with whom you’ve established some sort of a friendship, and they are some of the most welcoming and happy people you’ll meet. It’s easy to see that they all care a lot, and as volunteers, really want us to be happy and have a positive, successful experience here.

So all you have to do when you’re in a new place is make a conscious effort to make friends with people, and you’ll soon find yourself in a complex web of love, affection, encouragement and protection from all those other ignorant people of the world.

And that, in a nutshell, is how the Senegalese throw a party.

P.S. I am going to do my first plug for money here. In June I’ll be helping run a Girls’ Leadership Camp that aims to empower girls and let them know what all the possibilities are for their futures. To help fund food and activities for the full week, the organizers have set up a type of grant that allows family and friends in America to donate to the cause. Please don’t feel obligated, but if you’re interested, I am attaching a link to the donation page on the Peace Corps website. Any little bit helps, but I can also say that this probably won’t be the last time I use this type of grant, so there will be other chances to give! Just doing my little part to help the organizers raise money. Thanks in advance if you choose to give!

https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=donate.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=685-163.

Hey everyone! Sorry for the long absence – I was hoping to avoid skipping any weeks of posts, but I have just found it too hard to write a post this past 10 days or so. I’ve been from one place to the next and back, with little down time for writing anything of quality. And I want to give my audience nothing but the best!

So here we are, almost the end of the month (what!?) and I am at the cusp of a busy month…big surprise. I just got to Kaolack from Dakar today. I was up there for WAIST (West Africa Invitational Softball Tournament), the world-famous event in which myself and my fellow Kaolack residents dressed as ballerinas and pranced around the baseball diamond. Yes, there are photos…

Before that I was in Thies for a Gender and Development conference, in which we discussed strategies volunteers can approach on a daily basis, or by means of a project, to promote gender equality in Senegal. I thought the conference was pretty interesting, although I have to admit that my expectations weren’t spectacularly high. My expectations weren’t high because these things tend to be very vague in terms of ideas for making improvements; but this conference gave specific ideas about activities for people of all ages and both genders, ranging from casual conversation topics to deliberate activities. I see my everyday life as GAD work by setting examples of what’s possible for women out there, but I am also thinking about pursuing one of these ideas if and when I get some down time.

So, I know you’re all curious about this crazy thing called WAIST, so I won’t delay any longer. It is essentially a 3-day softball tournament between ex-pats in West Africa. Most teams hail from Senegal, however, Peace Corps Mali and the Gambia also made appearances. The Embassy had a team, there was a competitive ex-pat team, and many others that I didn’t even interact with. Peace Corps definitely does not take the competition part of this event very seriously – hence the tutus – and this is just a great reason to hang out at the American club in Dakar with all your best friends. This is precisely what I did!

Our first day we had two games, before which I went for a swim, and after which I relaxed next to the pool with a cool drink in my hand listening to music. The second day we had three games, one of which was against the Dakar region team, who were dressed in Liederhosen. We only got to about three at-bats before the rules of the game were abandoned, and things got crazy. There were people playing in more positions than exist in baseball, and we even had a Kaolack-er playing his drum in right-center field. Though the number of runs won by each team was not tallied, the amount of laughs and level of fun were astronomical. We did have one serious game, which, surprisingly we only lost by one run! They killed us the first day, so we thought we didn’t stand a chance; but somehow we hiked up our tutus and put on our serious dance shoes and put up a good fight. All in all, the playing was fun, though I couldn’t claim to be any better at this whole baseball thing.

In the evenings I would go to my home stay, where there were 12 fellow volunteers sleeping. We had a WONDERFUL host family who fed us first-class cuisine (that’s not just because I eat rice every day) every day for dinner. One of my favorite dishes was the appetizer we had our last night there; feta cheese mixed with zucchini shreds and baked. Now, I didn’t witness the baking process, so I couldn’t say exactly how this was accomplished, but these things were delicious. Every night I ate far more than my belly was ready to receive, but it was worth every bite.

Peace Corps also planned some after-dinner activities for volunteers, such as a pool party, an auction of men at a party that the marine corps put together (money dedicated to our Gender and Development fund), and a night out at a hotel situated right on the ocean with a spectacular view of the full moon. Luckily for me, despite these late nights out, the games never started early.

I had an excellent time hanging out with my friends from PST that I haven’t seen in 2 months or so, and it was also nice, as always, to be in an American-type setting for a few days. But as always, it’s nice to ease back into a less hectic lifestyle at site. I get overwhelmed with wanting to see everyone all the time, and that is what I found most exhausting. I spent a couple days in Dakar after the tournament to take advantage of internet, quiet and printing at the main office, but there is only so long we can be out of site, thus I am in Kaolack on my way to Kaffrine.

Over the next two weeks I’ll be translating lesson plans into French for the school garden project that Susan and I are working on; and will also be prepping materials and notes for the 4-day business training I will be doing March 4-7. I’m nervous to have to speak to a group of people about technical subjects, but I’ve got a good guide and a good counterpart as my resources, and my job is going to have to start sometime!

I wish I had more to report, seeing as I’ve been MIA the past 10 days, but that’s the gist of what’s been going on for me. The hot season has hit, and now we start the season of 24-hour sweating. I apologize in advance for what I am sure is to be many complaints about how dang hot Africa is. More updates on any interesting heat-fighting techniques I come up with over the next few months.

I hope everyone’s doing fabulously, and again, I apologize for the long absence! I am still dedicated to staying faithful to my weekly updates, barring any major life events…like WAIST.

Lots of love and very big hugs!

I first discovered the meaning of this word three years ago when I was studying in France. This was my first long séjour outside of the US, and in my mind, was a test run for the big one – Peace Corps service.

Though I never strayed too far from my home base, I was invigorated by the freedom to pick up and go wherever the cheapest fares took me. It was through this sort of hasty, unplanned travel that I made some of my fondest memories and most profound discoveries. It was this sudden liberation that solidified what I had suspected of myself for a long time, but never verified; I was meant to see the world. I discovered a passion for putting history into its physical context; envisaging the setting for so many stories I had read about far away places, full of important people doing important things.

I had a drink at the bar where James Joyce loitered in Dublin, with other famous author-friends of his; I saw where Oscar Wilde was buried in Paris; I went to Christopher Columbus’ childhood home in Genoa. These places were all wildly changed since the times when their famous progeny launched into their grand lives, but the essence of their presence was still there. They were all a small part of the bigger history, and I got to see the places that so influenced their lives. The feelings that these experiences inspired in me were beyond anything I had felt before, and I was suckered into the life of a wanderer before I had a change to object. I had half-hoped that by joining the Peace Corps, living two years abroad, I would come back to the States with a sense of wandering-accomplished. I thought I would be able to find a place to set down for a while, develop my career-esque skills, find my own favorite haunt, and establish roots somewhere. However, all this hoping on my part has come crashing down on me, as I finish a book by a former Peace Corps volunteer, Dark Star Safari.

This book is wildly cliché among Africa volunteers, because it is about travel in Africa by a former volunteer. It’s just one of those books you ‘have to read’. It was given to me off-hand by my site-mate, who barely made it through the first few chapters. The book is about the author’s dilly-dallys from Cairo to Cape Town, along the highway – or lack thereof – that connects the two metropolitans.

I myself have my own issues with the author’s general style, and seeming condescending nature, but the romance of adventure through the bush via train, truck, boat, and any other form of available transportation tugs at my heartstrings. It makes me want to vanish one day, lighting out on a bush path here in Kaffrine, not stopping until I’ve visited all the historical cities; sat and chatted over tea with locals and bush-dwellers; stared a hippo in the eye (well, not really, because they’re territorial enough that this could spell my doom; but in a figurative way, at least), and slept under a rainstorm with nothing but a light poncho to protect me. These grand adventures necessarily come with the pitfalls of parasites, poor children harassing you for money, marriage proposals, broken-down cars and the like; but to say I did it, and to be able to look back fondly on the time I survived the questionable foods and traverses of Africa, sounds like the ultimate achievement.

I have no idea how or when I could accomplish this grand adventure I have plotted in my mind, but I feel like I have to do at least some of it during my time in Senegal. I had originally thought against doing much out-of-country travel, because a) I don’t have much money, and b) I would love to know the culture here like the back of my hand, not spend my entire service outside of it. However, thinking about it now, feeling inspired as I do, it seems like a waste of airfare to come all the way to this continent and not explore at least a little bit of it while I’m here. Senegal occupies a very small portion of the continent of Africa, and there is a lot out there to see.

I doubt this revelation of mine will amount to much in the next week, or month; but I hope that during my time here I find the means and the will to get out there and see what the world has to offer. I don’t see how being in a different culture for two years could, in any way, satisfy the lust for adventure, the thirst for knowledge; but could, in fact, only strengthen it, making a more robust and capable traveler out of me. Why not take advantage of newly adapted skills?

Finishing this book was my personal accomplishment for the week; a piece of salami tucked in among the ingredients of a bigger sandwich, known as relaxation. I’ve been going at a pretty quick pace the past couple of weeks, and I resolved to let myself spend this weekend doing nothing and sleeping in. As such, my entire Sunday morning was spent reading the last third of my book, projecting myself into a different world, imagining my own experiences and misadventures.

I feel satisfied on the whole, because the achievement of my personal goal came along with successful completion of work goals as well. I held two meetings with two different women’s groups regarding possible work I can do with them over the next few months. These meetings were conducted all in Wolof, and for the first time since coming here, I felt a deep sense of gratitude at my presence here. Both of these groups are in villages outside of Kaffrine, and my positive experiences in both places only enforced my belief that the village is where I want to be. True, I wouldn’t have the convenience of a charged cell phone or cyber café all the time; but the peace I feel in rural areas cannot be recreated in towns or cities. I look forward to working with groups in villages for a while to come, allowing me time to self-indulge in tranquility and gratitude.

So, with such an accomplishment, I allow some personal indulgences – sleeping, reading, and eating Nutella, burrowing into my room for an entire morning, leaving only to buy bread. Though my family may never understand why I engage in this sort of behavior, I’ve quickly learned not to be put out by their questioning looks. It is not in this culture to be anti-social, but after having worked at something to contribute to the culture, I am ready to give myself this treat, knowing I will be well-prepared to tackle the busy schedule of next week.

This week there isn’t a whole lot of exciting news. I spent the weekend in Kaolack, which was enjoyable, but not very productive, and this coming week I will just be going from one activity to the next. I had waited at site a full two weeks before going to Kaolack, because I feel like this bodes well for my family relations and work habits. I was really excited to be there for several reasons, not the least of which was the internet. As I said last week, we’ve had serious problems with power with the magal happening, and I couldn’t get an email in edgewise for about a week!

However, Kaolack did not provide the respite from power cuts and internet exclusion that I thought it would. Apparently there was some mix-up in the electricity bill, and our power was cut for part of the time I was there, and for just about the entire weekend, the internet was moving at a snail’s pace…maybe slower. I’m not sure why, but I think it has something to do with the fact that I made plans to do work and get some things done while over yonder. I’ve come to realize that when you make plans that rely on technology here, they tend to go on sabbatical just to spite you.

Maybe this is a lesson on dependency. We now spend our whole lives building a reliance on technology that is said to make daily life easier for us; yet when that technology fails, which it inevitably will, we are at a loss for what to do next. Our world comes crumbling down, and we find that we really wish we could perform whatever task without the aid of our technological pacifiers. Like when I was in calculus in high school, and my graphing calculator suddenly ran out of battery during a test; boy did I wish I knew what I was doing!

Not that technology is bad, or that I’m now an anti-tech nut, because I think it’s very important and brings us forward. But even before all these power cuts, I had begun to see the value in doing things the ‘old-fashioned way’. They may take longer, but you can depend on something getting done when you’re using your own two hands to do it. Senegal is definitely not the poorest country in the world, and I generally don’t feel like I’m lacking in any luxuries here; but the way of life in most places outside Dakar really does still rely on manual chores, and the lesson is easy to see.

At any rate, our power is more regular now, and I hope that now it’ll be stay that way.

Bijoux, my kitten, is in fine health, and has begun to play-fight with my fingers and explore the outside world. I’m determined to make her an outdoor cat who feeds herself, so I encourage her (and my neighbors) to go outside regularly so she can experience it. Although I love having a cat, it is a responsibility that I can’t take to the same measure as we do in America; nor do I want the neighbors to have that level of responsibility, so she’s going to be a street-cat with friends she loves all in one place. Inchallah.

I’ve reached a certain level of contentment with my language skills now, which I never thought would happen. Usually when I go places, people ask if I speak Wolof; I say ‘tutti rekk (just a little)’ then continue the conversation. Lately this comment is followed up by them saying ‘Oh, she speaks Wolof’, in a mixture of surprise and admiration. I can now carry myself through a conversation without immediately revealing that I still don’t understand 40% of what people are saying to me – on a good day. It feels good to be accepted more as one of them, and it has its benefits as well. I’m pretty sure I got a discount in the market today because I proved I wasn’t a tourist.

So these little encouraging signs and events keep me going; the number of hours each day I spend craving America have significantly decreased, and my level of productivity has grown proportionally. Maybe this is why Peace Corps wants a two year commitment from us; because it takes nearly 6 months before we’re even competent and mentally stable enough to start working!

That’s about all I have for now; it’s late as I write this and I am feeling the pull of sleep come over me. But I have to ask one parting question: Who are you pulling for in the Super Bowl??

Peace be with you all! Love and hugs…

In a fun turn of events, on Friday night, I managed to acquire myself a kitten. Well, I didn’t actually do anything to get it, except make an insinuation a couple months ago about wanting a kitty friend. It’s amazing what people remember and what they don’t. This will be a good lead into another aspect of Senegalese culture; but first, the story of how I got a cat.

To begin, I have some next-door neighbors with whom I’ve spent quite a bit of time in my first several months in Kaffrine. They are a house full of men of varying ages who practice traditional medicine. From what I gather, their medicine is purely plant based, and I don’t think they have medical degrees of any kind. At any rate, they make attaya every afternoon, and I’ve made it a habit to go over there frequently to sit and talk. I’ve gone less often lately, because I’m actually starting to work and have a busier calendar, but I still find time a few days a week to sit and chat.

During my first two months here, when I wasn’t allowed to work, I was commenting on their veritable menagerie of animals that lived in the yard around the house. They have several chickens; two rabbits who just had six babies; there was a sheep before Tabaski, but he’s gone now; and goats that graze in the yard during the day. Noting all these animals, I said they should get a hold of a kitten for me that could live there, but be my buddy. We kept a running joke about it for several weeks, and in my mind it was only a joke.

But Friday night, one of the guys who lives there, Moudou, rolled up on a moto taxi right as I was leaving for my Wolof tutoring lesson with a box under his arm. He placed the box on the ground, told me it was my cat, and told me to take it into my room.

Now, this posed several problems, not the least of which was my host mom’s strong distaste for cats. Just a week before, she had recounted how my ancienne had a cat that she was watching just for a week. She made no visible effort to disguise how disgusted she was at the thought, and it was clear to me that this was not an option. Jumping forward a week, I’m standing outside my house with a dumb expression on my face trying to figure out how exactly I was going to make my next play.

I asked him to take the cat to his house while I was at my lesson, because I still needed to talk to my mom. He agreed, and thus I bought myself some time. Later that night I had to go talk to him about how my mom refused to allow cats here, and could the cat live at their place if I still take care of it? He said he actually wanted a cat around, and that wasn’t a problem. So, I’ve been feeding the little kitty all weekend and playing with her when I have some spare time. If all goes well she will continue to live with my neighbors, and only be reliant on me for food until she’s old enough to hunt.

She’s probably eight weeks old, she’s black and fluffy, and yesterday, we named her Bijoux. She’s very playful, and already recognizes me as someone she can trust. My sisters are still too afraid to go in the same room as her, but maybe in time they’ll stop being so silly and figure out that she doesn’t have any interest in slashing their faces.

So this leads into the Senegal cultural discussion about things Senegalese remember, and things they don’t. I myself have come to the assumption lately that the only thing they’ll really retain is your name, because a name here is very important. Beyond that, you can tell them the same thing several times, and they still won’t remember exactly when you’re going to visit your sister, or why. I’ve gotten into the habit of telling my family at least twice when I’m going somewhere, once about 3 days before hand, and again the night before. They still act surprised when I go to leave, but I think that’s partially exaggerated to see if I’ll stay.

Judging from this particular situation, though, it seems that when a friend or family member expresses even the least interest in something, they remember it. They really like to give people what they want (provided they have money; if not, they get snarky and complain about how their friends/family are asking too much), and will hold on to valuable information for the future. I’ve also come to learn that anything that seems like it’s obviously a joke, because it’s too ludicrous to be serious, should actually be verified as a joke.

I knew deep down that it was totally implausible for me to have a cat; I travel, I don’t have a place to keep it, and even when I’m in town, I’m away from home most of the day. To me, there was no way this was actually going to happen. But, lo and behold, my faithful friends delivered on their promise. I am very lucky to have been able to reach the compromise I have, because otherwise I’d either have to majorly displease my family, or turn a kitten loose into the wild streets of Kaffrine to be eaten by bats or dogs. I’m glad it never came to that.

Also, in response to my good friend Deb’s question, “What do Senegalese like to do?”, I have, sadly, a somewhat vague answer. It really depends, first, on the gender, and second, on the disposable income. Often women don’t have any time to “do” anything, and in general, hobbies don’t really exist here – unless you count drinking attaya as a hobby.

Men with jobs that don’t necessarily require constant physical input can usually be found passing the day under a tree, discussing “important issues” over attaya. They often claim to be working, but it’s plain to see that they’re just relaxing the day away, while their wives and sisters are at home cooking, cleaning, dealing with children, or out buying food at the market. I actually had a discussion with a hardware store owner the other day about attaya. He theorizes that if attaya didn’t exist here, Senegal’s GDP would go up tremendously. He didn’t actually use the term GDP, but he did say that people would be generally more productive. I agree.

Some women are lucky to have husbands who make enough money to give them a chance to relax a little by hiring a maid, or by having a second wife around (the second wife gets stuck with all the chores). In those instances, I think the women may join a women’s group, or pursue their own income-generating activities. I can’t speak too well to this, because I live in a home with one woman who does (or at least supervises) all the cooking and cleaning. She assigns the two oldest daughters with chores, but they have very free spirits (put kindly) and take their time to get things done; so my mom very rarely has down time. If she does, she really loves talking with people, and will go sit outside with some neighbors and watch the world go by on our street.

For men who have jobs that require a lot of input, their story is much the same as women’s. They work from very early in the morning until dark, or around 7 pm, with a lunch break of about 2-3 hours, usually between 1 and 4 pm. They tend to work 6 or 7 days a week, and so also have very little time for anything else. Some men work this much in order to have enough money to pay for their daily needs; others work this much because they find that work, interspersed with breaks for talking, is a more enjoyable way to spend the day than at home with all the kids running around and wives yelling. This is unfair to everyone else, but I can’t say I blame them. I like to be out and about most of the day for the same reasons.

So, based on my experience, hobbies don’t really exist here; at least not in the way we see them. There isn’t necessarily anything that people ‘like to do’, because the often don’t have time for the things they like. If they do have time, it’s spent taking a break, or talking with friends.

In other news, Magal is now over, and hopefully power will be returning to normal, with only one or two short cuts per day, as opposed to full days without electricity. Kaffrine happens to be a place that most people pass through when going to Touba, so today and tomorrow are going to be crazy; the market will be packed with people stopping for breaks on the way home to places all over Senegal. Yesterday was eerily quiet, though, and there were very few people around; most shops were closed up. Millions of people go to Touba each year, and many places around the country find their populations significantly decreased during Magal weekend.

Also, last night I went over to have dinner with two other volunteers at an American family’s house! They are a missionary family who have lived here in Kaffrine for the past 10 years, and who split their weeks between town and a smaller village a little outside of town. They are a very, very nice family, and are extremely welcoming to us. They have given us an open invitation to come be around English speakers, use internet, or just hang out if we need to. We had meat and potato sandwiches and watched the Packers vs. Bears game. Unfortunately, the missionaries are Bears fans, and though I didn’t see the end of the game, I’m pretty sure they were disappointed.

There were also a couple of other people who work in their mission and who live around Kaffrine; two other Americans, a South African, and a Swiss guy. It was a really fun evening, and I found it relaxing and energizing for the week ahead. I have a few things I really want to get done before this weekend, because Friday morning, I’m riding my bike to Kaolack! It’ll be tough, but great exercise, and I’m really looking forward to it actually.

But for now, I think I’ve written quite enough. Hope all is well in America! Love and hugs!

[Written Monday morning. Electricity has been awful this past week due to a major religious event called Magal. It’s a pilgrimage to a city called Touba, and I believe that the power company has directed a lot of electricity over that way. I still haven’t seen the mayor, but you cant win them all, right?]

Hello again, everyone!

I hope this week has been a pleasant one – I know mine has. Nothing particularly exciting has happened since I last wrote, but just the same, this past week felt comfortable. I guess that might be a big deal in itself, considering the circumstances. I can’t think back to a single week where there wasn’t some manner of extreme discomfort or awkwardness since I’ve come here. That isn’t a bad thing, but merely a part of integrating into a completely new culture.

This week, however, I can’t recall any such instance. There were a couple moments of minor frustration with an annoying comment or my family being difficult; but I see these as things I will encounter throughout my service, and they are always fleeting and quickly forgotten, so I don’t include them in my above statement. All in all, I see myself moving forward every week that I’m here. There are still occasions that I wish I could be at home, like when I know people are getting together and having lots of fun; but then all I have to do is remind myself of what I’d be doing if I actually were home, which is most likely working at a job I don’t really enjoy, and stressing about this or that.

Today I am going to the mayor’s office to talk to him about his ideas for Kaffrine. Here’s an interesting story, actually: I was walking to the post office with another girl named Emily who lives outside of Kaffrine. I was going with her because she had a lot of packages and needed help carrying them (we think that the mail system was frozen for a while, because we were all expecting packages that didn’t arrive, then suddenly they all hit at once). On the way there, a man in a car was shouting at us; I tried ignoring it at first, because I thought it was just some guy trying to get our attention, but then I turned around and it was the mayor! He told us to hop in back and he’d take us to the post office. So we did, and he rattled off something really quickly in Wolof that I didn’t quite catch. I think it was something about discussing community organization? But then he got out at his office, and his driver took us the rest of the way, then brought us back to my house with our heavy load, for which we were very grateful.

So, to find out exactly what the mayor wanted, I am going to stop by and see if he has a free minute this morning. If not, I will just catch him some other time.

Apart from attempts at getting my projects off the ground, I don’t have a whole lot planned for the next month. I intend to stay at site as much as possible, because I believe it bodes well for family life and community integration. I will need to go to Kaolack at least once to record my radio show and pick up money, but otherwise I would only like to leave site if I’m going to another volunteer’s site. At the end of February I have a conference on gender and development (we call it GAD here), in which we will talk about daily activities and techniques for breaking the gender barrier. For example, male volunteers would be encouraged to do their own laundry, or ask how their food is cooked; women would be encouraged to speak about their freedoms in the States; and all volunteers can try to discuss these issues local kids to get the wheels turning at an early age.

Often these efforts are not well-received, because gender roles are so deeply ingrained into society; but there is bound to be at least one person in each group who is somewhat open and receptive to the concepts we talk about.

I personally like the idea of discussing my life in America, however I did not come here to change their culture, per se. I’m very torn between wanting women here to have the opportunities I have, and feeling like I’m forcing my culture and my values on them. It’s very easy to see here that women get the short end of the stick, but I haven’t decided my position on whether it is my place, or a part of my job, to tell them to buck the system and find independence.

Either way, this conference could provide some insights, or at the very least, a platform for me to raise my issues and have a discussion with other volunteers, so I think it will be very useful to go. And I get a free meal at the Thies training center J

Right after that I go to Dakar for the annual West Africa Invitational Softball Tournament (WAIST). This is a big event for all West African ex-pats. People come from countries all over to participate in the tournament, which lasts three days. Apparently Peace Corps Senegal is notoriously lackluster in our level of seriousness, but this will be my first time, so I can’t speak to that just yet. Within Senegal, we will have several teams, broken up by region; so I will be playing (or cheering) with the Kaolack team. Kaolack is the most populated Peace Corps region, with 50 volunteers, so not all of us will play. I’m confident, though, that whether we’re playing or not, it will be a great time.

We have already decided a team theme of Ballerinas, and another volunteer has loaned me a leotard for the occasion. Don’t worry, we’ll have lots of pictures. I’m hoping to come across a tutu as well, to complete the outfit. I’m most excited to see all the guys dressed up in tutus! As you can see, we really don’t take this too seriously.

I will be gone for about a week, between the GAD conference and WAIST, which is why I’ve committed to staying here in Kaffrine for as long as possible.

Well, that’s all I’ve got for now. I need to get my day started, the first step of which is closing my computer, followed closely by finishing my coffee. After that, the day will bring itself J

Big hugs and warm thoughts for all!

This blog post is a little later than usual because I am having trouble finding inspiration about what to write. In a follow-up to my last post, the meeting with the farm/land-owner went really well, and the women’s group he helps out seems really excited and motivated to work with me and learn some new business skills, in hopes of generating some extra income during the non-harvest season. Susan has also expressed some interest in helping them design a potentially profitable garden, so some time in the next two weeks she and I will both go out and visit the farm and discuss possibilities. So, step one was a success, and we make a little bit of progress into step two.

Other than that, I don’t have much to update in terms of life events over the last week. I am currently in Kaolack for a few days for a meeting, a radio show, and a birthday party. It’s nice to be here and have some down time to do whatever I want. I’ve invested quite a bit of money and time into really delicious food, and this has turned out to be somewhat of a theme of my little sojourn here. At site the food is good, and I am extremely lucky to have a mom who cooks really well; however, the variation in meals is limited, and often everything is really oily, and there are limited vegetables in our bowl. So my focus here has been to buy lots of veggies and other such good-for-you-food, and I’ve taken some time to experiment with creating my own little concoctions. Luckily, they have all come out well, and none of my tasties have had to be sacrificed.

I’ve also spent a fair amount of time reading the Odyssey, which I’ve always had my eye on, but have never really had the time to get all the way through it. It is such a wonderfully epic tale of human trial and perseverance, and the writing is some of the most beautiful I’ve ever come across. Although I don’t spend as much of my energy on the analytical side of the reading as some people might think is necessary, I find great pleasure in losing myself in imagining the scenes of battle, the glorious nights of feasting, and the feeling of a well-earned night’s sleep. I throw myself into the story and lose sight of the present, and to me, this is the most appealing quality a book or story can possess – the ability to completely take the reader out of their present surroundings and throw them into the middle of the story, as if they were there.

The content of the radio show I came to Kaolack to do was different than my normal monthly SED show. I actually came in to do a live show for another volunteer who couldn’t make it this time. We discussed some aspects of American culture, such as how we celebrate holidays there, what our definition of ‘fun’ is (not necessarily meaning we’re drowning in a pool of money), and what vacations are like. The girl who I did it with and I sat down about an hour before the show and just wrote an outline of topics, then went to the station and did a live session, just talking about whatever. I was a little nervous at first, because doing a live radio show in a foreign language is more than a little intimidating. But it all came together after the first ten minutes or so, and we found a good rhythm.

Because I shared some topics of American culture with the Senegalese this week, I think I should make the process complete by sharing another part of Senegalese culture with the, hopefully, many Americans who venture to read my blog.

This week, I would like to discuss social interactions in Senegal, from basic greetings, to what’s appropriate for the public sphere among friends, spouses, and parents and children. Firstly, greetings are extremely important here. Even if you’re just walking down the street and can’t stop to chat, you must greet anyone you know; frequently I greet people that I pass on the street, even if I don’t know them. I do this because it helps build a positive image of whoever the white person in Kaffrine is, which will likely benefit me in the future. If they have a general idea that I am friendly, I am less likely to be the object of unruly comments or behavior. And as far as greeting people you know, it’s so important because the culture here is heavily reliant on other people. There is a proverb that, roughly, states, “when you are ill, your medicine is in the presence of others”. Alone time and privacy are not nearly as highly regarded here as they are in America; in fact, they are seen as anti-social behavior. You don’t ever want to be labeled as the anti-social one.

The basic greetings involve the omnipresent “Asalaa Malekoum”/ “Malekoum salam”, wishing both parties peace, followed by a slough of questions demanding how the family is, how work is going, how the money is doing, etc… You can really take your pick of questions, and my strategy is to alternate between question and answer in rapid-fire succession. The point here isn’t necessarily to actually find out how everyone in the family is, but rather to show your respect for the other person by asking. Knowing this, it becomes far more okay to both be speaking over each other while greeting.

Once the greeting is over, you can either continue on your way, if you are going somewhere, or you can begin the actual purpose of the conversation. Greetings may be only 30 seconds long, or 3 minutes, depending on who you’re talking to. Only after this process can you ask for something at the store, or talk to your work partner about some new idea you’ve had.

Social rules command showing very strong respect for anyone older or with more authority than yourself; in my case, if I am not on friendly terms with a man, for example, I need to be very careful about how I present myself to him. However, I am given a lot more flexibility than local women, partly due to people wanting to show me respect for having come here, or because the men want to woo me so I’ll bring them back to America with me. Or, for example, if I meet someone of religious importance, it behooves me to give him a curtsy when I greet him, as a sign of respect. I try to avoid the curtsy as much as possible, because it is very against my nature; but sometimes, for the sake of overall peace, you just have to give in and let it happen.

If a man and a woman are seen walking in the street together, without any other people around, it is assumed that they are courting, or a couple. Married women are not socially permitted to be seen with another man, without some 3rd party; and any physical contact is strongly dissuaded, except in perhaps Thies or Dakar, where people are more adapted to Western trends. For example, for me to hug a male friend in public, to say hello or good-bye, would be seen as very strange. Again, as foreigners we are given some flexibility on this matter, but only among each other. If I were to hug a Senegalese man, people would definitely be talking. I have rarely even seen married couples showing affection for each other in public. In general, demonstrations of affection are reserved for the most private times, even among parents and children.

Alternatively, men here are frequently seen holding hands or embracing each other while walking down the street. We, as Americans, obviously find this to be strange behavior, not so much because of the connotations this behavior has in America, but mostly because homosexuality is illegal here. Yet to us, holding hands is a very blatant sign of romantic, as opposed to platonic, love between two people. Even as I pass the 5 month mark (yes, that’s right! Five months. Officially longer here than I was at study abroad. It’s so crazy to think about that), in Senegal, I still haven’t gotten used to seeing two guys walking down the street.

Often, it seems that social interactions here are just the opposite of what they are in the States, and have definitely taken some getting used to. Senegal is a very social country, inasmuch that it is best for your reputation and overall well-being to be constantly surrounded by other people. Even taking a nap happens in places where people are, or can be. Doing things that we would consider alone-time activities always happen in the public sphere, and so, I guess it can be said that they have their own forms of relaxing activities, but they’re just never done alone.

In one way this is really nice, because no matter where you go in the country, if you speak the language you can insert yourself into any group conversation, even if you don’t know anyone in that group. You will be welcomed, and you will also spare yourself possible social criticism for not being off on your own somewhere. This is the essence of what is meant when Senegal calls it self the country of “Terranga”, or hospitality.

I’m still discovering social rules almost daily, so this is certainly not an exhaustive account of what happens here; but I think it is a good example of the essentials for interacting in Senegal. Although I don’t know that I will ever be able to abandon my love of alone time, I think I will learn some good lessons in being able to function in groups and deal with any future lack of privacy.

In the vein of describing Senegal’s culture, what questions do my readers have? I usually just talk about whatever pops into my mind (generally taken from an experience I have right before writing my blog post :D), but am I covering what you want to know? Is there anything that I’ve said, or that you’ve heard elsewhere, that you need clarification on? Let me know! I welcome all questions. Maybe my next post can be an FAQ type format.

Until then, aslaa maleykoum – Peace Be With You

Hello, and welcome back from the holidays! I hope they were well-celebrated by all. As a refresher, I spent Christmas in Dakar with several other Americans, which was quite fun, and then I came back to Kaffrine on the 30th to celebrate New Year’s here. That was definitely an interesting experience, because it involved me going to a nightclub (which I didn’t know even existed in Kaffrine) with one of my neighbors and a friend of his. I was only there for about an hour or so, and only danced for maybe a half an hour, but it was still fun to see how the Senegalese celebrated New Year’s. For my part, I was really too tired to stay out to the wee hours of the morning dancing and celebrating; my normal bedtime is around 10 pm! Now we are at the very beginning of 2011, with the whole year ahead of us, pregnant with possibilities. Today marks my first ‘work’ experience, as I will be going to meet with a group of women who live outside Kaffrine. I am going to see their field and to discuss with them a little to see if there is anything I will be able to do to help them. The man who connected me to them is named Alioune, and it was quite interesting how we met. I was walking home from running a few errands, when a fairly new looking car started honking at me and the driver waving at me. I thought it was just another random person trying to get a word in with the toubab. But he stopped me and asked if I was Peace Corps, which was a little startling to hear. I said I was, and he said that I just had to go to his house (which we happened to be standing outside of) with his wife while he parked the car; he wanted to talk to me about working together. His wife led me inside a very beautiful house, and then left me in there living room to sit pondering the art on the walls (a rarity in Senegal – usually all wall decorations are pictures of local religious leaders in various outfits and poses. This was art art!) while I waited for him to come back. Soon enough he was there talking to me in a mixture of English, French and Wolof, and I come to find that he spends half his time here, during the harvest, and the other half of his time in Germany helping artisans sell their work (hence the art). While he’s here, he tries to assist local farmers and merchants get a leg up and save some money or start a business, which is where I come in. He is working with one group about 9k outside of Kaffrine who has a field (or garden, I’m not sure how big it is), and he says they’re really anxious to start working towards generating money. I told him after the New Year I’d give him a call and we could pay them a visit – flash forward to today. I’m excited to see how this meeting goes, and to see if this turns into a real work project for me. I’m hesitant to count on anything happening, because I’ve been told, and have learned in small ways, that what is said here isn’t always what will happen, or what is most true. Lying doesn’t really happen here, but often people wish to avoid being rude, and won’t tell you if the don’t like something or don’t want to do something. We’ve been advised to let individuals or groups come to us and really display their willingness to work before we invest any real energy in doing something. So with that in mind, I’m moving forward with hope but without expectation. Also, while I was visiting with this man’s wife, she asked for some individual accounting lessons so she could manage her own little projects better. So in one day I got two potential work opportunities

Also, as soon as Susan (sitemate) comes back from vacation we’ll be working on getting the school gardening program off the ground; and my counterpart has presented me with a couple of other opportunities as well. Time will reveal which of these takes off and which get lost in the storm. Otherwise I’ve just been trying to keep myself occupied with reading, exercising, working on my radio show – which I don’t think I’ve mentioned yet! Another SEDer and I just submitted our second radio recording to the station in Kaolack! Every month we have an hour to discuss a SED-related topic, in another effort to spread the xam-xam (pronounced cham-cham, meaning knowledge). As of now, both of our shows have been in French, but I think after another month or two we’ll transition into Wolof. They’re really roughly edited, and we are by no means radio professionals; but it’s pretty fun to know that our voices are (hopefully) being heard all over Kaolack, and that we are potentially getting people to think about basic business concepts. This month’s episode was about saving money.

So, in a very organic fashion, my schedule has gone from completely open to pretty well-filled. I’m waking up around 6:00 or 6:30 most days to do yoga, and from there the day takes off. And one of the best things about this job is that two-thirds of it is sharing cultural differences, both for the Senegalese and for Americans. So my blog is accomplishing part of my job! So, if I go out to the market for a few hours one day and wind up discussing aspects of American culture, like I did yesterday morning, I am also doing my job.

This is wonderful because it helps relieve the pressures of feeling like I need to be sitting in front of books or my computer creating things all the time. It’s ok, rather encouraged, to go out and interact to help change the image that much of Senegal has of Americans. You all at home can also help me do my job by sharing my blog with your friends! (if you feel so inclined :D)

Alrighty, I need to get my brain together so I can head out to this group and actually do something with my time there today. Once again, Happy New Year everyone, may this year bring peace, joy, prosperity, and health. Until next time!

I am writing from the comfort of my own bed this week, as I listen to a wonderful mix of Christmas songs, which I received from mother dearest today. Of course, this won’t be posted online from the comfort of my own bed, but we take what we can get right? And what I can get is the satisfaction of knowing that my In-Service Training is finito…whoo! Not that it was so awful being there, because I got to spend good quality time with people I really enjoy; but it gets pretty exhausting living out of a suitcase (or backpack, as it were) for over two weeks. Though I will only be at site for four days before I pack up again and leave for Christmas, I intend to enjoy the comfort of my own queen size bed and convenience of my armoire while I can. I also go knowing that my next voyage will be far shorter, and I can bring a much lighter pack this time, which always makes life easier. For those of you who are wondering what exactly I’m talking about when I say ‘IST’, I will explain a little. Essentially, we have our first two months of training (Pre-Service Training, or PST), which is not included in our two years of service. This is where we learn all the language and cultural training they can squeeze in, to prepare us for life at site with our families. IST is where we are meant to receive the bulk of our technical training, including topics and teaching methods. As I’ve mentioned before, our key purpose as volunteers is to disseminate valuable information for better practices, be it in the realm of business, health, or agriculture. My IST was a little less technical than I had hoped for; more so we had current volunteers present case studies based on their experiences in country thus far. Case studies can be very valuable, as we see all the ups and downs, strengths and weaknesses of the projects; and we can be inspired to adopt certain projects into our own sites. But what we didn’t get enough of was learning best practices for teaching the locals. We didn’t learn about techniques that have excelled and others that have failed, which, honestly would have been more valuable to us. In general, most of my sector (SED) has at least some business training, so we already know the topics we’re going to teach; what we don’t know is how to teach Senegalese without breaking any serious cultural taboos. I am confident that, even if I stumble at first, I will pick up the ways of the system quickly enough to do at least a little bit of good teaching, so I don’t IST failed me in any way, I could just think of a few improvements. Overall, IST was exhausting and refreshing at the same time. It’s a little strange to be back in my home, too. I was really nervous to come back, because I thought I was going to have to re-integrate all over again, but things to be moving on fairly well. There have been a couple hiccups so far, but nothing major, and nothing out of the ordinary given the cultural norms. For example, my grandfather asked me for money today. In Senegal, it is perfectly acceptable to go to friends and family and ask for money, without giving reason or demonstrating that the money was well spent. Saving money doesn’t typically happen here, and often you’ll find people spending money on things they really don’t need, then come an emergency, they’re out. Also, repayment isn’t a strictly upheld standard here. So, I was fairly upset right after my grandfather asked me for money, because every day, children and adults alike approach me because I’m a toubab, and must, therefore have a ton of money to throw at them. This assumption can be laughable or frustrating as hell on any given day; and the more times in a day you get asked, the more annoying it gets. However, after a few minutes, I remembered something Susan, my site mate told me. She said it took her a long time to figure this out, but in cases of family and friends asking for money, it actually isn’t because you’re American. They do it to everyone. And surely enough, not ten minutes later, my grandfather was asking a neighbor for money, who agreed to help him (I had said I couldn’t afford it). Today served as a reminder for me of what, I think, will be the rest of my service. The ups and downs come in quick spurts, often all in one day. This morning I was walking on clouds because I was approached by two people looking for my help while simply walking through town; then this afternoon the money issue came up. Thinking about it from a distance, it seems a little silly be so high and low over events that seem fairly small each day; but to actually live it leaves little room for logical thought. I think this blog reflects my lingering frustration a little, which is ok by me, because it’s important to both express and remember every emotion I experience here. But all I have to know is that in a matter of hours these frustrations will fade away, to be replaced by more happy events. For example, tomorrow morning I’m excited to attend a logistical planning meeting for a mosquito net distribution in my region. At the meeting I’ll be keeping my ear open for ways that Peace Corps can contribute; then in late January, Inchallah, I will be helping with the actual distribution, going from village to village discussing the importance of bed nets with local inhabitants. It’s my first work project! My purpose here is forming a little more each day…exciting, right? This will be my last blog post until after the New Year, and listening to this mix I’ve got playing has really put me in a festive mood. I hope everyone finds themselves in happy, loving company for Christmas, with happiness and health, and no burdens other than a belly too full of pie. I want to express my gratitude and deep love for all of my family and friends for loving me and supporting my wild endeavors. I feel so lucky to have people that would tolerate me being gone at such an important time of the year – and for two years at that! Being here has made me realize that Thanksgiving is not the only time we should reflect on what we’re thankful for. The good things in our lives surround us for much more than one day per year. With that, I wish everyone a very Merry Christmas (and Happy Hanukkah!). Sending my love…

This weekend I had quite the experience going to what will most likely be the most ‘westernized’ city I go to for at least a year – Dakar. Living in a small town without regular electricity really puts big cities into perspective, and I felt like a country bumpkin for the first time in my life. There were restaurants with WiFi, other toubabs, and cafes with cappuccinos! What a wonderful world… I went to Dakar this weekend with all of the other SEDers (Small Enterprise Development – business people) to participate in an expo of artisanal goods made by nationals from all over the country. As the business people of the Peace Corps, many of us will find opportunities to work with artisans, helping them to develop their product and business strategies to more effectively sell their products. In order to get a taste of what older volunteers are doing, and what kind of artisanal work is out there, we were bused to Dakar to check things out. Though I have been to Dakar before, this was the first time I went without anyone from PC holding my hand the whole way. We had a lot of free time to explore the transport system, try out restaurants, and so on; so it was a really beneficial experience for me. I also happened to have loads of fun…and bacon :D One of the coolest parts of the weekend was a group excursion to a youth league soccer game. It was held at the big stadium on the outside of town, and was a qualifier for the world youth soccer championships. We watched the under 21 game between Senegal and Brazil, and it was some great soccer. This was followed by a night on the town, complete with dancing and DELICIOUS chawarma (Lebanese sandwich), so it was all in all a really fun time. I also spent some time at a place we call the American club. Its real name is the Club Atlantique, but essentially it’s a place for American and European ex-pats to access and relish in western culture. For example, this is where I had my first bite of bacon in four months. At the American club there is a pool, ping-pong table, ice cream, soccer, basketball and tennis facilities, and on. I may have mentioned this place before in my post about our swear-in day – but essentially it’s a little pocket of America tucked into the folds of Senegalese life. While I had a great time exploring Dakar and doing American things, I couldn’t help but notice how starkly different my life is among the western amenities of the big city as compared to my life in the interior of the country. Naturally Dakar would have more resources and infrastructure; but if you were to spend one day in Dakar followed by a day in a rural village, you would hardly believe it was the same country; let alone a country the size of South Dakota. You wouldn’t think that a country so physically small could have such a disparity from one place to the next. But rural Senegal is hugely lacking in many of the resources afforded the bigger cities. While the money is flowing in Dakar and people are often living pretty comfortable lives (naturally, this statement comes with it’s large exceptions), people in some areas are still lacking clean water or access to bigger towns with better resources. One thing I’ve noticed about Senegal, which is probably true about many developing nations, is that the government has grand plans of growth, westernization and financial success, yet has failed to provide a large portion of its citizens with life’s basic necessities. This is not to reprove the government – I haven’t been here long enough to truly understand the ins and outs of the political structure or goals – but it’s easy to see the disparity between the educated politicians and the rural housewife who is illiterate. I am of the opinion that in order to truly grow as a nation, all the people of that nation must have access to the very basics of human life. Everyone needs to be on roughly the same page before successful, sustainable growth becomes a reality. I’m still not sure what my role in facilitating this objective will be, but I have started developing strong ideas about how I should approach my work. I am not here to throw money at people, nor am I here to run a business and generate wealth for anyone; I am here to spread my knowledge and teach the skills that I have to others, who can then continue the cycle of information sharing. I truly believe that knowledge is the most powerful tool and most effective gift we can provide others. Technical knowledge is unbiased and blind to religion, culture, race, age or gender, and with the right level of openness and patience I can plant a seed that will eventually grow into something bigger than myself, or my two years here. It’s nice to have a break from the rougher cultural differences I live with at site, but it’s also a little shocking to be thrown back into the west, and feels disruptive to my integration and work here. And I find it funny that I say that, because I’m still in Senegal, and Dakar is still far behind what I know back in the states. I guess it’s all a matter of perspective. For example, when I first arrived in country, I thought Dakar and Thies were nothing but dirty cities with people just trying to make a buck by throwing cheap trinkets at you as you pass by on the street. But after living in a smaller town – because Kaffrine is still a town in many ways, despite its 35,000-person population – there are so many exciting things in the bigger cities. Like paved streets and cappuccino. I apologize if my thoughts are on the abstract side of things. Being at this training of mine has really gotten me thinking about what I want my service to be, but at this point I don’t have any concrete work to give some context to my ideas. As I said, I still haven’t gotten to the point of having a specific project in mind, and with the way things work here, it will be several months before I really get anything off the ground; but it’s pretty exciting to think about all the many ways I can contribute something positive to someone’s life here. I will be very excited to write about any and all projects I get going here. That way I’ll have some written proof that I actually did something with my time here!

I am writing this from the comfort and internet-readiness (sort of) of the Thies training center. I’m back here for about two weeks for my In-Service Training (IST), where I will receive some training on the technical aspects of performing my job. And I get to see all my friends!

I got here on Thursday noon-ish after having spent the night in Kaolack and taken a car to Thies with a group of other volunteers. Starting Thursday we had what was called the All-Volunteer Conference, in which volunteers all get together and share their various projects. This is intended to offer insight into how to get certain projects done, and also to serve as a base for brainstorming new ideas. This was the first time I met quite a few of the other volunteers in Senegal, and it was cool to see the range of projects that people pursue here. It definitely gave me some ideas.

That was a 2-day conference, ending Saturday afternoon, and today (Sunday) we had the day open to do as we pleased. I had a leisurely morning in which I slept in (yeah!), then read my book for a while. We weren’t served lunch, so I went with a group of people to a restaurant nearby and had some pizza. Tomorrow we start our IST, which involves only the people of my work group of 61 people, vs. the 200 that were here for the conference. It was cool to see all the other volunteers in my country, but it’s also very nice to have a smaller group, which allows for things to be a little less hectic.

I don’t have a whole lot to talk about in terms of my past week, because, honestly, not much happened; so I’ve decided to take this opportunity to describe the transportation system of Senegal. This is both more amusing than my past week, and offers some insight into what happens every time I say I’m traveling somewhere.

There are two primary forms of long-distance travel and three forms of city-travel. We’ll start with the city travel because I want to build up to the greatness that is distance travel in Senegal. In the city, depending on which city you are in, you ca either take a taxi, a charette or a moto taxi. Don’t worry if you aren’t familiar with terms listed in this blog post – all of them will be described in full.

Firstly, you have the taxi. Taxis here all look the same: they are 4-door compact cars that are yellow and black and pretty dilapidated, usually bedazzled with various decorations both inside and outside. Any given taxi may or may not have 4 working doors; definitely will not have shocks; and is likely to have at least 1 window that doesn’t roll down. This is an important point, because when you get into a hot taxi in the middle of the day during the hot season, you want as much air flow as possible. And a/c is not even an option here.

Though when you first look at a taxi (and this is true for most cars in Senegal, actually) you get the impression that the car is held together by duct tape, or magic. I still don’t know how these cars manage to do all the driving that they do, yet every time I take a taxi I get to my destination safely and relatively quickly. The weirdest thing about taxis here, in my opinon, is that they all look exactly the same. It’s like someone just made thousands of the same car, which happened to be painted yellow and black, and sprinkled them throughout the country. Kaffrine actually doesn’t have any car taxis, so I only take them when I’m in Thies, Dakar, or perhaps visiting another volunteer.

Next, there is the charette. This is a horse- or donkey-drawn cart or carriage that will get you from your rural village to the nearest road town, or will take you various places in the bigger town. I, for example, live in a road-town, so I don’t need to take a charette to get anywhere, necessarily; but if I happen to feel lazy, this is a relatively cheap option for getting around. They’re not particularly fast, especially with those stubborn donkeys, and it’s kind of crappy as an American to see these animals working so hard in the hot sun; but if you have something big you can’t carry around yourself, these are a good option.

Lastly, there is the moto taxi. I don’t know how all the moto drivers manage to buy there motos, but basically they’re little yamaha-type motorcycles that buzz around town carrying passengers from one place to the next. These are faster, and maybe cheaper than charettes and taxis, but you can’t carry much on them. However, I should include with that statement that I have seen men carrying goats/sheep across their laps while on the back of a moto, so don’t discount them too much when picking your daily travel options. I have never taken a moto, and the Peace Corps actually forbids us from taking them, because the drivers are certifiably insane when they weave through the streets; but they are a common site, especially in Kaffrine.

When traveling distances, you get two options. The first option is a big white bus (think EuroVan on steroids) which, when fully packed, can carry upwards of 30 people. This is a very unpleasant experience, being in a fully packed bus – or Alham, as we call them. One thing I may not have mentioned to date is that Senegalese people are very big. Either they’re really tall, really wide, or both. So to have 29 really tall, really wide people surrounding myself, neither tall nor wide, things get a little uncomfortable. But, if it’s not a full load, and you’re not traveling in the heat of the day, these can be kind of fun to ride in. Every Alham is decorated with the colors of the Senegal flag, and across the hood/grill of every single one is the word “Alhamdoulilah” ( “Thank God!”), hence the nickname Alham. I’ve always interpreted this particular decoration to mean, “thank God we made it safely to our destination, even though we just rode a long way in this beat up old van packed with people”…but I could be mistaken on that one. These usually take longer to get places, because they stop several times along the way, but they are also cheaper. And they put us Americans right in the thick of Senegalese culture, and who doesn’t want that?

Lastly, you have the 7-place car. This is a rickety old station wagon (again, they all look the same, just like the taxis) that seats 7 people, in addition to the driver. The 7-place also may or may not have working doors, windows or radio, but the tires have, so far, been well-attached to the axles and not fallen off mid-ride. Alhamdoulilah! I choose not to spend much time thinking about the physical state of the car, because I have a wild imagination, and I don’t want to let it get too crazy. Instead, I look around and wonder about the lives of my fellow really tall, really wide, passengers.

When you want to take an Alham or 7-place anywhere, you go to a place called a garage. Basically, there is a big parking lot area with some sort of open structure under which sit cars, buses, and people, all waiting for departure. With 7-places and some buses, there is no set departure time; you just go to the garage, get into a car that’s going to the place you want to go, and you wait until all 7 passengers arrive and hop on. So, while the actual travel is faster with a 7-place, you could spend some time waiting in the garage. I’ve waited up to 45 minutes so far, but sometimes you get to be lucky number 7 and take off right away. It really just depends.

Sitting in the garage is an interesting experience, because there are TONS of street vendors trying to sell all kinds of things, ranging from complete crap to surprising goodies. Being a toubab, the minute you arrive, you get swarmed by people shoving things in your face, and it is pretty intimidating at first. But eventually you learn techniques to avoid being hassled too much and the whole event becomes pretty run-of-the-mill. I, for instance, wear really dark sunglasses and just ignore all the vendors, or tell them that I’m totally broke. Sorry, friend, you chose the one poor American in the whole world! Bummer…

With all transport in Senegal, you negotiate the price before you get in (or on), and you pay either mid-trip, or as you arrive to your destination. I personally like this system a lot, because no matter how long it takes your taxi to get somewhere, you’re only paying the rate you set. No more fretting over that ticking meter in traffic!

This is a basic run-down of the travel situation here. Actually living it is completely impossible to imagine until you’ve done it, but maybe some of these descriptions can offer some insight. As far as I can tell, there isn’t a very cushy way to travel around, unless you work for a company that provides a nice Land Cruiser with a/c, like the Peace Corps! We all go to extreme measures to secure the occasional spot on a car thathappens to be passing through town, and there’s no lack of appreciation for the luxuries of doors that open.

Hope this was informative for everyone! Good luck with any holiday travel you may be doing, and just remember: no matter how bad it gets, you could be in Senegal :P

Love to all!

Sept-Place

Alham (slightly more colorful than the ones I usually see)

Sorry that this is a couple days late. The cyber cafe in Kaffrine was less than functional. Ahh, Senegal! Enjoy...

To say that Thanksgiving was a success would be a bit of an understatement, from my perspective. All told, we managed to feed 41 people a traditionally accurate meal – with leftovers – using a small kitchen, limited (sort of dirty) tools, and a supply of gas that we weren’t entirely sure would take us through everything that needed to be made. But, much to our pleasure, everything came together nearly seamlessly, and a good time was had by all.

Our menu was massive, including: turkey, stuffing, garlic mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, corn bread, deviled eggs, sweet potato casserole, baked macaroni and cheese, gravy, squash covered with brown sugar, pumpkin pie, apple pie, squash pie, and sangria. For my part, I hadn’t eaten to such fullness since I got to Senegal. Food here doesn’t have the same density that foods like Thanksgiving dinner do; so I may eat the same in quantity of rice and fish here, but it just doesn’t fill you up like a good serving of mashed potatoes.

My food coma set in almost instantly, and even though we ate at 5, which is extremely early here, I felt like I could have fallen asleep at 6 as I was chatting on the phone with my mom. That tryptophan (or is it THC? Either way, I understand they both seem to have the same effect on people) is common in all turkeys, it seems, not just American ones. The only thing missing from my day was either football or the Macy’s Parade, and some key family members. Though it was weird to be in such a different place on a holiday that I had always pursued with fervent traditionalism, the experience was great; and for the first time in my life, I was able to count myself partly responsible for making 40 other people really happy for a day, and that felt good. If you’ve never done it you should give it a try.

Now I am back in Kaffrine for just a few short days before I jump back in a car toward Thies for a few weeks. I’m not entirely sure how long I’ll be away from site yet, though. My training ends on December 18th, only a week before Christmas. I intend to spend Christmas in either Dakar or Kaolack, as I’ve mentioned before, so I need to make my decision on that, and from there, decide whether I make the trip back to site for another few short days, or just wait until after New Year’s to come back this way.

My family has expressed an interest – well, more of a mandate – that I celebrate with them, despite that they are Muslim. I couldn’t tell how serious they were, so that may or may not happen; but if we do celebrate, it will be an early celebration. Much as I’d like to share our culture with my family, I feel very strongly that I need to be with my American family in Senegal for my first Christmas away. In any event, it may happen that I do come back here for a couple of days between the 18th and 25th to celebrate a little and to not go over a month without seeing the people of Kaffrine…but we’ll see.

As for the rest of my time in Kaolack, I spent the first two days making preparations for Thanksgiving, and helping cook and clean up. On Thanksgiving I actually did more haircuts than cooking, then sat down to enjoy one of the most delicious meals of my life. On Friday I made myself a bit of a waste of space, and did a whole lot of nothing, really. I felt a little guilty about it, but then I made myself some Alfredo from scratch, put it on some yummy pasta I bought at the toubab store, and all was right with the world. Saturday morning I lucked out and caught a free ride in a Peace Corps car to Kaffrine, and was home by 10 am to enjoy the rest of the day with the family.

All in all it was a good 4 days gone, and I came back feeling mentally recharged. My coming training will be extremely fun, but terribly exhausting, so it was good to get some down time before my world gets whisked up like whipped cream I put on my pumpkin pie.

I hope everyone truly enjoyed their Thanksgivings, and fully took advantage of the one socially acceptable day to gorge yourself beyond reason, then do nothing but digest the rest of the day ☺

Until next time, love and hugs to all…

On Tuesday, the day before Tabaski, our courtyard took on a rather sinister look as a pole and cross-beam were set up, this being where the sacrificed sheep would soon hang. The worst of it was that this hangers block was positioned directly in front of the spot where the sheep were living out their final days, thus they had a clear view of what was to become of them. And so begins Tabaski. The holiday Tabaski is the most important holiday to Muslims over any other; much like Christmas is to Christians (or any Western child even loosely affiliated with some sect of Christianity). Everyone gets new clothes; men buy the sheep – at least one, but in my family we had three – and the women spend days cleaning the house, ironing clothes and buying all the ingredients at the market to prepare some tasty meat. I met my host father for the first time, as he came to Kaffrine from Dakar to celebrate with the family. Tabaski is a financial investment for most families, and I’ve come to believe that this is a large contributor to the general lack of money in Senegal throughout the rest of the year; but I digress. Put plainly, this is a big deal. From an American’s perspective, it’s a lot of hype for what turns out to be a pretty anti-climactic day; but I had a lot of time to consider why this was, and I concluded that because for me, the hype of Christmas has been largely pushed to the material side of things, whereas in Senegal, if not in all Muslim countries, this day still retains its huge religious significance. I don’t understand yet what that significance is, and I’m still not entirely sure what the holiday is about, but I do feel confident in saying that Tabaski is a day of spiritual cleansing, at the least. I think the act of sacrifice is a symbol to show renewed devotion to God, and as such, provides a chance for new beginnings. So, here’s how my Tabaski went down: I woke up at around 7:15, in no huge hurry to get out of bed. Eventually I pulled myself up and stumbled over to my stove to start some water boiling for coffee. I changed, opened my door to the world (and to let some light in), and started making my usual two-egg and coffee breakfast. It was an especially tasty breakfast, and I don’t know what I did differently, but it put me in a good mood. As I was finishing up with my coffee, my mom came into my room and asked (well, it was framed as a question, but really she was telling me) if I would come help peel veggies. So, I finished the last of the coffee, brushed my teeth and went outside to peel potatoes and onions. I ended up doing most of the peeling, then diced the onions and cut the potatoes into fries. That took a good hour and a half, because the Senegalese take their Tabaski eating seriously and make a LOT of food. When I was done, I found myself just sitting around, so I went into the cooking area to see what kind of damage I could do. That led me to frying the potatoes, and thus I became mostly responsible for the potato portion of our meals that day. It was pretty cool to claim responsibility for some of the food, because normally I don’t do anything to help cook, nor do I think I would be able to if asked. Their cooking is just very different from ours, and I don’t even have much culinary skill in America. So to say that these French fries were mine (and they looked pretty too!) gave me a small victory – and I’ll take any of those I can get here. While doing the potatoes I unwittingly watched the slaughter of the sheep, which I had intended not to see. It wasn’t quite as bad as I imagined it would be based on my Korite experience (if you recall, I heard the sheep gasping for its last breaths while I was eating breakfast, but didn’t see anything), but I was still a little nauseated for a while. I think it’s important for Westerners to be closer to the source of their food, and it’s amazing to believe that this was the first animal slaughter I’ve seen, but my 8 year old sister not only watched, but helped quarter the animal and separate the meat from the fat and bones. However, this experience also makes me grateful for how easy we have it in the states…and for my neck. After the potatoes, I was freed from my responsibility to cook (or rather I wasn’t invited back to do any more). By this point we had eaten once (twice for me, counting breakfast) and I was pretty full. My mom had told me a few days prior that I was not allowed to read my book or take a nap on Tabaski, presumably so I could spend that time with the family, so I just sat in the open area and drifted off into thought. It seems a little like my physical presence is more important than my mental presence at times like this, because I had no clue what was happening around me, but I was left relatively undisturbed. A little later we had a second lunch, and by this point I was ready to burst. This feeling is common among volunteers, I think, because a friend of mine sent me a text message saying he though his family was trying to make him explode. For every meal of Tabaski you eat some portion of the freshly slaughtered sheep along with fried potatoes (either in fry or chip form) and a yummy onion sauce. Luckily for me, our sheep was grilled over charcoal, so it had a little bit of a barbeque feel to it. I don’t like the taste of sheep, and when it’s boiled, the taste is very strong. When it’s grilled, the taste is pretty much charred off. I’d say it’s safe to assume that everyone in Senegal ate this meal at least three times on Tabaski, and it is likely that the same thing was consumed by everyone on Korite as well. After eating I sat around some more, not napping, and just sort of throwing out phrases here and there as people passed by me. After a couple hours of this, I went into my room under the pretense of blowing my nose, and just stayed in there reading a little, doing this and that. Finally, around 4:30 my sister came in and said it was time to shower and get dressed (we did all the cooking in our un-fancy clothes); so I promptly hopped in the shower, got dressed, and prettied up a little, which took me all of a half an hour. I was the first one dressed, because nothing happens quickly in Senegal, so I just read some more in my room. Once I saw the first couple people of the family in their nice clothes, I made my appearance. Kine (my mom) was very happy to see me in a complete set of Senegalese clothes, rather than just the skirt part I usually wear. It was nice to see her so smiley. She also looked very nice in her clothes and make up, and I was really happy to see her finally able to relax a little and treat herself. On Tabaski, it is custom to walk to your neighbor’s houses in your new clothes and exchange the traditional, “Baal ma ak” (forgive me) and “Baal naa la” (I forgive you), and to show off the pretty new clothes you have. Children go off to neighbors’ houses and ask for alms- either money, toys, or candy. So, my mom and I went around a couple places, said our forgive-me’s and gawked at all the women and told them how pretty they looked. We were out for about an hour, then, because it was dark, went home, changed out of our clothes, and ate, again. In total, I was wearing my clothes for maybe two hours, and had been sitting doing not a whole lot all day, which is why I was left feeling like the day was anti-climactic. This is especially true because the clothes seemed to be the most important part of it all as we were getting closer to the holiday, but I was only in them for a short while. Luckily, I was able to pretend the clothes that I wore to our swearing-in ceremony were new, and didn’t have to spend a lot of money in preparation. But everyone seemed to truly be enjoying themselves, and the mood was lighter than I’ve ever seen it at my home, and for that I was very pleasantly surprised and grateful. Now that Tabaski is over, I somehow feel like I’m more a part of the family. Kine and I hang out a little more each day, and though we don’t talk about much in particular, I can feel her warming up to me more and more. Alhamdoulalaih! Now I have a week to recover before I go and eat a ton of food for Thanksgiving. The holidays just keep coming! Since Tabaski, life has been a non-event for the most part. I’ve had a cold for the last while which I’ve been working on fighting off; I got a couple of really awesome packages in the mail, which made me a happy camper; and I’ve been spending at least a part of every day trying to coax my ‘pet’ mouse out of hiding and into my hands. I can’t bring myself to buy a trap that will kill him, but I think if I am able to capture him and put him outside, I can leave the bats to do the killing. Though I’m a little sad to be missing Thanksgiving at home, we are planning quite a feast here and I will be among good company – and we are looking to have a lot of fun. If nothing else, I’m excited to have a new experience and a different take on Thanksgiving. I wish everyone a happy Thanksgiving!! My family and friends in America will surely be in my thoughts Thursday. Much love!

(How Was Your Trip?)We are precisely half-way through November, and though PST seemed to drag on without end, I find myself wondering how we could be so close to the end of the year! It doesn’t feel like it should be this late to me, but then again, the warm weather could be throwing me off a little. Based on what I’ve heard adults say since I was really little, this trend will only continue, likely gaining speed as time goes on. Last week I went to a town called Diourbel for a language training. It’s north-west of me, and essentially straight east of Dakar. It was really wonderful to get out and see a new place and be able to stay there a while. I also found it refreshing to spend time with familiar faces, and when I got home I felt a new level of comfort there; a stronger sense of belonging. Diourbel is an interesting town. It’s geographically very big –larger than Kaffrine – but very quiet. I’m not sure of the population, but during the few times we went into the main part of town, it felt more like a ghost town than anything. It was easy to see that Diourbel was a town built up by the French, with small fenced parks, intricate streetlamps and two-story colonial French buildings (similar to New Orleans, if Disneyland has given an accurate representation). However, it is also obvious that after the French left, there was not much effort to maintain these buildings and public areas, and now nobody stops to sit on a park bench, or play bacci ball as I’m sure many French ex-pats did back in the day. Personally, being there was a little bit like stepping into a small French town for a week (which I loved!). The host mom of the woman we stayed with is very different from most Senegalese women. She doesn’t have kids, she smokes, she only cooks a little bit (but very well), and she entertains guests throughout most of the day. Also, she speaks French fluently, and spends about 8 months out of the year working at a boarding school in the eastern part of the country. While staying with her, we had coffee in mini-cups every day with butter and jam on bread; we ate lunch and dinner sitting at tables, rather than on the ground, and we had forks and knives, rather than using our hands. Don’t get me wrong, I have no problem sitting on the ground and using my hand to eat, but it was just a fun change-up. There were other things about this household that were different from most Senegalese lifestyles, so it was just a fun way to pass the week and see a different breed. Since coming back on Friday I haven’t done too much. I ran a few errands on Saturday and cooked some potatoes that were threatening to go bad; and Sunday I threw myself into home-improvement. I didn’t have any big intentions when I started cleaning my living room area, but I just kept finding more and more things to clean. It ended up that I completely removed the linoleum that had been put down (but not securely, so there was a lot of dirt collected beneath it), swept up all the dirt, scrubbed some extra-dirty parts of the floor, and rearranged the whole room. When I moved in, I had a strong feeling I would do something like that, because it’s me and I can’t leave anything alone for very long, but I didn’t think it would happen so soon. But having done it now, I really feel like I’ve made this place my place. For one, it’s at a level of cleanliness that I can live with, and for another, it’s put together in a way that I chose, not a way that was given to me. While doing this mega-cleaning I thought about why it is I feel compelled to take on big projects like this (it happens pretty regularly). I realized that I’m the kind of person who really likes to have a say in things. This place looked good and was well put together when I got here, but it wasn’t my work that did it, so it had to be redone. (*NB: living in Senegal has left me lots of time to think about things, hence lots of introspection….and cleaning) So now I’ve got the concrete floor showing, where I can monitor where all the dirt is and get rid of it accordingly. I put a big basan (straw/plastic mats found everywhere in Senegal) down to add some color, dusted and just got the place looking good. Go me! Wednesday is Tabaski, the biggest holiday here. I don’t know much about it yet, and I don’t want to give away spoilers for next week’s blog post; but it’s going to be a big event. Shortly after Tabasky is Thanksgiving (and freedom! Five week challenge will be over), which I will spend in Kaolack; I’ll be home for 3-4 days, then I’m off to Thies for roughly 3 weeks for a conference, then two weeks of technical training. So before I know it, it’ll be Christmas, then the New Year! I’m not planning on getting much work done in Kaffrine until after the New Year. I’ll have all of January and most of February to get my hands dirty and see what kind of trouble I can cause here. It’s weird to be talking about my plans in January, but I know it’s going to spring up and surprise me out of nowhere, so I’m trying to get myself mentally prepared. Weekly update over! Happy Tabaski everyone, celebrate in peace!!!

Pardon the cheesy title; I just finished my Zane Grey western classic. But speaking of cows migrating, I’ve realized that I have a huge fascination with the cows here. They’re unlike any cows I’ve (knowingly) seen, and every morning around eight o’clock I get a really good look at them. The cows here are massive, with typically off-white or gray coloring. They grow huge pointy horns, some of which I’ve seen in excess of three feet. They’ve got a small hump on their backs that remind me a little of bison in the US, but these are even larger than bison. They’ve got the head of a cow (plus the horns) and the bodies of small rhinos. Every time I get too near one I think of getting run down by one, like this man I saw over the summer who barely escaped with his butt intact after coming too close to a herd of bison in South Dakota; but then I realize that they’re used to being around people, for one thing, and for another, they’re just too lazy. They live to eat, and eat they do. Every morning around eight I look out my window to find a pretty sizeable herd meandering through the streets, I’m guessing to some fields just outside of town. I still find myself amazed to see livestock wandering through ‘city streets’, no big deal – I mean, how often do you see a herd of enormous cows walking through the streets of Seattle? They are rounded and guided by a lone shepherd who carries only a walking stick and a gourd of water. I’ve seen him come back a few times, and it’s usually around six pm or so. I wonder how he manages to stave off hunger out there all day? Does he make like the cows and eat grass? Is he hiding food somewhere in those robes of his? I also can’t help but wonder how one, relatively small guy, can keep an entire herd of moo-ing rhinos with horns doing what he wants them to do. How many shepherds have found themselves less fortunate than the guy in South Dakota, and actually gotten a horn up their butt?? These are important questions! After having been asked about my family, I realized that I haven’t really gone into much detail about them, or my living situation. So for those of you who are curious, I’ll give a quick rundown: Kine Ndiaye: She’s the boss. Kine (kee-nay) is the mom, the chef, the maid, and the 24 hour caretaker of grandpa. She’s the only woman in the compound/family unit, which is pretty rare, so she has no one to take turns doing these chores with; except her daughters, who are young and still learning the ropes. She’s overworked and always exhausted, and her patience for the girls is pretty thin. During my first couple of weeks here, her patience for me was only mildly better, but as I’m learning her accent and speaking type, and finding ways to relate to her, she’s warming up a lot. We’re even laughing together now! I always hope that somehow things will improve for her and she’ll get a much-deserved break, so she can enjoy herself a little. We’ll see… Mame Ba: Grandpa, as we’d call him in the states (‘mame’ means grandparent in Wolof). He’s the old guy and patriarch of the house. Kine is married to his oldest son, which, I’ve divined, is why she got stuck taking care of him. I say ‘stuck’ because he can be sort of a pill to work with, depending on his mood. With me he’s always kind, and has even shown some protectiveness (being very unsettled by me going to have dinner with my site mate after dark); but as for Kine and the girls, he sees them as people who are here to make him comfortable. He spends most of the day praying, either in his room or in the courtyard, and sometimes he even makes it out to the street to watch the world go by. He’s in charge of all the money matters of the household, and I’m still not sure what that means for everyone else. But, he’s really chatty and sweet to his guests, who come by frequently, and has good intentions, even if we all think he’s talking too much. Mame Fatou: She’s the oldest daughter, and at age 11 is showing all the typical qualities of an oldest child. She wants to be a grown up, do grown up things, help take care of her sisters; but she’s also hasn’t outgrown her child-like whimsy. She loves to play games with her sisters, and sometimes I can visibly see her inner conflict as she decides to be loyal to her mom or her sisters in doing certain activities. She’s very smart, and I hope she’s able to continue through school to high school, which is fairly uncommon for girls – especially the oldest girls – in Senegal. Don’t be confused by her name; often kids are given the ‘Mame’ in front of their names. I think it’s sort of a term of endearment, but I haven’t fully figured that one out yet. Mami: Her actual name isn’t Mami, but I can’t remember what it is, and she has only gone by Mami since I’ve been here. She’s 8 years old, and the middle child. She displays very typical middle child behavior (sorry to all you middle-children out there, no offense intended!). Unfortunately for her, she is the least favorite, and as such, finds ways to get any sort of attention – usually negative attention. Most of the time lectures from her mom are deserved, but sometimes when they aren’t she still bears the brunt of her mother’s wrath. I’m not sure what brought her mom to feel that way about her, but it’s obvious that she’d have to work really hard to get back on the good side; so it’s easier just to act out. Bad attention is better than no attention at all, right? I’ve taken it upon myself to try and give her some positive attention, when she earns it, and help her with school-work. We’re working on the alphabet, which she really struggles with. Hopefully we’ll make some progress! When she’s not around her sisters, she can be really sweet, and I hope someday her sweetness outshines all her misbehavior. Coumbis: This is the little sister, who is 5 years old. She’s definitely the favorite, and I’m not sure if it’s because she’s still cute and little, or what. She’s definitely cute and little, but I’ve seen a little wild streak in her, that, if unchecked could bring some interesting times when she gets older. She spends a lot of time with her sisters, but seems less dependent on them than the other two are of their siblings. She is frequently off in her own world, thinking about who knows what. I haven’t interacted with her quite as much as the other two, because she gets shy when it’s just me and her; but I like her and I’m sure she’ll open up more and more with each passing week. In typical little-sister fashion, all three girls are very interested in what I do, the things I have, and how I live. This was insanely annoying at first, because they would come into my room unannounced and just sit or look around. This would be fine, but I’m not quite ready for them to see everything I own. For example, they haven’t seen my laptop yet. We were warned by all kinds of people during PST to lock anything valuable away, because Senegalese children will ruin it otherwise. I believe it too. They don’t know how to handle electronics, especially, because they’ve never had them. So if they were to get a hold of my iPod or laptop, I’d probably never see them again. I think eventually we’ll get to the point where they can see my stuff, and I’ll be able to explain to them why it’s so important, but for now, it stays hidden. So, to have them prying through my things was unnerving to me to start out with, because I’ve never had that before; but as time goes on, they’re a little less nosy, and I’m more comfortable with them. It’s a working relationship, no doubt. I’m sure I’ll be unhealthily attached to them by the time I come home. It’s just the way of things! I’m currently in a town called Diourbel for four days for a Wolof seminar. It’s with two other newbies and my language instructor from PST (yay! She’s awesome). I’m really excited to have time away from Kaffrine for a bit, to see a new place and fight the boredom a little. I’m also way excited at the prospect of understanding Wolof just a little bit better. So wish me luck! Details of Diourbel to come when I’m back. Hope all is well in the land of the Manifest Destiny (Zane Gray has a lasting effect, what can I say?)! Love and hugs to all…

As I write this blog post, Halloween is coming to its end here, and it hardly feels possible that it could already be done and over with. Being so far away from the usual hype has made it come up on me fast; added to the warm weather, which I’m not used to by this time of year, and I was fully unprepared! It’s hard not to get a little nostalgic as I think of what everyone will be doing as evening moves closer in the States. I imagine some people wearing elaborate costumes of which I would be jealous; others are handing out candy, arguing over which kid is the cutest this year, content to be inside where it’s warm and dry; and still some others probably letting the day pass unnoticed, much like I am. It is a Sunday after all…it’s hard to get excited for holidays that fall on a school night. Some people here are throwing an annual costume party at a regional house – I hear it’s actually a lot of fun, and has developed a reputation over time – but it happens to be about three hours away, so I would have had to sleep there had I gone…and broken the five week challenge. I’m determined to see it out, because I want American food and football at the end, and I think it’s actually a really good idea, even if it prevents things like fun Halloween parties. Thinking about Halloween has gotten me thinking about other holidays too, and I find myself grateful that I won’t be subject to the post-Halloween Christmas section at Target. I’ve always had trouble coming to terms with Christmas décor before Thanksgiving, because it only convinces me more that it’s a consumer’s holiday. So, in realizing this, I’m excited to see how the holidays will present themselves half a world away in a predominantly Muslim country. I know that my regional house will have a pretty sizeable Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner, along with decorations, but for the first time in a long while, I think I’ll be free of pressures of the holidays, left only to enjoy good food and better company. That in itself seems like a gift! It will be difficult to give up the traditions of the holidays that I love, and deep down, a small part of me will miss having the dull gray sky of Portland as an excuse to stay in and drink hot cocoa, but I’m anxious to see what this new angle at holidays will do to my overall approach to the holiday season. Time will tell. Nothing too crazy happened here in the last week. The biggest event was my day trip to Kaolack yesterday to get money and buy some groceries that can’t be found in Kaffrine. Again, because of the five week challenge, I couldn’t stay overnight in Kaolack, but it was worth the trip anyways. For one thing, I didn’t bring nearly enough money to Kaffrine with me, so I desperately needed to get to an ATM, but I also got to see a friend from Mboro who’s also only an hour away, but in the other direction. We got into Kaolack at about 9:45 and went straight to the bank. Then we walked around the market a little, hit up the toubab grocery store (I bought cookies!), then went to the regional house for some down time before lunch. We ate out at a restaurant with good food, then by the time we made it back to the house it was time to get our things and go. It was a quick trip, and pretty expensive by Peace Corps terms, but it was good for my sanity and my wallet. I wouldn’t do a day trip again, if I can help it, because it was really exhausting dealing with the more aggressive market and transport; but it was a good experience to have. It was my first time having to navigate my way to and around Kaolack without the help of a current volunteer, and now I feel much better about arranging future trips. Otherwise, I’ve just been meandering through the days, talking to people when I can, giving myself some down time. I read an entire book today, which, in retrospect might have been too much time in my room (appearing antisocial), but it was just one of those stories I couldn’t put down! Luckily I took about six books from the Kaolack house, and will probably start on a Zane Grey (awesome old-Western writer, look him up if you don’t know who he is!) book that I couldn’t resist. The second most exciting piece of news is that I finally located gas!!! And in the same day I received a surprise package of coffee. There’s a story there: when I was in Kaolack before I installed, a current volunteer told me about this Maryland coffee company, called Rise Up Coffee, that was started by a couple returned volunteers. If you give them your address, they send you some coffee for free, as a way of showing appreciation, and/or solidarity. So I received my package way earlier than I expected it when I signed up, but it was even more surprising because in the midst of being in a new place, I had forgotten all about signing up. They also included some cool bumper stickers in the package, so it was all around a fun little surprise. And the coffee’s excellent! It’s been about 5 days now, and I’ve cooked breakfast and made coffee for all of them, and I can already feel a little difference in the way I feel the rest of the day. I make eggs, which is where I think I’ll be getting most of my protein while here, and I stay a little more full and a little more energized each day. It’s a good feeling, most definitely. Tomorrow I plan on buying some salt, pepper, garlic, and onion to flavor my eggs up a little bit. I never thought I’d appreciate those flavors so much, but I love it! Especially because, although a lot of garlic and onion is used in food here, by the time it’s been through the cooking process, a good majority of the flavor and nutrient content is lost (I’m not complaining about the food, it’s great! But it happens…) and all the wonderful smells seem to vanish by the time the bowl hits the mat. The point of the story is that all it takes is a little bit of extra flavor to make me a happy camper. And now that the world knows the culinary intricacies of Senegal, I am going to say goodnight, and HAPPY HALLOWEEN! I’m handing out candy/wearing an awesome costume/hanging out in spirit and sending out big ol’ hugs. Lots of love!

Today marks the one-week anniversary of my arrival in Kaffrine! It’s been both a long week and has seemed to fly by quickly. I’ve spent a lot of time with my family, and as much time thinking up activities for myself to carry me through the first two work-less months. I can’t remember if I’ve written about this before, but Peace Corps’ strategy for solid integration is to not do any work for the first two months. Even the agriculture people who will have their own gardens for their two years in service are discouraged from doing much work, if any, in their gardens. Instead, they really want us to spend time with our families, as well as go out and getting to know the community. This may involve going to the market a lot, having tea with neighbors, interviewing business owners, etc…It really depends on the volunteer. But they don’t want us getting so absorbed in our work right away that we don’t develop a strong bond with the community. This is very important, naturally, and I intend to do my best at making my presence known here, but two whole months with nothing specific to do can lead to extreme boredom. Pretty much all I’ve heard from current volunteers is that the first 4 months in country – 2 for PST, 2 for integrating – are the worst any volunteer will experience. This is when all the doubt surfaces about whether one can make it through the two years. So to avoid this, I’m doing everything in my power to have things to do every day – even if it’s not much – so that I can at least feel some sense of purpose here. In my first week I’ve worked in my site-mate’s garden (which I intend to do regularly for the first two months, if not beyond); gone to the market; cleaned my room…a lot; gone for a bike ride; finished my 800-page book; lazed around in our courtyard with my three sisters; made a three month calendar; and today I’m biking to a nearby-ish village to visit another newbie. (I wrote this before having gone, but am posting the blog after the ride. It was great to see another volunteer in her village and we had a really good visit. All told I rode 40 Km, so today my body is a little tired. Its exciting to know I have it in me though!) Even with all that I’ve experienced some boredom, but I’m constantly reminding myself to be patient and determined. Part of what makes things frustrating now is that I have a really hard time understanding my new host mom. She sort of mumbles when she talks, and she speaks so differently from my other mom that I’m having to completely readjust my Wolof ear. That’s probably a good thing in the end, so I don’t adopt a weird accent; but she gets visibly frustrated when I have to ask her to repeat things several times. Lately one of the girls just translates between her and I. To deal with this frustration I’ve taken to studying Wolof pretty regularly as well. Every day I understand her a little better, and yesterday I felt great because one of her friends praised my language level, so it’s coming along. Just not as fast as I would have in a perfect world. Despite all these frustrations I still feel encouraged. It’s only a week in, and I think I’m bound to get really aggravated at some point, but I’m determined to evade that for as long as possible! I’ve already gone through a ‘down-phase’ and it sucked, so I’d like to just keep moving up. I have small landmarks to look forward to throughout my first two months at site and beyond, all the way to February, starting with today when I visit my friend, then get a gas can with which to cook my own breakfast. I’ve been living off of the banana bread that my site-mate baked me as a welcome gift. It’s delicious, but today is the last of it, so now I will move on to eggs. Saturday I’m going to Kaolack for the day because I didn’t bring enough money with me when I first came here, and that is the nearest ATM. My friend and I are planning to meet there and hang out for the day, then go back home before dinner. I also have Thanksgiving to look forward to, followed closely by a reunion of my stage for another two weeks of technical training, and the list goes on. I will try to keep up a weekly regimen of blog posts, since exciting things happen no more frequently than that, now that I’ve been here a while. I hope everyone is in peace (to steal a greeting from Wolof) and I’m sending all my love and hugs from Africa!

Once again, my life has taken another turn in a crazy direction – a turn toward Kaffrine! I am currently at the regional house (a place where we come if we need to unwind, or if we really need a steady internet connection), and this afternoon I will be moving into my new house. This will be the most alone I’ve been since coming here (in terms of exposure to Americans), but I’m really looking forward to the peace of having my own place. I also really can’t wait to get all of my things unpacked, and my rooms decorated a la Emily. I’ve had quite a time getting to this moment, though.

Most importantly was Swear-In. On October 15th (Friday), all 61 people in my stage, along with our training staff, hopped onto a caravan of buses and Land-Cruisers and made our way to the Ambassador’s residence in Dakar. Nearly everyone was in local garb, and we all looked very nice; if not like albino Senegalese ☺ It was a fun day, because of its importance, however we did have a couple hours of speeches to listen to. They were motivating and heartfelt, but still, they were speeches, and only about 10 minutes of them were in English. The rest was in French, and in the case of 4 of my co-stagiaires, were in local languages. These four people were elected by everyone else in their language groups to give a quick speech of thanks. The four languages (try to pronounce these!) were: Wolof, Sereer, Jaxanke/Mandinka, and Pulaar. After the ceremony, in which we even took an oath, we had a bunch of delicious hand foods that were, if not resembled, many of our favorite treats at home. My favorites were the mini hamburgers and the quiche. I most certainly made straight for the food, gorged myself, and have no shame about it.

After the Ambassador’s residence, we went to the American club for a couple of hours to hang out around their pool. I swam quite a lot, which was wonderful because my clothes, though very pretty, were not breathable, and I was very hot. Then we went back to Thies, rested for a while, had some more of that fabulous ½ chicken dinner I’ve written about before, and then went out to celebrate my friend David’s birthday. He’s the guy who is (was ☹) my next door neighbor in Mboro, and is part of our dearest Mbooloo Mboro (Mboro Team). He had just about the coolest birthday ever…I mean, how many people get to swear into the Peace Corps on their birthday?! So we found a dance club and feverishly danced the night away. It was really cool because it started out as only a few people, but as the night went on, rumor spread and almost our entire stage showed up. So the Americans definitely took over that night, but we had a great time.

To compliment this emotional high, we had to say our first goodbyes (for two months, at least) as the first groups left for their sites on Saturday. I was in one of those groups, which left at 5 pm Saturday. It was much more difficult to leave than I thought it would be, and it hit me for the first time how close I had become with my group. I suppose that sharing all the ups and downs of your first home stay leads to closer friendships than one would normally experience after only two months. The next two months will fly by, and I will see them all again for our two week In-Service Training (IST), but still…

Saturday night we all celebrated our arrival to our region with several volunteers already here, and then Sunday we got to go on a Peace Corps sponsored shopping spree. It was so much fun! We all got about $200 to buy all the supplies we would need for our houses over the next two years. I’ve never had to fully settle into a house, so I got quite a bit. On the list of things were: a pot, frying pan, coffee mugs, plastic cups and bowls, mats to sit on, dish towels, forks, spoons, knives…and a MACHETE!! Let’s all take a moment to envision me, deep in Senegal, wielding a machete making unruly plants fall under my unforgiving blows. Pretty cool, huh?

I’m actually not entirely sure what I’ll do with said machete, but it was highly recommended that we buy one, and at $3, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to at least write about it in my blog. And hopefully it will be useful too. So today I get to move all of my stuff (and somehow there is a lot more of it than I came with) into my place and go through all the fun times of living with a strange family again. They aren’t as ‘strange’ as my Mboro family, because I’ve met them, and I also speak a lot more Wolof than I did when I got to Mboro; but it’s still just an awkward experience at first. But now I know that after enough time, they will be my family, and I will have a safe, happy place to go back to every night.

As it stands now, I’m not sure the next time I’ll be able to get online. I’ll be somewhat busy for the next week or two just settling in and meeting people, but after that my life is likely to slow down…a lot. I’ll be able to write posts on my computer and just bring them to a cyber café on a USB and upload them, but no promises on timing. This would be a great time to call my cell phone if you have a burning desire to talk. I certainly have no expectations, but so everyone knows, that’s the best way to be in touch for at least a couple of weeks.

This truly is the start of my two-year roller coaster ride in Senegal, and I feel the entire range of emotions that you would think go along with such a position. I’m at the top ready for that first drop, and I can’t see what’s around the corner; but nervous as I am, I feel pretty certain that when I step off, I will have had a blast and will be so glad I made this choice.

Thanks again to everyone who has offered any sort of support in this decision of mine, and I feel so privileged to have you all to share my experience with. Until the next update, take care and look out for the big hugs I’m sending your way!

Once again, my life has taken another turn in a crazy direction – a turn toward Kaffrine! I am currently at the regional house (a place where we come if we need to unwind, or if we really need a steady internet connection), and this afternoon I will be moving into my new house. This will be the most alone I’ve been since coming here (in terms of exposure to Americans), but I’m really looking forward to the peace of having my own place. I also really can’t wait to get all of my things unpacked, and my rooms decorated a la Emily. I’ve had quite a time getting to this moment, though.

Most importantly was Swear-In. On October 15th (Friday), all 61 people in my stage, along with our training staff, hopped onto a caravan of buses and Land-Cruisers and made our way to the Ambassador’s residence in Dakar. Nearly everyone was in local garb, and we all looked very nice; if not like albino Senegalese ☺ It was a fun day, because of its importance, however we did have a couple hours of speeches to listen to. They were motivating and heartfelt, but still, they were speeches, and only about 10 minutes of them were in English. The rest was in French, and in the case of 4 of my co-stagiaires, were in local languages. These four people were elected by everyone else in their language groups to give a quick speech of thanks. The four languages (try to pronounce these!) were: Wolof, Sereer, Jaxanke/Mandinka, and Pulaar. After the ceremony, in which we even took an oath, we had a bunch of delicious hand foods that were, if not resembled, many of our favorite treats at home. My favorites were the mini hamburgers and the quiche. I most certainly made straight for the food, gorged myself, and have no shame about it.

After the Ambassador’s residence, we went to the American club for a couple of hours to hang out around their pool. I swam quite a lot, which was wonderful because my clothes, though very pretty, were not breathable, and I was very hot. Then we went back to Thies, rested for a while, had some more of that fabulous ½ chicken dinner I’ve written about before, and then went out to celebrate my friend David’s birthday. He’s the guy who is (was ☹) my next door neighbor in Mboro, and is part of our dearest Mbooloo Mboro (Mboro Team). He had just about the coolest birthday ever…I mean, how many people get to swear into the Peace Corps on their birthday?! So we found a dance club and feverishly danced the night away. It was really cool because it started out as only a few people, but as the night went on, rumor spread and almost our entire stage showed up. So the Americans definitely took over that night, but we had a great time.

To compliment this emotional high, we had to say our first goodbyes (for two months, at least) as the first groups left for their sites on Saturday. I was in one of those groups, which left at 5 pm Saturday. It was much more difficult to leave than I thought it would be, and it hit me for the first time how close I had become with my group. I suppose that sharing all the ups and downs of your first home stay leads to closer friendships than one would normally experience after only two months. The next two months will fly by, and I will see them all again for our two week In-Service Training (IST), but still…

Saturday night we all celebrated our arrival to our region with several volunteers already here, and then Sunday we got to go on a Peace Corps sponsored shopping spree. It was so much fun! We all got about $200 to buy all the supplies we would need for our houses over the next two years. I’ve never had to fully settle into a house, so I got quite a bit. On the list of things were: a pot, frying pan, coffee mugs, plastic cups and bowls, mats to sit on, dish towels, forks, spoons, knives…and a MACHETE!! Let’s all take a moment to envision me, deep in Senegal, wielding a machete making unruly plants fall under my unforgiving blows. Pretty cool, huh?

I’m actually not entirely sure what I’ll do with said machete, but it was highly recommended that we buy one, and at $3, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to at least write about it in my blog. And hopefully it will be useful too. So today I get to move all of my stuff (and somehow there is a lot more of it than I came with) into my place and go through all the fun times of living with a strange family again. They aren’t as ‘strange’ as my Mboro family, because I’ve met them, and I also speak a lot more Wolof than I did when I got to Mboro; but it’s still just an awkward experience at first. But now I know that after enough time, they will be my family, and I will have a safe, happy place to go back to every night.

As it stands now, I’m not sure the next time I’ll be able to get online. I’ll be somewhat busy for the next week or two just settling in and meeting people, but after that my life is likely to slow down…a lot. I’ll be able to write posts on my computer and just bring them to a cyber café on a USB and upload them, but no promises on timing. This would be a great time to call my cell phone if you have a burning desire to talk. I certainly have no expectations, but so everyone knows, that’s the best way to be in touch for at least a couple of weeks.

This truly is the start of my two-year roller coaster ride in Senegal, and I feel the entire range of emotions that you would think go along with such a position. I’m at the top ready for that first drop, and I can’t see what’s around the corner; but nervous as I am, I feel pretty certain that when I step off, I will have had a blast and will be so glad I made this choice.

Thanks again to everyone who has offered any sort of support in this decision of mine, and I feel so privileged to have you all to share my experience with. Until the next update, take care and look out for the big hugs I’m sending your way!