Fall Recap

And in a blink of an eye it’s the end of November! Looking back to the last time I posted a blog, it seems as if someone hit the fast forward button. Rainy season is finally coming to an end, people in my village are starting to harvest their crops, I now have my hands on our much anticipated baseline survey, and I’ve been struck with my first battle of Giardia…I don’t suggest it. The end of September slash beginning of October seemed to be filled with birthday party after birthday party. The highlight was definitely celebrating my friend’s 30^th birthday in her village, which is about 12 miles away from mine. We introduced her family to the classic American game ‘pin the tail on the donkey’ and ate so much fried food; oil was seeping out of our pores by the end of the day. I ended the streak of birthday parties by travelling 16 hours north to the sandy and quaint region of Linguere to celebrate yet another friend’s birthday.

The landscape in the north is much different than my neck of the woods. It’s definitely the land of sand with scary thorn bushes and a lot less biking. In order to get to my friend’s village we had to take a bush taxi. I don’t even want to imagine trying to bike in the sand, but that bush taxi couldn’t have been much more enjoyable. This “taxi” is basically a flatbed truck with planks of wood across the back serving as benches. These benches are lifted, allowing the bed of the truck to still be used to carry luggage and, if need be, various animals. It gets better. They cram as many people as they can on top of these trucks and you must hang on for dear life as the truck speeds through the sandy maze of trees. The trees become an issue too because if the branches are hanging too low, everyone has to duck in order not to be whacked in the face! Once we reached her village though everything was fine. Our villages are actually quite similar, minus the landscape. And we even got a chance to paint some proverbs in her local language at the health hut.

From the quaint streets of Linguere we rented out a sept place with a few other volunteers from our training group to the bustling streets of Thies for the annual health summit. We were joined by the rest of our training group as well as volunteers from the health stage a year ahead of us to share project ideas and to also fatten up with the delicious training center food. It’s always exciting getting together with everyone in Thies, but also extremely exhausting. Our days are filled with various sessions and by night we’re ready to hit the town. My friends and I have renamed Thies (pronounced “Chess”) Thies Vegas even though this big town is far from the actual sin city. After so many weeks in village though, the makeshift bar at the Catholic family’s compound can sometimes feel like a night out on the strip…minus the lights…and premium spirits…and dress code. But you know what? I’ve actually come to appreciate my $3 flask of “London’s Best Seller Gin” no matter how misleading its name is.

My host brothers sacrificing a goat...right outside of my room.

Summit was followed by two completely opposite holidays. The first being Tabaski when my family slaughtered a goat and feasted on it for the following two days. Yes, two days, and remember that we are living without electricity, which means no refrigerator, which also means by day three my stomach was not feeling its finest. This significant Islamic holiday was followed by one of America’s most significant holidays, Halloween. Tambacounda hosted their infamous Halloween party and a group of us from my region took a quick 36-hour trip to partake in the festivities. I’m curious to know what the hotel staff must have thought seeing a bunch of Disney characters running around their establishment. Although I must admit, we were definitely the best dressed group at the party…shout out to my tailor who whipped up my costume in a mere three hours with nothing but a hand drawn picture of Aladdin!

Kedougou volunteers dressed up for Halloween.

And in between all the crazy Peace Corps happenings I’ve also been enjoying the simple life in village. School has finally started up and so I’ve been able to follow-up on the girls scholarship program I began last school year. I also invited Awa, a Senegalese woman who works for Peace Corps, to speak in my village on the importance of staying in school and communication between parents and children. To my surprise, the meeting went extremely well and was especially perceived well by the fathers present. It was reassuring to receive so much support and recognition and to know that my credibility has somewhat gone up with the adults in my village. Now for the next month I will be solely focusing on finishing up my baseline survey and hopefully when the survey is finished I will be able to pinpoint my village’s main problems. Happy Thanksgiving to everyone back home and I will try to be better at updating my blog!!

Some of the girls in my village who attended the meeting on girl's education.

Quarter Service Crisis

As promised in my last post, I was going to share what happened at the “end of Ramadan celebration,” here known as Korite, but also known as Eid-al-Fitr (thank you Wikipedia). You know the saying, “I don’t want to get your hopes up”? That’s probably the best way I could describe my Korite experience. Not that it wasn’t fun or there weren’t bowls and bowls of delicious food, it’s just that everyone was hyping it up so much, I was preparing myself for a socially exhausting day. In the end though, I’m glad it wasn’t as exhausting as I had anticipated because I was still beat by the end of the day. The most exciting part of the day was definitely lunchtime. People from about seven or eight family compounds all gathered at my compound for lunch since our compound is relatively large (and who says size doesn’t matter?). Now keep in mind that each family compound can have up to 20 plus people living in them so with seven or eight compounds gathered that meant a whole lot of people and that much more food. The men and women separated to eat, as is usually done. I joined the men inside the hut of the eldest man in my compound, as the boys patiently waited outside for the men to decide what bowls of food they wanted to keep for themselves and which ones they were willing to give to the younger boys. There were probably 30 men and 10 huge bowls of food, and once the “OK” was given everyone went to town! I think I had one of the best tactics of sitting in the center of the room, that way when I was tired of one dish I could simply swivel around and start in a new bowl. When lunch was over I sat around with all the men not really knowing what was coming, but no one else was getting up either so I stayed put not wanting to be rude. Next thing I know they started praying and beautiful Arabic prayers were being spoken all around me. I was of course caught way off guard by this still holding my spoon from lunch in my right hand, when one of the men signaled to me that his palms were facing upwards. I followed his lead letting go of the spoon and continued to look towards the ground in silence trying not to attract any more attention my way. The prayer lasted for about 10 minutes, which is a long time when you don’t really know what’s going on while at the same time you’re trying the best to blend in. 

My host sister and I in front of the bowl of fruits and veggies.

Later that day I put on my traditional Senegalese complet and went down to the “photo studio” with my sister and her friends. They were dressed up in their new complets with their fresh weaves and questionable make-up choices. For a second it felt like we were going out for a night on the town, but then I remembered I was in a Muslim village in the middle of Senegal and the chances that we were about to go to my village’s hottest night club were slim to none. The photo studio was a single room with many posters lining the walls acting as various backdrops. My favorites were definitely the picture of the bowl of fruits and vegetables and a garden scene that looked to be set in Asia somewhere. I felt privileged as we got to do both group shots and solo shots while a handful of kids crammed around a small window to watch us. The end of Korite was celebrated by a patron dinner of rabbit, which I would have enjoyed more if their little bunny heads weren’t staring at me throughout the meal.

The kids huddled around the window watching us get our pictures taken.

A few days after Korite six fellow volunteers in my region and I took a not so enjoyable 11 hour “sept place” ride up to the Thies Training Center for our In-Service Training. I’ll have to save my transport stories for another post, but as for this particular trip I was just happy to be in a car full of my friends. For the most part training went well and gave us many ideas of different projects we can potentially start doing. It’s definitely an overwhelming feeling because some of these projects seem so much bigger than what I’m capable of. Right now though we are on the brink of starting a standardized baseline survey in which we will be using standard indicators allowing us to collect useful, and in the long run measurable data. The cool thing is that my training group is the first to be doing this in Peace Corps Senegal. The bad thing is that we are sort of the guinea pigs and still have to wait a few weeks until the surveys are approved by Peace Corps Washington and ready for us to use. Until then I am simply in village trying to decide how I can make myself look busy to try and convince the people in my village that I’m not this lazy American just hanging out, which might have some truth to it. I am constantly looking for ways to build up my credibility whether it be carrying a baignoire of water on my head everyday or learning a witty phrase in my local language. I’m at a strange point in my service where it’s already been six months! But at the same time, it’s only been six months, so in the next year and a half how am I going to make it count? And in this setting, with my available resources, what is “making it count” really mean? As this daily inner dialogue ensues, rest assured family and friends back home that I’m not stressing too much over this, but instead taking it day by day.

Fasting and the Furious

How I keep myself entertained in village....

Just when I thought the days couldn’t get any longer, Ramadan began and the sun seemed that much more content with staying out. By the time this blog is published it will be, if not over, coming to an end. And I will be happily on my way back to the Peace Corps training center for two weeks of In-Service Training (IST). For those who have been following, my first three months at site were to be devoted to language learning and trying as best as I could to integrate into the community. To what degree that goal has been accomplished? I’m sure the answer to that is completely subjective, but for me to have lived without running water or electricity for almost three months has got to count for something…right? Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve taken breaks at the regional house where I’m able to regain my sanity by cooking delicious meals, watching classic films (including but not limited to Cruel Intentions, Center Stage, and Titanic), and of course trying my best to keep up with Kim and Kanye online.  But as these first three months are coming to an end, I’m eager to get a little more training in and hopefully solidify a few project ideas.

Today marks the twenty-third day of Ramadan. Not that it makes much of a difference to me seeing as I am not fasting, but I’m looking forward to getting back to a more regular schedule. I’ve been eating both breakfast and lunch with the kids and occasionally my sisters when they are “tired” of fasting. Living in the most southern region of Senegal has its advantages of being less conservative and I think that’s played a big part in why my sisters have been so “tired” of fasting as of late. It actually seems as if with each passing day a new person has checked out of Ramadan mode and consequently the lunch bowl is becoming that much more crowded. Even though the days seem to be extremely drawn out, the evenings of Ramadan are quite enjoyable. Everyone breaks fast at around 7:30pm when the sun goes down and the fourth call-to-prayer of the day sounds. It’s fun to sit with my family at this time, as I know they’re anxiously awaiting the Imam’s voice over the loud speaker. Once it sounds they all jump to their feet with a renewed sense of energy as I sit cheering for them, “Eat! Eat!” After everyone breaks fast with the usual soupy-corn-porridge, more appetizing than it sounds, the greetings begin. Everyone greets each other by last name and the kids will usually walk around to other compounds to greet the families while my older sisters finish making dinner and my dad makes more tea. There’s a real sense of community during this time as everyone is socializing and meals are exchanged between families. By the time dinner is over it’s about ten o’clock and way past my bedtime. Consequently I have been going to bed on a full stomach and growing a little rice belly…which is a bit ironic for it being Ramadan. The sighting of the new moon will mark the end of Ramadan and there is still speculation as to whether that will be on the 19^th or 20^th of August. I will be reporting back on all the end of Ramadan festivities as soon as possible, but until then I will be happily eating my soupy-corn-porridge while I wait for the new moon to make its grand appearance.

Blogger's Block

You’ll have to excuse me for my month long hiatus as it seems I hit some sort of “blogger’s block.” Now I’m faced with the dilemma of deciding how I can sum-up the past month in a single post. Rainy season has officially started and even having grown up in Seattle, that couldn’t have prepared me for this. When I say rainy season I don’t mean that it rains all day, everyday. No. The day will start out blistering hot and then right before the rain starts a huge windstorm hits. That’s the signal to finish up whatever you’re doing and find cover fast! Some windstorms are longer than others, so oftentimes it becomes a game of chance. One time I was at a meeting with a few other volunteers when the wind started. It was a race against time as we biked back to the regional house. Needless to say, we lost and ended up drenched. Another day I was biking to a neighboring village where I was going to do a home visit for one of the scholarship recipients. I just reached the outskirts of the village when the wind started to pick up. It wasn’t looking as if time was on my side, as I frantically had to ask where this girl lived. Just as I pulled into the family’s compound the rain started coming down in buckets. The family invited me into their home where I waited out the storm.  It was still drizzling as I biked back home through puddles of red mud trying to make it home before dark. This, of course, happened to be the day I wore the only white t-shirt I brought with me to country. You can only imagine what it looks like now, especially after its thorough wash in the river.

A storm approaching my village, my family thought I was crazy taking pictures of clouds.

My days in village have somewhat of a routine to them. And by routine, I mean my eating schedule is pretty consistent. I recently started taking a second breakfast mid-morning to hold me over until lunch, but to also give me something to do. I’ll buy a sandwich from one of the ladies sitting on the side of the road or from one of the small boutiques my village has. The sandwiches cost the equivalent of 20 cents and can have anything in them from beans to avocado. The strangest sandwich I had contained spaghetti noodles and onions, but when you’re hungry, that sandwich-o-carbs is oh so satisfying. Going out for second breakfast has also forced me out of my comfort zone and into the community where I’m able to interact with my village. The people in my village, while very welcoming, love to laugh at me when I struggle with the language.

A waterfall in Dindefello...a village in my region.

This has definitely become one of my biggest hurdles and is an ongoing battle. One day I became so frustrated with my host sister that I locked myself in my hut for five hours. I finally had to explain to her how difficult it is for me sometimes because I’m living in a new place, learning a completely new language. To make my point even more clear, I told her I had only been learning Jaxanke for a couple months while she has been learning English for two years and still can’t speak it. Yes that may have been a little harsh, but it’s the truth and I needed to get my point across somehow. This whole interaction of course happened in French and I’m lucky enough to have that second language to fall back on. Some of the more rural villages don’t speak French at all, so I was relieved when I found out most of my village spoke it. I’m still putting in an effort though to learn my local language, and it’s coming along slowly. The bragging rights I’ll have after becoming trilingual are pretty encouraging too.

So the Fourth of July just passed and for not being in America, I still had a pretty patriotic time. My region throws the annual party for all of the volunteers in Senegal, and this year’s party was epic. We roasted eight pigs and ate them alongside a variety of good ole American sides. In the middle of the day it started storming, but that didn’t stop us from dancing. It reminded me of Rihanna’s “We Found Love” video when they’re all dancing in the rain. And what’s more patriotic than feeling like you’re in a Rihanna music video? The best part of the Fourth though was being able to see everyone from my stage (training group). As I mentioned in a previous post, we had endured nine long weeks of training together and then were spread out all over Senegal. It was nice to see so many familiar faces after almost two months apart, and the turn out was surprising with only a few people from our stage not having come down.

Fourth of July dance party in the rain.

For now though, I’m in village, devoting my long days to language learning, compound crashing, and managing to accept my new life without electricity or running water. I think I’ve surprised even myself with how smoothly this transition to a more “simple” lifestyle has been, although the thought of being able to take a hot shower without having to pull my own water still sounds enticing. But for now, a bucket bath with the occasional addition of boiling water will do. 

Holy Sh!t...I'm in Africa.

I wake up everyday around the same time, 5am, the time the first call to prayer sounds. The once eerie chanting from the solar powered mosque has become more soothing. Either that or it's become a realization that I still have a couple more hours to sleep before I start the long day ahead of me. My second wake up call is usually the baby crying in the hut next to me or the sound of the giant mortar and pestle being hammered in my family's compound. Whatever it is it's a sign that everyone around me has already gotten a good start to their day, and so should I. Not that I really have anything specific I need to do each day, it's just that I know if I want to get anything accomplished I need to start as early as I can before the sun gets too hot. At times I feel like the heat is too unbearable and I wonder how I'm going to survive the next two years here. But then I remind myself that this is the hottest time of year and that it will only get cooler from here. And I know everyone else feels the same way because from noon to about five, everyone just sits around in the place that provides the most shade and breeze. One afternoon that place happened to be my hut and I found myself lying on the ground with my host mother, sister, and two brothers taking sighs of relief each time a gust of wind swept through the room.

My Hut!!

One of my more interesting days was accompanying my host sister to the river where I thought we were just doing laundry...yes laundry in the river. I know it's not the best thing for the environment or maybe not even the most sanitary thing for my clothes, but what was I supposed to do? So we walked a short distance to the river where we were greeted by a few other women and children. My sister insisted that I sit on the bank of the river and just watch, so I did, not wanting to mess up her routine. All of a sudden the laundry session turned into not only that, but a fishing, corn cleaning, and even bathing session all simultaneously! I mean if you're already knee deep in the river washing your clothes, why not take off the clothes you're wearing, wash those, and yourself too? And without any hesitation that's what the women did. This was the point I started looking around at where I was and what was happening in front of me and thought to myself....holy sh!t, I'm in Africa!

The Gambian River and gardens near my village.

These kind of feelings happen to me often. Like the time I had to shoo away the goat that was trying to come into my room in the middle of the night. Or the day I had massive diarrhea, and sat squatting at my latrine, trying to ignore the flies that found my bottom area to be a place of interest for them...sorry too much information? I think I've become used to all the poop stories I've heard from other volunteers that they don't really phase me anymore, not that I used to shy away from the subject back in the states as some of my friends know. There are the really pleasant experiences too that bring about the "holy sh!t" feelings. Like having nothing but the moonlight illuminate my family's compound after dinner as they're lying around trying to help me with my language. Or when I walk to the Gambian River and look off into the distance at the mountain ranges in Guinea. It's more peaceful times like these that let me know yes, I can do this.

My family's compound.

I don't want to glorify my first two weeks in village by any means because I really haven't done much. Aside from finishing the Hunger Games series in about four days, I've managed to visit both the primary and middle schools in my village. I will be working on a scholarship program for middle school girls that should keep me occupied for these first few months. Although my main goal at this time should be learning the language and convincing my community that I'm not just a crazy tourist handing them money and then leaving without having established any real sustainable projects. And with that trust comes time, and a lot of it. Once my stomach issues resolve I will start compound crashing, as my good friend Claire has coined the term. Each day I'll walk to a family compound, sit with them, probably drink tea with enough sugar in it to bake a batch of cookies, and attempt to explain why I'm here and ask what they hope I will accomplish during my stay. Will there be awkward moments? Many. But building these relationships will, in theory, pay off in the end. For the moment though, all I have to worry about is the fly situation in my latrine...that and trying not to catch schistosomiasis in the river. 

My village located right on the main road.

Inside my hut.

The other side of my hut.

My fancy private latrine.

Villages--R--Us

Sorry to leave you guys hanging for a few days, but I’ve been busy village shopping, something I thought I would never hear myself saying. It has been a very long and drawn out week down here in Kédougou looking for a five star village, but it happened! In a strange series of events I found myself eating dinner with the village chief of a village about eight kilometers away from the city of Kédougou. The village is large and located alongside one of the main roads in the region. The thatch roof huts are incredibly tall compared to the first village I was supposed to install into, and there is even a random payphone within the village. Just to give you a little perspective, I think that was the first payphone I’ve seen here in Senegal. All that aside, there isn’t running water or electricity, but beggars can’t be choosers, right? The thought of not having to take a two-hour bush taxi into town was enough to persuade me. I visited the village a couple more times with my supervisor to work out living logistics and to set up counterparts for me to work alongside. I’m excited to say that I will now be installing later this week, and at that point, my village life begins!

You know that feeling you get right before you throw up? You’re anxious and dreading what’s about to happen, but you know that once you do it you’ll feel so much better. That’s kind of how I’ve been feeling this past week. The thought of moving into a village in the middle of Senegal is terrifying me and I know the first few nights are going to be the hardest part. But after those first few nights are over everything is going to start falling into place. It’s that first night I’m dreading, and I’m anxious to get that initial shock out of the way. So I say, “Bring it on Senegal, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be!. …And please don’t let there be any mice in my hut!!”

Mama-Oh No You Didn't!!

So much has happened since my last blog post, so I will try to fit in as much as I can in this post without boring you. Last Friday I swore in as an official Peace Corps volunteer at the U.S. Ambassador’s house. My stage and I all dressed in traditional Senegalese outfits, ate lots of yummy food, and we finally got our bankcards for our new Senegalese bank account$! It was a great way to mark the end of nine weeks of Pre-Service Training and actually start the beginning of this insane journey we signed up for.

That evening, a few friends and I spent the night in the capital city of Dakar. Compared to the rest of Senegal, Dakar is this magical city situated on a beautiful peninsula overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. It has everything a city boy like me could ask for; a shopping mall, bars, grocery store, ice cream shops, and…wait for it…even Chinese restaurants! My Chinese restaurant experience was one of the most conflicting experiences I’ve had thus far in Senegal. We walked into this family compound located on what felt like a random street in Dakar. The outside of the compound was adorned with a pagoda type awning and once we walked inside a Chinese couple greeted us in what I guess you can call French with a Chinese accent. The feeling of the restaurant was sort of like a hole in the wall type place, and it reminded me a lot of Hing Loon in Seattle’s Chinatown (speaking of I could really go for some congee with Chinese donuts right about now). The menu was in Chinese and French, and the servers were two Senegalese girls who loved the Chinese soap opera playing at the front of the restaurant. In the end, the food was amazing and also a nice break from the usual fish and rice meals we’ve been getting used to. At one point I totally forgot that I was sitting in a Chinese restaurant in Africa because the lo mein was so delicious! 

Looking fine in Senegalese complets with my language group!!

 

Two days ago we took a lovely 11 hour “sept place” ride down to the region of Kédougou with all of our baggage we have for the next two years. The drive was long, and sitting in a car without air conditioning in 100+ degree weather for over 10 hours is not the ideal situation. I dozed in and out of consciousness while listening to my iPod, and just to give you an idea of how hot it was, with my window down it felt like a blow dryer was being aimed towards my face on full blast. I found that having the window half way down was the most tolerable. The day after we arrived, a few of the current volunteers serving in the region went to market with us to buy everything we might need at site. It was overwhelming to think about what we might possibly need, but the volunteers with us were a huge help. My most exciting purchase was either the gas tank I’ll be using to cook with, or the buckets I’ll be using to take bucket baths with. 

Yesterday was the day I was supposed to install. I had been preparing myself all morning for my big move; my bags were strapped onto the land cruiser and my “goodbyes” were all said and done. We took a two hour car ride to my village and pulled up to a deserted compound and unfinished hut. To be honest, I wasn’t that surprised; disappointed—yes, surprised—no. Long story short, the supervisor who was installing me did not feel comfortable with me living in that village, and after he expressed that to me, neither did I. Now I’m sitting back at my regional house waiting to look for a new village (actually I’m sitting at a hotel on the Gambian River sipping on an iced coffee). At first I was really upset. I had been mentally preparing myself to move to village and now I don’t even know what village I’ll be living in. After sleeping on it and talking to current volunteers though, I feel a lot better about my situation. Now I get to have some input on where they will place me next and I will hopefully be able to work with counterparts that are actually motivated. I also feel like I kind of have the upper hand in this situation because Peace Corps pretty much let me down and I can totally use that against them to get the best village ever (insert evil laugh)! We already have a couple villages in mind and I am hoping to check one of them out later today. I will definitely be keeping everyone updated and maybe my next blog post will be about a new and exciting village. Inch’allah!

sipping coffee on the Gambian River

NOTE: My initial village was called Mamakhono hence the title of my blog.