Season's Greetings from Senegal!

It’s the most wonderful time of the year, but it hardly feels like it as I’m sitting out in my family’s compound sweating my face off. Actually, that’s a bit of an exaggeration. The temperature has significantly dropped and we’re probably sitting at a comfortable low 90’s. I’ve actually had to pull my sleeping bag out at night and my family sits around a fire after dinner, which has become one of my favorite times of day. Nonetheless, this “cool” weather has not really put me in the holiday spirit. I suppose living in a Muslim village where no one really knows about Christmas has something to do with it. So instead I’ve been playing Christmas music in my hut and dreaming of a white Christmas just like the one I used to know in Seattle when the city shut down after two inches fell. I remember being at home around this time last year and seeing all the Facebook posts from friends abroad saying how much they miss the Seattle weather, and I would think to myself, “These people are NUTS!” It wasn’t until a few weeks ago that I realized, I am one of those nuts. I literally fantasize about wearing my winter jackets and getting excited over those silly red Starbucks cups, and it’s even sillier because I order iced coffees year round so I don’t even get a holiday cup! So maybe it’s not so much the weather I miss, but the feeling of home that the weather brings with it. Either way I would kill to sit in my car waiting for the windows to defrost, call me crazy.

Working hard, sitting in the shade, picking peanuts.

In other news, I finally finished my baseline survey. From doing baby weighings since the start of my service, I already decided that I want to focus my work towards maternal and child health. For that reason I only visited families with infants under the age of two. I luckily had my counterpart with me to ask the more difficult questions, while I was still able to ask the less complex questions and seem somewhat competent in the Jaxanke language. All that’s left now is to input my data into an Excel spreadsheet so I can make sense of these numbers. Of course I’m still waiting for this said spreadsheet from admin, but after all, it is the holiday season and we could all go for a little break right now. Aside from the never-ending survey, I’ve been trying to live a little more in the moment and simply enjoy my time here. So I actually went out to the fields with my family a couple days to see what a normal day of work would look like. Yes, you’re reading this correctly; I actually went to the peanut field and rice paddy to work! I mean granted, my brother assigned me the job of picking peanuts off the plant, sitting in the shade under a tree, and insisting I take multiple breaks so my hands wouldn’t hurt. At the end of the day my family seemed overwhelmingly grateful.

My family's field of peanuts.

A few days later I decided to give the fields another shot. If it were going to be anything like the other day, work would be a breeze. Wrong. That particular day I got a late start to my day so I headed out to the rice paddy with the women. We stopped at the last compound on the edge of village to fill buckets of water for everyone to drink before heading out into the grassy bush. I volunteered to carry one of the three larger buckets of water on my head so my host grandmother would only have to carry the small bucket, which was still probably two gallons worth. I had an idea that the rice paddy was far, but I didn’t realize how far that actually was until it felt like my neck and upper back were about to give in. My grandma kept telling me to trade with her, but I could not let that old woman show me up…and she’s also about half my size so I would have just felt guilty! Once at the paddy, the men were already hard at work. By then, all the rice plants had been harvested. It was just a matter of getting the rice off of the plant and what better way of doing that than repeatedly hitting the plants with four foot long sticks! So the plants were piled in the center of the tarp as eight to ten men stood around the pile simultaneously hitting the rice with full force, starting with the stick raised behind their heads and striking in a completely vertical motion. It was quite a sight to see and seemed very harmonious and almost dancelike. I was able to try it a few rounds and let me say that they sure made it look way easier than it was. I also needed to be aware of the people standing next to me as I swung the stick back around my head to prepare for the next hit. In the end, I was really happy I went because not only was I able to bond with my family, I got a really good arm workout.  In all honestly though, I am definitely starting to feel closer with my family here and I think it’s developing at a time when family and friends are missed the most. So Merry Christmas from Senegal and know that I truly appreciate all the love and support I’m receiving back home.  

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.

Goodbye Beach--Hello Hut Life

This past weekend my training group, or stage as we like to call it in this Francophone country, took a beach trip to Popenguine. As we were nearing the end of our eighth week of training, this beach weekend was much needed. We rented out two beach houses and spent the next 24 hours soaking in the sun and enjoying our time off.  To save the integrity of my stage I will sum up the trip as being a great bonding experience while at the same time noting that we all made it back in one piece. Now with less than one week left of Pre-Service Training (PST) my mind is beginning to race with an infinite amount of emotions. I’m definitely sad to be leaving my home stay family in M’Bour. The concrete house that once looked uninviting and foreign to me is now one of the places I am most comfortable at. My host sisters who at first laughed at me for not knowing how to speak Jaxanke are now the ones I have dance parties with in the backyard. As sad as it will be saying goodbye to them tomorrow, I know that the door will always be open for me. I could have done without the mice running around my room and waking me up at night, but at the end of the day it was still worth it.

I’m also extremely nervous about moving to site. The lack of electricity, accessibility to water, and remoteness of my village are making my imagination run wild. But I think the thought of being so far from my friends is something that will be the hardest for me. I have spent the past 8 weeks alongside forty something other trainees and have become close with many of them. Next week we are being ripped apart from each other and sprinkled all around the country of Senegal with only our water filters and mosquito nets (and integrity that wasn’t lost in Popenguine). Okay, maybe I’m being a little over dramatic, but that’s how it’s being played out in my head. Luckily though, we all have cell phones with free calling plans to each other. And luckily there is a cell phone tower in my village that will allow me to take full advantage of that free calling plan.

With the nervousness about moving to site, also comes the stress of actually having to move. If you read my last blog entry, you might remember that I have the honor of opening up a new site. That means I will be moving into a brand new hut, a nice brand new empty hut. This translates into me having to buy everything I might possibly need to start out my new life in village, a bed, gas tank, food, cooking supplies, a refrigerator…oh wait, I won’t have electricity…buckets, storage bins, shelves, candles, more buckets. The list is endless, but I’m sure I am being a bit over dramatic as usual. Apparently pessimism is my forte.

So here’s me trying out optimism (see last blog post about the positive thinker text). I’m excited to be finishing Pre-Service Training and to begin my actual projects at site. I appreciated the approach Peace Corps had in easing us into our new environment and hope that I am at least somewhat prepared at being able to integrate. I am also looking forward to getting away from this summer camp feeling, following a schedule, and at times wanting more freedom. Many of my friends at home have asked me what I will actually be doing at site. The first three months will be mostly dedicated to me getting to know the community and work on becoming more fluent in my local language. This means I will be walking around my village and spending an hour or two at all the family compounds. After those first three months are over we will have what’s called In-Service Training. It’ll be another couple weeks of sessions at the training center where we will go into more depth about how to approach certain projects we want to start, write grants, begin a baseline survey, etc. For now though I am only focusing on getting through this last week of PST.

Feeding off my last paragraph and this idea of optimism, I will leave you with pictures from our beach weekend in Popenguine:

BEACH WEEKEND!!

One of the beach houses in Popenguine.

My host sisters and brother: Amina, Adja, Cher, and Fista (from left to right).

The view from the top of my host family's house in M'Bour.

Reality Check

After six, what seemed to be long, weeks of training, I’ve finally been assigned the village I will be living in for the next two years! It’s located in the southeast region of Senegal called, Kedougou, and is claimed to be the most beautiful region because of its lush vegetation and waterfalls. Now before I go on about my village, I think it’s appropriate to give you a little background on the situation at hand. Six weeks ago, all of us trainees were interviewed and asked certain questions about our site preferences. I told Peace Corps that I wanted to be placed in a town, with electricity, near many volunteers, and I also did not want to open a new site but would rather start at a site where a previous volunteer had already worked. Was I being overly picky? Possibly, but these sites do exist, and I was told by previous volunteers that it’s important to tell Peace Corps exactly what you want.  So those were my preferences, and I guess the key word in this case is “preferences.” I probably should have known better because when applying to the Peace Corps I said that I “preferred” to go to Asia and was instead sent to Africa. What made me think it might be different this time around? I do not know.

Now I bet you’re wondering which one of my preferences were actually met? Well…first of all I am in a large village. Not exactly a town, but a larger village of about 2,000 people so I guess you can say it’s sort of a town. Do I have electricity? If you consider the solar charger I brought with me, then yes I guess you can say that I also kind of have electricity…so far two for two. Am I near many volunteers? Define near and many. My closest neighbor is 12 kilometers and then the next closest is 25 kilometers away from me, besides them It would take a good hour and a half by bush taxi to get to another volunteer and another half an hour to get to the regional capitol. Talking to other volunteers though, it seems like 10 kilometers is fairly close. I should just be lucky that a river won’t block the road to my village during rainy season, which is the case for a couple volunteers. And lastly am I replacing a current volunteer? This one is a definite no. I’m opening a new site.

As I am finishing up this last paragraph I get a text message from my training manager saying, “The positive thinker sees the invisible, feels the intangible, and achieves the impossible.” Ironic?

You can imagine the panic and fear that ran through me when I found all of this out. We were given a packet that had all of this information written on it, but luckily the next day we left for volunteer visits so I could actually see my future village for myself. I stayed with the volunteer who is my closest neighbor, and we biked about 12 kilometers to see my village. Fortunately for me, I hadn’t ridden a bike since the Fourth of July in 2006, so biking through the mountainous region of Senegal, although beautiful, wasn’t exactly enjoyable. Upon arrival to my village, a man who spoke a bit of little English greeted me and I was brought to the family compound in which I would be living. I saw the beginnings of the hut being built for me, complete with my own private latrine and thatch roof.  Throughout the day I met with some of the more important figures in the village like the headmaster at the elementary school, the village chief, and also my namesake.  Speaking of which, I forgot to mention I will be given a new name when I move into village, Musa Cisokho.

The entire volunteer visit was overwhelming and it took me a few days to process all the emotions I was feeling. For one, I know my experience was a bit jaded by the bike ride to and from village, lucky for me I know that with a lot of biking comes nice legs. It is also a surreal feeling to be sitting in a thatch roof hut, in a remote village, knowing that this place will be your home for the next two years. Going into this whole process, I knew the possibility of no electricity and distance from other volunteers was likely, but actually seeing it is different. It has been nice to slowly get acquainted to the Senegalese culture and ways of life. Living both at the training center and at my home stay in M’Bour for the last month has proven to be very beneficial. If you stuck me in my village my first week here, you can bet that I would have already come home. For now, I am taking it day by day. I have about three weeks left of training and I will definitely be taking advantage of what city life has to offer…that being internet, beer, and chicken.

My Walk Home

Last night I had one of the most inspiring walks back home, but first a little background info before I go into more detail.  I am still living with my host family in M’Bour.  My day normally starts off with an egg sandwich and a cup of Sengal’s best….instant Nescafe, sans sucre. I’ll then walk across the street to my language facilitator’s house where we peacefully have class under a mango tree.  For anyone who is wondering, the mangoes aren’t ripe yet, but they are looking better and better each day.  We’ll normally run class for about three to four hours depending on how restless I get, and surprisingly I’ve been very attentive these past couple days.   After class I’ll go home and eat lunch around the food bowl.  My sisters must have read my last blog post because we finally had a delicious chicken for lunch!  The combination of a full stomach and the heat puts me into a pretty deep food coma, so I’ll nap for about an hour before heading to an elementary school that’s about five minutes away. 

For the past couple weeks we’ve been starting a garden, complete with three garden beds, a tree nursery, and a compost pile.  The concept behind the project is to prepare us for our actual volunteer sites where we can start women’s gardens or plant specific tree nurseries to improve the nutritional health in our communities.  Our garden here in M’Bour is slowly coming along, and in my opinion is doing very well considering we started this garden in what seemed to be a giant sandbox. 

So anyway, back to my inspiring walk back home. I am walking home from the elementary school last night when this young man in a soccer uniform approaches me.  Side note: while we work on our garden in the afternoon there is always a big group of guys playing soccer at the school. I also don’t know how to start this story off without it sounding super creepy, but the setting is me walking down a street that’s hosting a baptism so there are a lot of people around.  So this guy comes up to me and starts speaking French; I’m trying my best to keep up with what he’s saying but all I manage to understand is that he wants to show me something at his store.  At this point I have my guard up and I tell him I need to get home before the sun goes down.  He totally disregards what I just said and insists that I go with him, he seems genuine and there are other people around me, so I go. We only walk about ten feet when he unlocks this gate and we walk into the most majestic garden.  Now you have to imagine the type of neighborhood I live in, it’s Africa and there is sand everywhere. Only the main roads are paved, so I’m mostly trudging through sand everywhere I go. This garden was impressive; there was lettuce, tomatoes, eggplants, okra, and a bunch of other vegetables he was naming that I couldn’t translate.  He explains to me that this is what his dad and him do for a living.  At that second, a neighbor walks over and buys two heads of lettuce from him.  It was neat to see that type of community support, especially knowing that my permanent site will be in the southeast where many of their vegetables are imported from other parts of the country. I say bye to “Chris,” as he had introduced himself as, and continue my walk home.

Five minutes probably pass by when I see this couple cross the street in front of me.  The girl turns around and starts speaking to me in English.  I explain to her why I am living in Senegal and that I am starting to learn Jaxanke, then she starts speaking to me in Jaxanke! It was crazy because I introduced myself and tried to use as much of the language I had learned in the past couple weeks.  She encourages me to continue studying the language and she also reminds me that I’m doing a positive thing for her country.  Her and her brother walk the rest of the way home with me.  I walk into my house to the smell of fish cakes being cooked….mmmmm!!!

I am going to leave you with a few images of what’s been going on the past few weeks. My computer finally decided it wanted to upload pictures from my camera! 

The sandbox we started with.

Our compost pile!!!

Building a fence around the garden.

Me and all the helpers!

My room.

One of my sisters preparing a lunch bowl...fish.

Our mural at the school.

My patient language partner Chrissie under the mango tree.

Bubacar, Fish, and Beyonce

I just got back to the training center from my home stay so please excuse me if this blog post sounds scatter brained, but there is so much running through my mind!!!

For the past five days I’ve been living in M’Bour, a larger beach town, with the Signaté family. I have a dad, mom, five sisters and a younger brother, and we all live in a four-bedroom house with electricity, but no running water. I’m sure you are all wondering what the bathroom is like and if I have to share a room with other people. Luckily I have my own bedroom and also a western style toilet! It doesn’t flush, but at least I don’t have to squat. I’ve already heard horror stories of money falling out of people’s pockets when using their squatty potty.  Within the first hour of meeting my family I was given the name Bubacar, pernounced boob-uh-car, which is my host mother’s father’s name.  It took a couple days for me to get used to my name and recognize when my name was being called, but I’m getting more and more comfortable with it each day.  My host family has been very welcoming to me and makes sure I am comfortable at all times of the day. I’m not going to lie, I’ve been pretty spoiled. My mom warms my bucket bath for me at night and my sisters do my laundry for me! I also sit at a table for my meals with the adults, while the kids sit on the floor to eat.  Speaking of eating, all I’ve been eating is FISH! Smoked fish, fish balls, grilled fish, fish rice, fish salad….GIVE ME SOME CHICKEN! Don’t get me wrong, the food isn’t bad, but I would appreciate some variety in my protein selection. Meals are normally served on a large communal platter, where the majority of the plate is rice, or some other sort of starch, and the fish and veggies are in the center for everyone to share. My first night we ate salad and it was the first time I had to eat with my hand! Luckily it wasn’t rice. 

Home life is really interesting too. The five girls do EVERYTHING. They fetch water in the morning, clean the bathroom, make lunch and dinner, and do the laundry.  It’s crazy how much responsibility they have at home, but in Senegalese culture this is normal.  At first I thought that my host mom was just really strict, but after talking with my peers I realized this wasn’t the case.  When the girls aren’t working they usually have friends come over and I can’t tell you how many weaves I’ve seen be put in!! I also don’t think I’ve ever watched so much TV. They watch everything from music videos, to Bollywood films that have been obviously dubbed over in French. I also found out my sisters love Beyonce and Rihanna, so we have a lot in common.  Communicating with my family has also been very interesting. I’ve been speaking a lot of French with them, even though the point of the home stays is to work on our local language skills. My family knows this and told me that I have to start using less and less French each day.

Other than adjusting to a new home life, I started to learn one of the local languages in Senegal called Jaxanke.  It’s spoken mostly in the southeast region of Senegal, so that will most likely be the region of my permanent site. I normally have language class for a few hours at my language coordinator’s home stay, which is conveniently located across the street from me. It’s just me and one other girl, Chrissie, in my language group so we get a lot of one on one time with our teacher.  That’s definitely helped with learning the language faster because if I forget something I am quickly called out. With all of these new changes, it’s definitely been a hard transition. They say that the first night at our home stay is the hardest and so I’m hoping that is true. I am only back at the training site for 48 hours, then I go back to M’Bour for 13 days…aka more fish and Bollywood films. I am hoping to post some pictures soon, but for some reason my camera isn’t transferring pictures to my laptop.  Until then, that is all I got.  I appreciate and I thank you all for the continual support from home.  Even though it’s only been two weeks since I arrived in Senegal, it seems as if I’ve been here for a month.  Your words of encouragement are really helping me get through this pre-service training that seems like it is going to go on forever. Seven more weeks to go!

So I finally made it to Senegal!! What a surreal experience getting off the plane, walking onto the tarmac, and then realizing you're in Africa. We took a red eye out of D.C. Tuesday night (March 6th) and flew directly to Dakar. I kept myself busy watching "My Week With Marilyn" and drinking Tanqueray and tonics, which were complimentary I might add...best gin and tonics ever!

Once we arrived in Dakar we went through customs which surprisingly didn't take as long as I thought, and I was greeted with my first Senegal welcome, a security guard calling me "Jackie Chan!!" and sticking out his hand for a fist pump. The funny thing is--is that we acted out a scenario in orientation about an Asian American guy being called Jackie Chan and how we should appropriately react. I clearly went along with it and gave the guy a fist pump...sorry Peace Corps.

I'm currently in Thies, pronounced chez, where we are staying at the Peace Corps training center. The set up is much like a summer camp complete with a dining hall, and boys and girls cabins. My first real culture shock was during lunch yesterday where we had to sit around a very large aluminum bowl and eat out of it community style with spoons. They served what looked to be small grain rice, beef, and assorted veggies. It was very delicious, but also a very new experience. Cutting beef with a spoon took a lot of team work with the others sitting at your bowl. I would not suggest this type of meal for my germaphobe brother.

Other than that, my last two days have been filled with a lot of orientation material and interviews on what kind of sites we wanted to live at. I also had a language interview in French, which seemed to go well, but we get our results back later. The other volunteers are also really cool and I seem to be getting along with them. It's crazy to think that these are the people I will be spending the next two years with! I will hopefully post pictures soon, but until then hope everyone is doing well back at home!

Also, if you know a cheap/free way to text/call international, my number is:
221 77 883 8432

Just keep in mind, I'm 8 hours ahead of the west coast.