My Mid-Service Meltdown

Written May 3, 2013 (Yes I understand I’m a little behind)

As I was heading back to village yesterday, my friend asked me if I thought my vacation helped or hindered my mid-service crises. The “mid-service crises” is a term volunteers coined to explain the feeling we get a year into our service.  The feeling where the cup is no longer half full, but half empty. Even though we've completed a year of our Peace Corps service, we still have an entire year to go and we know what’s coming. We know how muddy the rainy season gets, how “fun” fasting during Ramadan is, and how many campfires we have to sit through during the cold season. And I don’t think it helps that our mid-service crises just so happens to fall during hot season. So when my friend asked me this question it got me thinking. Before leaving Senegal for my month long European extravaganza, I hadn't left Senegal for a whole year. I had gotten accustomed to the food, climate, and way of Senegalese life pretty well, so it was surprising how quickly the developed world became “normal” to me again. The novelty of constantly having hot running water and access to Starbucks quickly wore off and I was soon in full vacation mode. I ate tapas on the streets of Barcelona, walked the beaches of Valencia, toured the beer halls of Munich, saw the red lights of Amsterdam, Topshopped in London, danced the night away in Paris, and even saw the one and only Beyonce in concert, something I never thought I’d do during my Peace Corps service. So how has re-entry been for me? Difficult would be an appropriate word, especially coming back from such a big trip. I tried to ease my way back into Senegal by scheduling my mid-service doctor and dentist appointments upon my arrival so I could spend a few extra days in Dakar, the “big city”. But I knew what was waiting for me back in my region of Kedougou, and that was the infamous hot season I had been dreading.

Photos courtesy of Lindsey B. and Allie R. taken in Barcelona, London, and Munich (L to R).

And so the day came for me to go back to village, and a hundred things ran through my mind. Would my family be excited to see me? Were they upset I had been gone for so long? Had something big happened in my village? Would I still be able to carry on a conversation in my local language? Had mice taken over my hut?!? I soon realized that my anxiety was, as always, over exaggerated and things for the most part seemed to be the same.  That being said, it still didn't make the heat any more tolerable. I left for vacation right before hot season hit as to avoid much of the season as I could. And if you've never experienced hot season in Senegal, I don’t recommend it. The last time I checked it was 108 degrees in the shade, and sure, in a place with electricity it isn't that bad. But in village the heat is everywhere, all the time. It’s like you can’t escape it. Occasionally there will be a hot breeze to cool off your sweat drenched body and there are a few hours at night when you’re not constantly sweating, but only if you’re lying outside. Besides those few glorious moments you need to be sure you’re drinking enough water, which is also warm seeing as the shade can only cool it down so much. I could go on and on about how wonderful this time of year is, but I’ll spare you the drama because I’m sweating too much just writing this all down.

Moments like this remind me of why I came to Senegal. This was taken just outside of my family's compound.

After finishing that last paragraph I took a two week break from finishing this blog because I felt like it was coming from a pretty negative place. Angry, hot, cranky Chip had taken over and was ranting. Since then the rains have slowly started and dramatically cooled things down.  Re-entry back into village life was slow, but after a few days things started to feel more and more normal. While away on vacation, my grant to build a well at the middle school was also passed. So I started, and am still trying, to get everything together for that project. I’m hoping to have the well completed before rainy season comes into full swing because I’m not sure if the ground will be stable enough to dig. Things are looking up, and even though I may still be in my mid-service crises I’m trying to stay busy and focused on the work at hand. 

Chip and Allie Take Senegal

Riding Camels in Lampoul. Photo credit: Allie R.

 It was brought to my attention that my last post was perhaps a bit depressing and under the weather. I apologize. But rest assured that my holidays were far from depressing. I think I was just nervous that the Mayan’s prediction was going to come true and that I would never see a grande iced coffee again…and it was apparently reflected in my writing. My first Christmas away from home was quite enjoyable in fact. I spent the day lying out on the beach with a few good friends getting haggled by beach vendors and that night my best friend from high school flew in to visit me. It was both exciting and nerve wrecking to think of introducing someone from back home to this crazy new life of mine here. Back in 2010 we traveled throughout Southeast Asia together, so I wasn’t worried that we might not be compatible travelling together. I just knew that the travelling conditions here are far worse than anything we experienced in Asia. But she handled it like a champ, possibly even better than I did. I thought it best to slowly introduce my friend to Senegalese life. So instead of taking her directly to village, we started with the more touristy attractions. Our first stop was Lampoul with its impressive, and somewhat out of place, sand dunes. We spent the night there in Mauritanian tents and rode camels through the dunes at sunset. For a second it felt like I was taken out of Senegal and transported into an episode of the “Real Housewives of New York,” just a little let glamorous and a lot sandier.

Sunrise in St. Louis and Faidherbe Bridge. Photo Credit: Allie R

From Lampoul we moved north to St. Louis, a lively city with the center of town situated on a small island in the middle of a river. We arrived in St. Louis around Near Year’s Eve and found ourselves in good company with a handful of other volunteers from around Senegal. The ringing in of the New Year went off, for the most part, without a glitch. That was until someone came into our hostel room and stole a handful of cash and two laptops…mine included. But that’s another story all together. We left St. Louis feeling a bit discouraged but ready to leave the debauchery behind us as we traveled the next 15 hours down South to my region of Kedougou. I was hesitant to do this journey all in one day, but another volunteer we were travelling with insisted that we power through.

Allie hanging out with kids in my compound. Photo Credit: Allie R.

Relaxing after an exciting two weeks of travel. Photo Credit: Allie R.

In Kedougou I got to show my friend what my daily life is like. We spent a couple days at the regional house where we were able to walk around the market. Another day we were lucky enough to visit my language facilitator’s garden that sits directly on the Gambian River. The garden was beautiful and lush, and I think it was a great way for my friend to see a type of sustainable project here in Senegal. It was also just a peaceful afternoon that we got to spend under a tree, drinking the “oh so sugary” tea, and watching kids jump off of trees into the river. Bringing my friend to village was exciting, but at the same time it was a trip to see a face from home sitting around with my Senegalese family. The highlight of our village visit was definitely introducing my family to s’mores. At the time of my friend’s visit, my family was still making fires every night so I thought it would be a good idea for my friend to bring marshmallows and graham crackers with her from home. My family went crazy for s’mores! They were definitely hesitant at first, but after the initial s’more was made, they couldn't roast the marshmallows fast enough. It was a marshmallow frenzy as I was trying to distribute the marshmallows fast enough and my friend was trying to keep up with the Hershey bars and graham crackers. My host sister was so excited that she would just set the marshmallows on fire to get them done faster! Overall our village visit was a success, but we were both getting over a cold at the time, so we were both ready for some R and R back in Dakar. 

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.