tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69960868485338505462024-03-13T04:43:26.757+00:00Alys In AfricaTrials and tribulations, thoughts and observations; all in what I hope to pass off as an exciting read.Alyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04734299142000265399noreply@blogger.comBlogger140125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996086848533850546.post-82211293059698371942011-07-26T07:50:00.001+00:002011-09-28T14:08:36.610+00:00Out of Africa<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UGxx1Fu47LY/Tiq-MxGVuPI/AAAAAAAADtg/6-5yS-iU308/s1600/DSCN1749.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UGxx1Fu47LY/Tiq-MxGVuPI/AAAAAAAADtg/6-5yS-iU308/s200/DSCN1749.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>Leaving wasn’t quite like when I left America two years ago; it was more of an emotional twist. It hurts more to say “I hope to see you again someday.” Someday? <br />
<a name='more'></a>I’m still grasping that indeterminable destination somewhere in the future. No final event was more special than the one I celebrated on my birthday. The day before I left, it rained and nearly prevented me from visiting all my friends around town. And shamefully a part of me was grateful for the excuse. I hate goodbyes, but I admit I’m not alone. No one but a schmuck would actually like them. So the idea of debilitating thunderstorms was perfect. And thirty minutes later, just as I was starting to feel guilty about liking the excuse it stopped and I was back in the throes of my au revoirs.<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The next day my parents drove me to Dakar early in the day with my four youngest bothers. The ride was quiet until we arrived at the Peace Corps house when my tears wouldn’t stop. When Saliou asked what was wrong with me, and they explained he may not see me for a very long time and that he could not go with me, he also started crying. Luckily, there wasn’t a single volunteer at the house to witness my ridiculousness. And the guard and maid were very sweet, even touched by my affection for my Senegalese family. And then my best friends walked in and distracted me with thoughts of saying our final goodbyes to Dakar- the city representing two years of “getting away from it all.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PJgIhTEO0Z0/Ti5xemkj3uI/AAAAAAAAD0M/Zd6hXkDMsq0/s1600/268362_10100158605784535_419940_47192481_6358309_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PJgIhTEO0Z0/Ti5xemkj3uI/AAAAAAAAD0M/Zd6hXkDMsq0/s200/268362_10100158605784535_419940_47192481_6358309_n.jpg" width="200" /></a>Next up was hitting up my favorite eateries and spending quality time with people closest too me at this moment in my life. These are the people that understand me when a sentence is filled with three languages or when I blow up at the whole world over one simple thing. They are next to me when I see the sites of Senegal and are my first thought after success- no matter the size or importance. My friends. I will miss them too, but I didn’t really have to say goodbye. I will see them again soon.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">At the airport my flight was an hour late to board. Next to me, the flight to Casablanca left 20 minutes early. Only in Africa. Which got me thinking; there are so many things that only happen in Africa (to the best of my mildly worldly knowledge), but I’ll save the reminiscing for another day. Once boarded, I waved goodbye to Senegal and Africa. I’m off to Europe; Alys Out of Africa.</div>Alyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04734299142000265399noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996086848533850546.post-36073474586968701042011-07-03T20:09:00.001+00:002011-09-28T14:07:54.825+00:00Thankful Birthday<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6Djz1pjyK1g/ThC-0ZCSthI/AAAAAAAADnw/BzhkLdr6CGY/s1600/DSCN1613.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6Djz1pjyK1g/ThC-0ZCSthI/AAAAAAAADnw/BzhkLdr6CGY/s200/DSCN1613.JPG" width="150" /></a> The Senegalese don’t really celebrate birthdays. Case in point: I returned a few days after my youngest brother Saliou’s birthday and when I asked my mom what they’d done to celebrate it she replied, “Oh yeah. I forgot it was this week. Well, if we have money we’ll make a cake for him and Baba (my other brother with a birthday a few weeks prior) on Saturday.” That never happened. <br />
<a name='more'></a>As Christine’s host family member remarked, “Age doesn’t matter. It will only stress you to worry about how old you are and then start comparing yourself to others of the same age.” I figured this year I’d attempt to try it their way. I didn’t tell anyone it was my day and decided to spend it in Mboro like any other lazy Saturday. I woke up to some great Happy Birthday emails, messages, and even a card and present from my sister. I ate mangoes, Nutella, and millet and yogurt in the sort of gluttonous breakfast only dreamed about in Senegal… which went perfectly with the episodes of Sex and the City I watched with it. Later both my Dad and sister would call from America (thanks!).<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BDF6heC8YcE/ThC-SatTK_I/AAAAAAAADns/t0XbMLnropc/s1600/DSCN1608.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BDF6heC8YcE/ThC-SatTK_I/AAAAAAAADns/t0XbMLnropc/s200/DSCN1608.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Christine came out to spend the day with me, the family, and the members of Mboro for her last time. Awesome friend that she is, she came armed with a bag full of ingredients for a no-bake oatmeal chocolate peanut butter creation that I’m still enjoying. We borrowed some kitchen time, a pan, and some space in the fridge. Later we’d share pieces with both our families with leftovers for breakfast this morning. After lunch we went to my favorite watering hole for a drink. We weren’t there long enough to get beers from the fridge before a couple of trainees stationed in Mboro called looking to meet up for exactly that. Come on down. Cold drinks, new friends, and good chats. It was great. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Aida had been asking to throw me a goodbye dinner where she could make my favorite dish and invite my closest Mboro friends. I figured it would be nice to have in on my birthday even though I wouldn’t say so. The invitees were my parents Anna Ba and Samba Ndaw, Demba Mbow the leather worker, Suzanne Faye my host mother during training, Anna Ndieye a tailor and member of the women’s group I worked with and her husband Fran<span lang="FR">ç</span>ois Diouf, Aida Seck the restaurant owner, and Christine. We asked the trainees to come along as well, and my Dad would later drive them home because they aren’t allowed to walk after dark. Everyone was dressed to impress, except me who hadn't been thinking of it and appeared in my t-shirt and yoga pants. Ooops!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z1FGmQs7rvk/TcexuvObUWI/AAAAAAAACKM/mkYgeKdGrng/s1600/DSCN1097.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="182" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z1FGmQs7rvk/TcexuvObUWI/AAAAAAAACKM/mkYgeKdGrng/s200/DSCN1097.JPG" width="200" /></a>For appetizers we drank <a href="http://awmoshier.blogspot.com/2011/03/bissap-101.html">bissap juice</a> and ate toothpicks filled with pieces of spam, pickles and cocktail onions. I’d never seen this before, but certainly felt the need to eat about twenty of them. Don't judge, I wasn’t alone. For dinner we ate large plates of chicken stir fry with Asian rice noodles. You may remember this as the dish Aida and I had made together as part of the marketing idea to bring new items to the Resto Porokhane menu. It just so happens that my friends all love it. For dessert we consumed ginger-lemon juice and pieces of apples, oranges and bananas. We were each handed a cold can of either soda or another drink as well.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-U5-esB0OKZM/ThC_tUBU18I/AAAAAAAADn0/wuDQJF6je4s/s1600/DSCN1615.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-U5-esB0OKZM/ThC_tUBU18I/AAAAAAAADn0/wuDQJF6je4s/s200/DSCN1615.JPG" width="148" /></a>A quick note: earlier in the week I had a conversation with Aida about the financing of the party. I placed $30 in her pocketbook and told her that while I sincerely appreciate the gesture of throwing me a party... this was the right thing for me to do. After all, I have been spending weeks helping her create a ledger in our accounting classes; I’m fully aware that a dinner party was something she could only afford through the sacrifice of some of our exciting investment plans. She tried to fight me, but I reasoned with her that she would have two years to save for the going away party of my replacement. After all, that's why we'd spent time learning both accounting and financial planning, right? That seemed to be the most reasonable argument to settle the matter.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BBEI3IMq1EE/ThDAQR55QFI/AAAAAAAADn4/okygbu1LAK8/s1600/DSCN1621.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BBEI3IMq1EE/ThDAQR55QFI/AAAAAAAADn4/okygbu1LAK8/s200/DSCN1621.JPG" width="147" /></a>After dinner, it was time for my friends to say a few words. They figured out it was my birthday and sang to me in French and then English. They spoke about the type of person who leaves their family and home for two years to volunteer their time. They spoke about the things I had taught or helped them with during my service. They proclaimed an inability to sufficiently express their gratitude. They cried. They gave me presents. Aida’s son painted a large canvas of a traditional African woman at work. Demba gifted me the largest item we’d ever created together: an Alan bag with wax interior. Mama Suzanne gave me meters of beautifully dyed blue fabric. Still others promised parting gifts to come. I admittedly felt mildly less guilty accepting them because it was my birthday.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iO-hvMl7R58/ThDBD-dHMEI/AAAAAAAADn8/mpudp2d8xfI/s1600/DSCN1254.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iO-hvMl7R58/ThDBD-dHMEI/AAAAAAAADn8/mpudp2d8xfI/s200/DSCN1254.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">And I was touched. I’ve never felt for one second that my Peace Corps service anything other than entertaining my own selfish dream to experience the world. But here were my friends reminding me that regardless, I had made a difference. In return I told them how important it was to me to have formed a family of friends in my home away from home. That in fact it was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I</i> who could not thank them enough! We may have gathered to say thank you and goodbye, but it was a wonderful way to spend my birthday.</div>Alyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04734299142000265399noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996086848533850546.post-9677377254075232612011-06-29T14:34:00.030+00:002011-09-28T14:09:52.909+00:00Site Announcement<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">About half way, or one month, into PST (pre service training) PC Senegal has a special ceremony for the newest stage in which they announce each trainee’s future site of service. This is the day one finds out where he or she will be for the next two years of their life, so the staff tries to make it as memorable as possible. At the training center in Thies there’s a slab of concrete out behind one of the huts with a rudimentary map of Senegal painted on it. For the ceremony trainees are blindfolded, then taken one-by-one by the hand and led to the place on the map that represents their future destination.<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">In September of 2009, that was me. I was shaking nervously and held the hand of the volunteer next to me. I’d been training in Mboro long enough to realize the town was ok. I’d heard from Devon, the current volunteer and my now predecessor, about his work and it seemed to match what I had been doing before I’d left: essentially spending hours on the computer. I’d emailed my supervisor (APCD) and asked to be placed there, but given how little options we had throughout the rest of the PC application process (I narrowed down the continents, than got to say yes or no to Senegal) I didn’t know if that would mean anything. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Yet, suddenly, in that moment I didn’t want anything to do with Mboro. Everyone was excited to go somewhere new. Why hadn’t I seen the fun in that? Why did I want to guarantee and ok thing if there was the possibility to end up with an amazing thing? I’d never been a gambler, and I suppose that’s what let me to send that email for Mboro, requesting something I already knew. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">When all fifty some trainees in my group were standing on the Senegal map, we lifted our blind folds and looked down. I was on the coast. I was basically where Mboro should be. I looked at my hands, which were holding a large manila envelope with the words “Alys Moshier, Mboro” written on them and I nearly burst into tears. I didn’t want it. I didn’t want to go back to the only place I’d already been. I wanted something new, something exciting. I cried later that night, and seriously contemplated quitting Peace Corps (or ET: early termination).</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I didn’t, obviously. And since then I’ve grown to love Mboro. If I had all the information I do now back then, I would pick Mboro again every time. I’m confident enough to proclaim that it’s hands down the best site in Senegal. I am not joking. Mboro, I love you for so many reasons.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">So how do I convey that to my future replacement at their site announcement? The answer is that manila envelope. Inside of mine was a fourteen report written by Devon about all his successes and failures in work accompanied by words of advice. But that’s not enough. I’ll write my own work report, and I’ll attach it to Devon’s, but this time my training class has decided to add a bit more. The envelopes will also include maps, basic descriptions of all the projects in the region (should he or she want to join in on any of them), a great picture of the site, and three fun facts written by the exiting volunteer. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Fun facts about <a href="http://awmoshier.blogspot.com/p/mboro.html">Mboro</a>:</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">1. The <a href="http://awmoshier.blogspot.com/2011/03/family-bio.html">Ndaws </a>are the best family! They are willing to try new dishes or leave you be if you don't feel like eating. They love chatting (even in English) but are content with the hours you may feel like passing alone in your room. Sometimes I think they aren't really Senegalese when Mom is making diet friendly meals or tending the flower garden... or when Dad jumps in his car to Thies to buy Mom's birthday cake. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">2. <a href="http://awmoshier.blogspot.com/2011/01/food-diary.html">Food</a>; it just can't be beat! It’s hard to envision not eating at home (because the food is that awesome), but for those times when you do venture out let it be known that there are some pretty cool pork houses, a place to get stir fry, and even a restaurant that serves a 3 course linen-table-clothed air-conditioned meal. And nearly every random thing can be found in town: cinnamon, Tabasco sauce, ramen noodle packets, Heineken, Nutella, ice cream... </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">3. Mboro is a worker's gold mine! I dare you to dream up any project and I bet you a beer I could find someone interested in it! That goes for secondary projects too. And it is so easy to let work spill over into the void of American comforts. Some of my favorite projects have been recreating designer <a href="http://awmoshier.blogspot.com/2011/04/taibatoise-catalog.html">leather bags</a> at a fraction of the cost, cooking experiments (the Mboroise love <a href="http://awmoshier.blogspot.com/2011/05/marketing-plan.html">stir-fry</a>!), and <a href="http://awmoshier.blogspot.com/2011/03/english-class.html">English class jeopardy games</a>.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ane7rM8Vmx4/TgXyMl6raWI/AAAAAAAADm4/xIPdX24KNkw/s1600/Mboro%2BCollage.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ane7rM8Vmx4/TgXyMl6raWI/AAAAAAAADm4/xIPdX24KNkw/s400/Mboro%2BCollage.jpg" style="clear: both; float: left; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-top: 0px;" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">For my part, I couldn’t pick just one photo. Instead, I used Picasa to create a collage of my favorites. Perhaps I’ll make my way to Thies for the actual announcement and take a healthy dose of enthusiasm to the new guy or gal. Later, during their visit here (just under one week of quality one-on-one time) I’ll do my best to take him or her to all my favorite spots, talking up the town, and showing the lucky bastard some of my old blog posts about the awesome food or family bios. Hopefully, he or she will request this place by name. I hope they don’t have the same reaction I did. I hope to instill as much enthusiasm as I possibly can. Peace Corps isn’t easy, but a great site can certainly make the difference!</div>Alyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04734299142000265399noreply@blogger.com1Mboro, Senegal15.14148 -16.88581999999996715.129564499999999 -16.901136499999968 15.1533955 -16.870503499999966tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996086848533850546.post-56691316749248643842011-06-26T09:09:00.016+00:002011-09-28T14:10:40.442+00:00Close of Service<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZzW2CMnCbCk/TgBZXLF9NuI/AAAAAAAADmg/tEPj0LlMc5Y/s1600/DSCN1428.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="148" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZzW2CMnCbCk/TgBZXLF9NuI/AAAAAAAADmg/tEPj0LlMc5Y/s200/DSCN1428.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hotel Fana Courtyard</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The end of a volunteer’s service is marked by a three day Close of Service (or COS) Conference put on by Peace Corps. My training class, whittled down to just 44, was checked in to a lovely hotel in Dakar, Hotel Fana, for four nights. <br />
<a name='more'></a>Three days were spent reviewing check out policy, job opportunities, and how to continue serving after returning to America. For some, the conference was a late kickoff to the final processing by a few weeks. Others found it an early jump that could have been postponed a few months. And still more, who’ve decided to extend their service in Senegal another six months, perhaps a year, found the whole experience mildly not applicable vowing to have a good time with friends and perhaps join another class’ service in the future to adequately review the materials.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m55cdvhpzWY/TgBZ4py0aZI/AAAAAAAADmk/odAjSr6jFWc/s1600/DSCN1416.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m55cdvhpzWY/TgBZ4py0aZI/AAAAAAAADmk/odAjSr6jFWc/s200/DSCN1416.JPG" width="148" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lofted Balcony</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">At the hotel, they paired us alphabetically by sex for room assignments, which we immediately reorganized. Rooms on the bottom floor contained a bathroom, sitting area, and sometimes a mini kitchen while beds were lofted upstairs with their mosquito nets. Air conditioning was a treat that was never turned off! We stocked our mini refrigerators the first evening with snacks and beverages from the local grocery store called Casino- which is the place to go for an expensive version of anything you’re missing from America. Breakfast, midmorning snacks, lunch, and afternoon snacks were all provided by the hotel. Croissants, bread, yogurt, cereal, eggs, juice, coffee, and tea were served at the first two. Lunch was chicken or beef with rice, cooked veggies and salad, and a slice of tart or bowl of fruit for dessert. Afternoon snack was pieces of pizza and fish sticks. The food was plentiful and tasty; I over ate at every opportunity.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">As far as check out procedures goes, medical seems to be the most difficult to schedule. Each individual needs to submit three feces samples taken at different intervals for testing of parasites in advance of heading to Dakar. The first appointment starts with a full physical with the lead doctor in country and serves as our last chance to complain about any and all ailments: rashes, pains, and more. Blood is drawn and checked for HIV, schistose, and blood sugar irregularities, etc. Next we head out of the office to see a Lebanese dentist in downtown Dakar. He is happy to clean and fix most teeth related issues… but if you get real complicated on him Peace Corps will hand you a voucher to get items fixed once you are state-side. If your rash is complicated, you’ll be sent to a dermatologist. Other specialty doctors exist around town for other issues, and yet again if anything can’t be remedied in Dakar a voucher will be awarded for treatment back home. This process has the ability to stretch up to 60 days in processing, but in the last 48 hours before you exit from PC service, you’ll be asked to reveal the tuberculosis reaction from a prick inflicted upon you three days earlier. You can consider this the last (and most difficult to schedule) process that is rewarded with the stack of vouchers and terminal malaria prophylaxis you’ll be consuming at home. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NojDpu_BZOk/TgBaX0WSKMI/AAAAAAAADmo/uezJ3Taqg_E/s1600/DSCN1417.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="148" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NojDpu_BZOk/TgBaX0WSKMI/AAAAAAAADmo/uezJ3Taqg_E/s200/DSCN1417.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Small Enterprise<br />
Development Volunteers</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Copies of your entire medical file are available and, as far as I can tell, contacting PC medical offices after service won’t be much of a hassle. Should you be unfortunate enough to have ascertained a lifelong health problem thanks to your service, you’ll qualify for the federal workman’s compensation plan. Peace Corps extends health care coverage to volunteers for one month after their service ends through a program called Corps Care which can be renewed at the volunteers dime for another eighteen months following the first free one. There are two policy options; both are expensive looking (after living on $4 a day) and only one of them covers international incidents. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Other COS procedures completed at PC headquarters in Dakar include returning PC property (your bike, training manuals, water filter, and other), writing two different reports (official Description of Service to be issued to anyone looking for proof of your work and the less formal Close of Service given to the incoming replacement volunteer), sorting out financial issues such as money owed for projects, purchase of a ticket home (or cash in lieu payment thereof), and details of readjustment allowance payments, and exit interviews with both your program supervisor (APCD) and the country director. As far as the Senegalese government is concerned, you’ll need to write a formal letter to the department from which your program officially operates and submit your residency permit for cancellation. Talked about, but not formally needing a process, is the art of saying goodbye to our host families, work partners, and friends at site. There’s no time table for this, and it won’t be easy. PC does their part by passing out a list of culturally appropriate “good bye” phrases in each local language. Au revoir!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Mpx___nhmoQ/TgBe0oKI6SI/AAAAAAAADmw/DCRVK1kblcQ/s1600/247112_10100115432903335_419940_46827978_2749068_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="148" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Mpx___nhmoQ/TgBe0oKI6SI/AAAAAAAADmw/DCRVK1kblcQ/s200/247112_10100115432903335_419940_46827978_2749068_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fall 2009 Stage</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Now it’s time to talk about our futures. Going to grad school? We’ve got fellowship programs at many schools throughout the country just waiting for you to apply. Hitting the job market? PC hands you a rather large career resource manual that will help you soul search for the perfect job and write a resume; it also gives leads on websites and other job bulletins to ease the search. But all this information is given to you in advance of the COS Conference so that while there we can focus on much more entertaining things such as not one, but two career panels inviting the expatriates of Dakar to talk about their grad school experiences, noncompetitive eligibility hiring, and current work abroad. The second panel was actually held at the clubhouse of our favorite pool side hangout, Club Atlantique, allowing PC the opportunity to cram 44 people in a bus designed for 25; how very Senegalese of us! </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LINrMYlRWq4/TgBa4cneN4I/AAAAAAAADms/brgG7W0yKsI/s1600/DSCN1418.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="148" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LINrMYlRWq4/TgBa4cneN4I/AAAAAAAADms/brgG7W0yKsI/s200/DSCN1418.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mboro Training Group</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">And this brings me to our final topic, continuation of service. During our COS Conference my training group and I rehashed our favorite and not-so memories, talked about the impending reverse culture shock, and all the various ways to continue the third goal of Peace Corps: better understanding of the host countries on the part of Americans. Task number one upon return is finding an alumni group of returned volunteers (RPCVs) to join. They should help me transition from the loss of volunteer identity, through the job search, and into an active community member where I am encouraged to speak about my experiences at local schools or career fairs. I shouldn’t be hesitant to submit articles to media outlets. The possibilities for outreach are endless and there’s even an entire department of PC dedicated to providing RPCVs with presentation help and PC paraphernalia. While one can’t remain an official volunteer for much longer, the mentality of Peace Corps volunteerism continues long after we’ve left our host countries.</div>Alyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04734299142000265399noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996086848533850546.post-57357444059865695112011-06-21T16:23:00.003+00:002011-09-28T14:11:11.762+00:00Display TacticsBack at Jazz Fest, because this story is so grand I split it into two…<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I tried spend as little time as possible at our artisans unfathomably full booth in the middle of seller’s alley for more than one reason; it was incredibly hot, there was zero space, and I didn’t to become a selling crutch to Demba. Still attempting to get solid work done, I passed the mornings of Jazz Fest sitting at a local gallery, <a href="http://www.arte.sn/">Galerie Arte</a>, owned by a European woman selling high quality product. The product available was art from all over West Africa, and only the highest of quality… we were lucky to be there.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Yv3G5yn-Ij4/TfspGJSkBlI/AAAAAAAADmc/6KEWgop3d5g/s1600/wath+logo.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="82" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Yv3G5yn-Ij4/TfspGJSkBlI/AAAAAAAADmc/6KEWgop3d5g/s200/wath+logo.png" width="200" /></a>The Burkina Faso volunteer I mentioned before had chosen to extend in order to work with <a href="http://www.watradehub.com/">West African Trade Hub</a>, an organization specializing in West African products (art and other) for trade throughout the region and, if possible, the world. Through her volunteer “job” at this organization and her connection at Peace Corps she was able to arrange a test run selling Peace Corps artisan product through the gallery. If it went well, we all hoped the owner would chose to sell product both in Saint Louis and the Dakar gallery full time- a huge step for our artisans! </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gMo0uxhbCAg/Tfjb2iIhGnI/AAAAAAAADmA/J0papsTGXAM/s1600/IMG_1471.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gMo0uxhbCAg/Tfjb2iIhGnI/AAAAAAAADmA/J0papsTGXAM/s200/IMG_1471.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">PC Jewlery Display at the Gallery</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">We were given use of the courtyard, a table, and a few chairs to make a display. PC paraphernalia with Kennedy’s smiling visage was brought up from Dakar to promote our volunteering spirit. We used the wood and basket products to display jewelry, leather, and collaboration handbags. The goal was a simple, beautiful display designed to serve as both a selling point and an educational model for our Senegalese colleagues.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZzxiTcvUGUs/Tfjofiw2PBI/AAAAAAAADmQ/lrh0Id6Ic_A/s1600/IMG_1440.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZzxiTcvUGUs/Tfjofiw2PBI/AAAAAAAADmQ/lrh0Id6Ic_A/s200/IMG_1440.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mme Ly, Pouncing on PCVs</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Later in the morning, we pulled the artisans from the booth a few at a time and to view and discuss the gallery. Whilst walking there, Demba and I talked about an overcrowded booth that made me uncomfortable. It would take time to search through the pile to find something I might be interested in buying. In the mean time, the seller would pounce. He or she would harass me about pricing, buying, and insignificant details such as whether the item fit or was relevant to my life. For me, the pressure of that warrants no more than the passing glance at the booth. But the point I chose to expand on was not the mannerisms of the seller (as Demba has already learned these lessons) but yet another impression the piles of product leave me with:</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9dkKdgu04bU/Tfjpi4cqCeI/AAAAAAAADmU/80QELW-K3KI/s1600/IMG_1418.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9dkKdgu04bU/Tfjpi4cqCeI/AAAAAAAADmU/80QELW-K3KI/s200/IMG_1418.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wooden Bowls from Djouribel</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">Me: “I would never go into that booth; all that stuff piled high makes me think it’s cheap and comes from China. That’s not art. I’m discouraged from even going near it.” </div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qi546eIAWew/TfjnBPsJJnI/AAAAAAAADmI/eC3NqoCNkag/s1600/IMG_1464.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qi546eIAWew/TfjnBPsJJnI/AAAAAAAADmI/eC3NqoCNkag/s200/IMG_1464.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The PC display, pared down!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">Demba: “Yeah, but the Senegalese people love it. See all of them in that pile of shoes?” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">Me: “What does this tell you?” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">Demba: “The Senegalese people are very different from Americans and other tourists in how they like to shop.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">Me: “Yes, and who are your clients?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">Demba: “Non-Senegalese tourists… but there aren’t any here.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">We’d reached a sort of ah-hah moment, but also the pinnacle of our problem. My initial impression of the Jazz Festival was a popular tourist attraction to Europeans. From years past we had heard about the local artisans that line the streets, creating a fair-like atmosphere, selling their handicrafts. And that’s why we invested in a booth, spent months planning and producing stock, and dragged ourselves hours away from home to be there: the chance to sell our amazing goods to passing tourists. But sadly that just wasn’t the case. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TguGRNBL3og/TfjnbsRmoRI/AAAAAAAADmM/xrHWONdtExY/s1600/IMG_1416.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TguGRNBL3og/TfjnbsRmoRI/AAAAAAAADmM/xrHWONdtExY/s200/IMG_1416.JPG" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Small Bracelet <br />
Sampling</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Instead, anyone with something to sell and the cash to pay for a stand was welcome to give it a go. As a result, the vast majority of “exhibitors” were those who’d bought mass quantities of goods just off the shipping containers in Dakar from other third world producing countries. And the people interested in that type of product were young school girls… so they constituted the vast majority of passersby to the Peace Corps artisan booth. That’s not our market; we were up a creek without a paddle. Unfortunately this left our artisans feeling justified in their decision to ignore our display tactic recommendations and march full speed ahead with the explosion method.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YiUETMNySDo/Tfjqht5a2zI/AAAAAAAADmY/HWgGwUG3lyo/s1600/IMG_1413.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="112" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YiUETMNySDo/Tfjqht5a2zI/AAAAAAAADmY/HWgGwUG3lyo/s200/IMG_1413.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baskets spilled out of the booth <br />
and landed on the roof!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Demba and I arrived at the gallery, a bit crestfallen with regards to our expected sales, to start a conversation intended to reinforce the concept of simple display tactics. See? This is how a carved wooden table sits by itself allowing a customer to focus solely on that item, the carvings, and how great they are. Or that one has small wood pieces demonstrating color options and a catalog of products. Here there are only 4 scarves on a rack and all of them are different! </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Our Burkina Faso volunteer then explained the mental game behind one-at-a-time: if there’s only one, I think it’s unique. If I’m on the fence about buying it I now have to consider that it is the only one available and I need to make a decision to buy it now as opposed to walking away, thinking about it, and coming back to the possibility that someone else has already purchased my treasure. Because it is unique and displayed simply yet beautifully I believe that it has an inherently higher value, and I am therefore will to pay more for it. Demba caught on. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Later, we walked the gallery together and discussed presentation, new product ideas, and what makes this or that piece higher in quality. The talk went really well. My hope is that although sales from the event we overestimated, the overall result was an enormous gain in display tactic knowledge, yet another form of Marketing!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Alyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04734299142000265399noreply@blogger.com0St Louis, Senegal16.021375475517555 -16.50397576638795315.965232475517555 -16.559233766387951 16.077518475517554 -16.448717766387954tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996086848533850546.post-57807178168517828692011-06-15T10:32:00.002+00:002011-09-28T14:11:53.944+00:00Jazz vs Leather<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0gcfbxZRA-s/TfSkrXjw-xI/AAAAAAAADkk/mDcNieePyg0/s1600/Jazz+Fest+Poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0gcfbxZRA-s/TfSkrXjw-xI/AAAAAAAADkk/mDcNieePyg0/s320/Jazz+Fest+Poster.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Promotional Poster</td></tr>
</tbody></table>One of the last big projects of my service took place at the 19<sup>th</sup> annual Jazz Festival in Saint Louis, Senegal. A four day adventure in Jazz stylings from around the world centered on the island of Saint Louis and entertaining both your days and nights, this festival provided an opportunity for local artisans to expose their products to both tourists and locals alike. Through the network of artisans affiliated with Peace Corps, Demba- my leather cohort- collaborated to rent a booth with six other artisans in the group.<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">We set about preparing for the festival months in advance. As a part of a chain of events we anticipated, Demba and I began by sitting down to estimate the potential sales by items we believed were possible. Given the time frame we had between that first discussion (late February) and the actual events (TICAA tourism conference at the end of May, Jazz Festival in mid June, and Close of Service conference just after Jazz Festival) we were looking at a pretty tight production schedule. In order to maximize the potential sales, Demba made a trip to Dakar to purchase hides that were already cleaned, treated, and dyed to cut out nearly half the production time on a number of items. This introduced a whole new color scheme to our products: pastels! </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7Un0flkMCgQ/TcUqDH75qyI/AAAAAAAACM4/DAfn28Tcz8s/s1600/DSCN0995.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7Un0flkMCgQ/TcUqDH75qyI/AAAAAAAACM4/DAfn28Tcz8s/s200/DSCN0995.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">It’s also worth mentioning that I impressed upon Demba the idea to use traditional Senegalese fabric prints for linings in all products that required one. The idea was born from J.Crew’s modification of the magic wallet a few years after I bought my original one. What was once leather interior and exterior was suddenly available with men’s tie fabric interior. Why couldn’t the same principle be applied to our Senegalese version? It took a PCV guinea pig and a Facebook photo campaign, but the concept quickly became popular. Later at the expo, Demba would remark that he had indeed been the only producer of such a unique “African” leather product. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">As the weeks passed, Demba stuck to his schedule of finishing stock by product model. In the evenings he reportedly worked on smaller items such as bracelets, magic wallets, and pouches from the comfort of his home in Taiba Ndaye (a small village outside of Mboro) bringing finished items back to the shop each morning. He was seriously dedicated to our estimated sales potential and I suspect this is directly related to the sell-out we experienced in the December expo held in Dakar. And upon arrival at the Jazz Festival I counted a minimum of four large bags of product accompanying Demba. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1tDwEOPF7SE/TfSlA8xzI2I/AAAAAAAADk4/jmIPMlJ17UA/s1600/DSCN1411.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="112" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1tDwEOPF7SE/TfSlA8xzI2I/AAAAAAAADk4/jmIPMlJ17UA/s200/DSCN1411.JPG" width="200" /></a>The logistics for the artisan exposition portion of the Jazz Festival was reportedly vastly different from years past. The organization changed from French Cultural Center management to the Mayor’s Office of Saint Louis. In addition, booths were smaller, more or less expensive (depending on who you asked), moved to another less favorable location, without quality power or access to water, and available to be rented by anyone looking to sell – regardless of product type, quality or origin of production. As a result our artisans were not pleased with the initial outlook of the selling opportunity.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z8qgzX7OMi4/TfXe8BPRmII/AAAAAAAADl4/dajFkh7pPwk/s1600/IMG_1415.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z8qgzX7OMi4/TfXe8BPRmII/AAAAAAAADl4/dajFkh7pPwk/s200/IMG_1415.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">3rd Year Expertise! </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">We spent the first full day of the festival setting up the booth. The best way to describe the initial display is “an explosion of disorganized product that vomited into the passing street.” A third volunteer, who’d spent most of her Burkina Faso service working with handicraft goods and expos, was ruthless and told all the artisans that instead of displaying piles and piles of the same product it was much more enticing to artfully display a few items at a time. Stock could be carefully hidden and then as sales were made product could be replaced in the display. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">But the notion was unfamiliar and wreaked havoc upon the booth regardless. It had been a long day and our artisans were grumpy and tired. They didn’t want to be learning skills right at that moment. To show them what we meant, we had to forcibly remove their product from the table and set up the artful designs ourselves. No one was happy. We bought them cold sodas and doughnuts at the end as a peace offering, but it was not well received. This topic would have to be revisited later, as I will do in the next publication. For now, back to the Jazz Festival. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">We called it a day with a celebratory beer at a local PCV hotspot, got food and caught up with friends I hadn’t seen in a while. I rented a hotel room and eventually made it back there. The male artisans were tasked with sleeping at the booth all night to guard the product. Female artisans found friends and family to stay with for the weekend. The “serious” selling opportunities began the next day where myself and two other volunteers took turns sitting at the booth with the artisans encouraging them to heed our advice about the method of display. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-irrH5DhzdCI/TfXdudMuHrI/AAAAAAAADlw/kpqHJI26PBM/s1600/IMG_1503.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-irrH5DhzdCI/TfXdudMuHrI/AAAAAAAADlw/kpqHJI26PBM/s200/IMG_1503.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and Alyssa</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The rest of the weekend was much of the same; back and forth between the booth and the gallery. In the late afternoon and evenings I caught up with PC friends. Our favorite activities included eating good pizza, hanging by the pool, and catching up on stories. Evenings were spent dancing in to the wee hours of the morning. Volunteers stationed in Saint Louis did a great job of organizing festivities at a local bar. American beats were shared across many a nationality. Some US Marines on vacation from Mauritanian duty joined our merriment. Pick pockets were a steadfast opponent to our desired to relax, but all told few items were taken that couldn’t be replaced. Jazz music may not have been formally heard at the venues promoted- with exorbitant entry fees (unaffordable on a volunteer stipend) - but I’m pretty sure I passed by a few amusing beats.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Alyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04734299142000265399noreply@blogger.com1St Louis, Senegal16.029233152516849 -16.50421180078126315.973090152516848 -16.559469800781262 16.085376152516847 -16.448953800781265tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996086848533850546.post-53712606334598554202011-06-06T14:20:00.002+00:002011-09-28T14:12:50.213+00:00Accro-Baobab Adventure<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7f2XzD-wvj8/TezagMtMI9I/AAAAAAAADKk/9K1jV9DTAVc/s1600/DSCF1342.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7f2XzD-wvj8/TezagMtMI9I/AAAAAAAADKk/9K1jV9DTAVc/s200/DSCF1342.JPG" width="200" /></a>With the end of my service quickly approaching (time flies, what?), I’ve been working pretty hard and basically non-stop so I figure I deserve a bit of relaxation, a break. African Bucket List, what have you got for us this time?<br />
<a name='more'></a> Not too far from one my well documented favorite destinations, Popenguine, is a destination called Accro-Baobab Adventure. The name combines the idea of acrobatic adventures with symbolic tree of Senegal: the baobab. This wiry tree brings with it the baobab fruit, also known as monkey bread, which is made to make bouye juice- a local favorite as popular as <a href="http://awmoshier.blogspot.com/2011/03/bissap-101.html">bissap</a>. But how does one perform acrobatic adventures with this tree? By going displacing oneself from one tree to a nearby tree from high above the ground, obviously. Sounds like fun to me! </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k9K0s4JhqvY/TeqXHIa0OZI/AAAAAAAADDI/6HRvAKa_w9M/s1600/DSCF1252.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k9K0s4JhqvY/TeqXHIa0OZI/AAAAAAAADDI/6HRvAKa_w9M/s200/DSCF1252.JPG" width="200" /></a>So when friend had a visitor from the States last week, I finally had an excuse to go and we recruited a third volunteer to take pictures as we concurred our fears high above the ground. On the practice course we learned safety procedures for lines, carabineers and pulleys. We walked a mini tight-rope/ high-wire and did the tiniest of zip lines. It was only maybe ten feet off the ground but that was enough to seriously scare us. They counted me off multiple times before I could manage to finally go. When I reached the other side, successfully without incident, I was shaking so badly I’m not sure my death grip on the rope would’ve been all that effective had I actually needed it. Damn it was scary.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RwfkZ9BFIgY/TerNET_i82I/AAAAAAAADGM/KnV6hzEj7N4/s1600/DSCF1291.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RwfkZ9BFIgY/TerNET_i82I/AAAAAAAADGM/KnV6hzEj7N4/s200/DSCF1291.JPG" width="200" /></a>And then the actual ropes course was upon us. High wires, swings, notched logs, log bridges, and boats were the easy bits. Zip lines and Tarzan ropes into nets were a bit scarier. No two crossings were the same, but before long we became pros. At some point our safety guide/ leader Ousmane asked me to stop mid high wire cross and stare out into the vast fields of African terrain and Baobab trees. It was one of the first crossings so I was still pretty scared- but it helped. I probably started gaining courage right then; a momentum that kept building all the way to the end.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LFshn_Jhl_M/TerXvTgnIXI/AAAAAAAADH4/8N69BivNNSo/s1600/DSCF1317.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LFshn_Jhl_M/TerXvTgnIXI/AAAAAAAADH4/8N69BivNNSo/s200/DSCF1317.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The culmination was a three hundred eleven meter zip line across the terrain. Two steel safety wires, two pulleys, two safety cords and NO HANDS! It was exhilarating. Liberating. Fast. I was excited- empowered even- for each next obstacle. I no longer shook like a leaf in the hot African wind. I no longer needed to be counted off only to blatantly ignore the “jump” call. One deep breath and then just do it! Nike commercials everywhere would’ve been proud... had I been wearing tennis shoes instead of my flip flops, that is. In fact, I’m really proud of myself and my accomplishment: completing the course, not falling (or letting a flip flop fall), and not letting fear get the best of my pride. “GO ME!”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-W6sKC8yHJ6k/Teq-sfwxQoI/AAAAAAAADD8/bB_GK5zkXgM/s1600/DSCF1259.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="113" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-W6sKC8yHJ6k/Teq-sfwxQoI/AAAAAAAADD8/bB_GK5zkXgM/s200/DSCF1259.JPG" width="200" /></a>Laura was our resident “expert” having done a ropes course or two before in the US. She confessed that this was the best she’d ever done. And the least expensive, leading me to believe it was one of the best uses of $35 I would encounter.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KjhCxuz_aR0/TerdHzs2XSI/AAAAAAAADIs/OALvQ5HXaUE/s1600/DSCF1329.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KjhCxuz_aR0/TerdHzs2XSI/AAAAAAAADIs/OALvQ5HXaUE/s200/DSCF1329.JPG" width="200" /></a>We enjoyed celebratory Sprites and Senegalese tea afterwards while chatting with the operations managers about our work as Peace Corps volunteers. I pulled out the first printed draft of the tourism guide that my fellow volunteers and I are working through and showed them the Accro-Baobab entry. Obviously the current picture needs to be changed from basic scenery to one of me flying upside down across the African terrain, but aside from that the guys seemed pretty excited about it. As it turns out, Ousman actually wants to open his own new business: horseback riding excursions to a local lagoon. Wait, there’s a lagoon in Senegal? Apparently. We all concurred it is a genius idea and encouraged him to follow up with the nearest small enterprise development volunteer in Popenguine.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y79y8fhWfb0/TergEOUBYiI/AAAAAAAADJI/74iZWRznClA/s1600/DSCF1336.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y79y8fhWfb0/TergEOUBYiI/AAAAAAAADJI/74iZWRznClA/s200/DSCF1336.JPG" width="150" /></a>And if none of the things described in the above excursion are sufficient enough to peak your interest keep in mind that you’re invited to par take in many more activities. For instance, after all was said and done, we were invited to climb a giant Baobab like you would a cliff. The tree had been set up like a practice rock climbing wall. But as I was mental and physical jelly by that point I went nearly half way up, had a picture taken, and called it quits to enjoy the short line ride back down. In addition to the climb there’s a kid version of the ropes course, corporate team building activities, a kids camp dormitory (under construction both physically and logistically) and/ or sand sailing- which is how I would describe a race course with dune buggies powdered by wind sails. I’m not entirely sure that last one makes sense to me either, but it looked pretty fun none-the-less. The place doesn’t happen to sell booze or house people over night- yet. Management is in the process of building a nearby hotel. Nor is it particularly easy to get in and out of the “park” without a hired car. Good news is the operators are all willing to call their driver friends to come help you get back to town without too much hassle. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Adventure, indeed. For more information check out the establishment’s <a href="http://www.accro-baobab.com/">website</a>. Or check out my online photo album for more awesome <a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/103690138420924456693/AccroBaobab#">photos</a>!</div>Alyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04734299142000265399noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996086848533850546.post-50547855455635916952011-05-24T17:14:00.002+00:002011-09-28T14:14:51.436+00:00Soapy Situation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-12LDU9nHDRI/TcPFfUlcu2I/AAAAAAAABSk/fK-lM0uvg1M/s1600/DSCN0853.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; display: inline! important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200px" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-12LDU9nHDRI/TcPFfUlcu2I/AAAAAAAABSk/fK-lM0uvg1M/s200/DSCN0853.JPG" width="132px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Laundry Soap!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>People who haven’t heard from me in a while ask how getting back to basics has been. When they think of Peace Crops they think about an experience without all the technologies and comforts available in the United States of Heaven. A place where mornings are spent sweeping my hut, washing laundry by hand, and tending my garden. Then I help cook meals over a fire whilst chatting in a cluck based language with the local women. I pull water in from the well, carry it on my head back to my hut, and use it to take a bucket bath. In the evenings I read Tolstoy by candle light. <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Yeah, it’s not really like that. <br />
<a name='more'></a>I do my laundry by hand, but that’s because I’m stubborn and don’t want to pay our maid to do it for me. I had to spell check Tolstoy because I’ve never seen a copy of War and Peace here. But, I can say that the idea of running on less is still with me however less glorious. And one such example is the simple idea of soap here. Now don’t let your imagination go wild, we still have soap and we don’t have to make it from the fat of the animals we kill each season. The oils can be bought, local women’s groups make it as a cheap means of income, and it’s available at every boutique around. But still, the utilization is different. Let me explain.</div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b>Soap in the US </b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cZbZCl6GIWU/TcPFkTqlz2I/AAAAAAAABSs/wKAooNSNF1k/s1600/DSCN0863.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150px" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cZbZCl6GIWU/TcPFkTqlz2I/AAAAAAAABSs/wKAooNSNF1k/s200/DSCN0863.JPG" width="200px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">American Soap</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Thinking about the different types of cleaning products or soaps that I had, it kind of blows my mind. We buy products for one specific function. I have product for my hair, a different one for my face, my dishes, cleaning the toilet and another for floors, for the laundry and my car, for the windows… this list isn’t ending soon. And each type can come in a number of different physical states. Take my face wash for example. Is it a bar? A liquid? A foam? A disposable towellete? I choose a liquid version… but is it then creamy? Scrubby? Age defying? Acne fighting? Made for dry skin? Now, I implore you; think about the scope of what I just outlined. Pick a function, then a state, then other adjectives… that’s a whole lot of possible combinations! That’s a whole lot of soap… a whole aisle worth at the grocery story. Probably more.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b><br />
</b></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R-hWF8lctDQ/TcPFhhg89WI/AAAAAAAABSo/PfXfMJlE4iA/s1600/DSCN0855.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200px" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R-hWF8lctDQ/TcPFhhg89WI/AAAAAAAABSo/PfXfMJlE4iA/s200/DSCN0855.JPG" width="133px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Liquid Multi Purpose</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b>Soap in Africa</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The best way to characterize the soap in Senegal is to skip all the functionalities and go directly to the state of the soap. We have solid, liquid, and powder. One is invited to buy any of these three, which can be produced by a few different competitors (half of which aren’t even in Senegal), and use it for any task in life requiring soap. That goes to say there is no marketing for it in Senegal. It’s soap, everyone knows what it’s for: to clean! You can wash your person, cloths, or household with any form you see fit. The world is your oyster; choose your soap.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b>My Soap</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Fmg335p384E/TcPFtGcSZ5I/AAAAAAAABS4/4fkh6EYI-Og/s1600/DSCN0869.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200px" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Fmg335p384E/TcPFtGcSZ5I/AAAAAAAABS4/4fkh6EYI-Og/s200/DSCN0869.JPG" width="150px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How do I choose?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">What do I do? I’m stuck somewhere in the middle. I landed here nearly two years ago with separate special face wash (scrubby liquid), shampoo, and body wash. I quickly bought dish soap for my cup and spoon. I bought powder for my laundry. And I bought a bar of natural stuff from a friend in town, just to make her happy. Slowly I started to run out of the items I’d brought. There’s a western store a few towns over that sells soap by the functionality, but I don’t find myself there all too often. So to make due I started using the liquid dish soap for more functions like body wash and cleaning my room. When the laundry soap ran out I started using the bar my friend had sold me. I had way too much of the scrubby face wash sent over in care package from the US, so occasionally I use it as full body scrub after a particularly hot and yucky day. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">If this makes you say “Ohhh” and think about sending me either a) soap in a care package or b) money. Stop. I’m saying I’m doing just fine. We don’t need fourteen million different soaps to rid our lives of dirt and bacteria. If I didn’t have stock of multiple different kinds I’m sure I’d be just find with my bar or bottle of liquid stuff covering all functions. After all, that’s what most Senegalese families do and they get along just fine.</div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lTX3Zsv3WgA/TcPF87HgQkI/AAAAAAAABTY/mHDBkMQhP8c/s1600/DSCN0875.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150px" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lTX3Zsv3WgA/TcPF87HgQkI/AAAAAAAABTY/mHDBkMQhP8c/s200/DSCN0875.JPG" width="200px" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I tip my hat to the marketing executives that came up with a million and one different “necessary” household soaps. Excellent job you’ve done getting the masses to spend hard earned money buying the same thing over and over again in different packaging. Had I never come to the simpler life of Senegal perhaps I would’ve never realized just how much is thrown into this single industry alone. Which begs the question: where else in life have we <span lang="FR">naïve </span>Americans been duped into buying more? I can only hope this is one of those lessons that stick with me long after I’ve finished my service and gone back to the land of plenty. Realistically I’ll always have a unique shampoo for my hair. And if I have a washing machine I’ll probably have a type of soap for that. And the dish washer, too. But perhaps the rest can be accomplished with one single bar… A girl can only hope. Or she can continue doing dishes and laundry by hand; I guess it remains to be seen.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><img height="96px" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-12LDU9nHDRI/TcPFfUlcu2I/AAAAAAAABSk/fK-lM0uvg1M/s200/DSCN0853.JPG" style="filter: alpha(opacity=30); left: 521px; mozopacity: 0.3; opacity: 0.3; position: absolute; top: 1237px; visibility: hidden;" width="63px" />Alyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04734299142000265399noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996086848533850546.post-30326225813212993832011-05-20T13:01:00.002+00:002011-09-28T14:15:48.093+00:00Eradicating SteveOnce upon a time there was an adult woman who joined the Peace Corps, moved to another continent, and started living with undomesticated animals. Colonies of flies, deadly mosquitoes, and insolent mice were the worst of the offenders. There was an adjustment period where household improvements were made in the name of preventative entry. A new screen window, a new tiled floor, and a new toilet where gradually installed. But most recently our heroic (for the sake of the “fable” we say heroic, but she isn’t really) volunteer took what she hopes to be the last measure to barricade herself into her hut…<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Wait, wait, wait... this isn’t like Custer’s last stand or anything. And the point of this story is actually all about lizards, or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ounk</i> as they say in Wolof.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0tuSL8CLoZ0/TdZAJu4sglI/AAAAAAAAC5I/5g8Cull5aY0/s1600/DSCN0123.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="143" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0tuSL8CLoZ0/TdZAJu4sglI/AAAAAAAAC5I/5g8Cull5aY0/s200/DSCN0123.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steve Ndaw</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The lizard population in my room started as one. The first time I saw it I freaked and made one of my older brothers come in and kill it. I did the same with the one who came after that. But they seemed never ending, so eventually I had to accept that it was the Mefloquine convincing me this animal was going to somehow ruin my life. But in reality, the only thing it was doing was pooping all over the place forcing me to clean my room on a regular basis. All things considered it wasn’t that bad a house guest. I talked myself into the benefits of having something hungry for the mosquito population. Unfortunately, just because I was ready to put the pineapple away for my house guest doesn’t mean I was ok with his sporadic leaps from one shadowy corner of my room to the next. I kept yelling out, but my sentence (Damn it...) didn’t seem complete. Something, a name, needed to be added. “Damn it Steve” became the go-to expression for the speedy lizards movements. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">So Steve came and went as he pleased. Soon, though, Steve got fat, then lighter, then shrunk in size. Hmm. It became clear that Steve was actually more than one lizard over the months. Then there were two at a time. They started coming around just about the end of afternoon siesta but didn't actually spend time together. They just ran in circles around my room six inches below the ceiling, each on an opposite wall from the other. I told myself they were courting each other and Steve had brought his girlfriend, whom I called Stella, home for a visit. But then I’m afraid, she moved in. I think the relationship went bitter fast. Steve took the bathroom cubby. Stella took the painting and wardrobe area. It was as though these areas of my room were the result of a division of assets in my lizard roommate’s divorce.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">At this point is it necessary for me to explain to you once more about Mefloquine making me crazy? Crazy nightmares and apparently crazy daydreams to boot! Lizard divorce. Seriously.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Anyway, now one point five years later, we recently started counting three lizards taking refuge in my sanctuary. I say we because by now my youngest brothers had become accustomed to rushing to my room when I would return after dark to see if they could spot the lizards. I opened my door, threw on the lights and I-Spy had nothing on my lizards. I almost became (Mefloquine) paranoid that my family was going to charge me extra rent for the long-term house guests. But that’s just ridiculous, right? This is what I would call the height of the lizard rein for Chez Ndaw.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mK0xnxi2vlc/TdYqqo2M5bI/AAAAAAAACxk/pecgZTjcV1A/s1600/DSCN1155.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mK0xnxi2vlc/TdYqqo2M5bI/AAAAAAAACxk/pecgZTjcV1A/s200/DSCN1155.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Hardware Store, or backyard.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The turning point was my brother demanding that my mom come to see Steve. What is Steve? Look, see, he lives in Soda’s room. That’s his house. Ok... what? And at this point, I explained to my mom that I’d been living with the lizards because they just kept coming back, no matter how many were killed. When she asked where they were coming from I pointed to a gap in the sheet metal plating of a roof over our heads. The next day my uncle was commissioned to patch the gap with cement materials we have “stored” in the yard. Cement is still littered about the walls, trapped in my mosquito net, and stuck to the floors (because my uncle is not a mason by trade)- but the roof is patched. Afterwards we tracked down the single Steve left in my room, killed him and buried him in the back yard.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LInjVLPeDsE/TdYr_ISGEXI/AAAAAAAACxo/ol9J8lRqiyw/s1600/DSCN1158.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LInjVLPeDsE/TdYr_ISGEXI/AAAAAAAACxo/ol9J8lRqiyw/s200/DSCN1158.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Last Patch</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Since arriving in the land of critters, I’d been turning on a light when I got up to pee in the middle of the night. I would spend a few seconds locating Steve on the wall (and actually all the creatures) so that in my haze of stumbling to the toilet I wouldn’t be caught off guard by his scurrying. Too many occasions had passed where I’d find myself so spooked from his sudden movement through the shadows that my racing heart wouldn’t allow me to return to sleep for a minimum of half an hour. Steve wasn’t worth losing sleeping over, so I’d search him out, then pee, then sleep. I slept easy that night after we saw to Steve's gateway to heaven. With the screen in the window, the tile floor, the new toilet, and now a patched roof there was no possible way Steve could come back. He’d been evicted. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8ZBc5FF_Pbs/TdYpT8ns67I/AAAAAAAACxg/tdfMOn0fBgM/s1600/DSCN1152.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8ZBc5FF_Pbs/TdYpT8ns67I/AAAAAAAACxg/tdfMOn0fBgM/s200/DSCN1152.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Go away, Stella!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Yeah right. Crafty foe that he was, Steve found a gap in the wall by my sink and was able to scare me awake two nights later. We patched the hole and killed him. Steve was becoming desperate at this point; he wasn’t taking our breakup well. He found another hole between the roof and the wall leading to the neighbor’s house and proved determined to stake his claim in our fake divorce. But I pulled out a pre-nup and this time I was holding my ground. Once more my uncle came with the cement. He had bludgeon Stella as she tried to enter, but was able to successfully close the door. Then we buried Steve once more, with his other selves, in the back yard. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">And again I slept soundly. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">And again. In fact, we haven’t seen Steve since. My brother Saliou asks every day where Steve is, but no answer satisfies him. He went home. Where is home? Is he in Dakar? I don’t know but he won’t come back. So, I’ve successfully barricaded my room against all undomesticated enemy animals. A part of me feels guilty for killing him so many times, but I gave him plenty of chances and he took a mile from my inch when he invited his friends to stay. Although I’ve always secretly longed for the eradication of Steve, looking back on it I’m a better person for having had him as a house guest. I over came the guilt of eviction, bouts of paranoia, and an irrational fear of small quick moving lizards. Goodbye Steve.</div>Alyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04734299142000265399noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996086848533850546.post-24753322428850685992011-05-12T15:26:00.018+00:002011-09-28T15:01:30.519+00:00Marketing Plan<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>If I had to define the nature of my work in Senegal in one word it would be “marketing.” If you gave me a few more, I might be tempted to add “Microsoft Publisher.” But marketing could sum up most of what I spend my time talking, thinking, or dreaming about and generally working on project wise.<br />
<a name='more'></a> I’ve left no page un-turned, translated, or attempted in the PC issued book on Marketing in Western Africa. There are even mosquito carcasses and dried moisture rings from cups due to late-night over usage. Heck, its own cover has long since ditched this party. I guess what I’m saying is “Dear PC, I recommend investing in another copy of this one for my replacement. Love, Alys.”<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">All seriousness continued, this book recently took a turn guarding Aida’s night stand. We walked through some of the more relevant pages together and I left her to read the rest on her own time. In the mean time, we were to each generated some ideas to try out for Aida’s plan of action. Let us know what you think…</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">My Ideas</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b></b><br />
<b></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: left;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-l1Ng8wIbLFs/TcLO9y0CO9I/AAAAAAAAA-U/pU4HIiAcuDE/s1600/DSCN1097.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="182" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-l1Ng8wIbLFs/TcLO9y0CO9I/AAAAAAAAA-U/pU4HIiAcuDE/s200/DSCN1097.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chicken Stir Fry!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Brainstorming New Products:</b> When my sister came to visit she brought with her a few random cookbooks she’d had lying around. Luckily, the pictures accompanying the recipes are quite enticing. One day, while we sat around making a traditional Senegalese meal together, Aida joked about me teaching her an American dish. Hungry PCVs can attest, you don’t joke about these things. I quickly brought her the cookbook and translated four recipes: Keys Style Citrus Chicken, Stir Fry, Seafood Jambalaya, and Garlic and Sage Beef Pot Roast. They were the most delicious looking items with ingredients not too hard to come by in Mboro. We kicked off the fun with stir fry… and it’s a HUGE hit! Word is starting to spread among regulars about the new American dishes available and Aida couldn’t be more proud of her creation.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Meal Deal:</b> The idea would be to come for lunch or dinner and get a complete meal. Think kids meal at McDonalds’ without the toy. We’d offer the plate of the day plus a piece of in-season fruit for dessert and either a cold drink or traditional Senegalese tea. We’d offer a set price for the package even though plate and fruit prices may vary.<br />
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<b>Flyers:</b> Aida couldn't ask for a better location than the main street through Mboro. But her horribly obvious location is only attracting the customers wandering the streets by foot. So I figured why not tip the scales by focusing on more upwardly financially stable potentials (read: those with cars) with a flyer for our establishment. I envision a quarter page noting Aida’s weekly dishes, as well as a quick note on calling ahead to plan your next work meeting or to have meals delivered to you.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2bdlhrl-CT8/TdLToDSTEwI/AAAAAAAACug/O-9T0ojoRek/s1600/DSCN1183.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2bdlhrl-CT8/TdLToDSTEwI/AAAAAAAACug/O-9T0ojoRek/s200/DSCN1183.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daily Journal</td></tr>
</tbody></table><b>Client Book:</b> Once day I asked Aida if she remembered the day we met. I’d been hosting trainees and we stopped in for breakfast. Aida was the warmest, most genuine, and least pushy Wolof person we could’ve happened upon. We all loved her instantly and the short of it is: who wouldn’t want to come back time and time again for coffee and work? If her amazing personality is her best attribute then her not so keen memory would be a bit farther down the list. So, I explained the idea of a client book to keep record of her regulars. Names, family info, meal and drink preferences, birthdays and more could be jotted down for quick review. Imagine if this was the Cheers of Mboro and everyone knew your name, favorite meal, and about your crazy uncle…?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
<b>Customer Survey:</b> The idea is to hand a quarter page piece of paper to each hungry guest in order to help conduct a market study of our patrons. Who are the customers currently eating with us? How often are they coming and why? What do they love about Restaurant Porokhane? What would they change? What are their demographics: sex, age, town of residence, job and dependants? The list of questions I'd love to have answers for could go on for miles, but we'll have to consider paring down to what would interest Aida to understand.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium; font-style: normal; text-align: justify;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</span></i></span></i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Aida’s Ideas</span></i></span></i></div></div></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IIei5AbhWvk/TdLSUGulXuI/AAAAAAAACuY/zNQFzaTBI8M/s1600/DSCN1187.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="143" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IIei5AbhWvk/TdLSUGulXuI/AAAAAAAACuY/zNQFzaTBI8M/s200/DSCN1187.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Customer Appreciation</td></tr>
</tbody></table><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Sales Promotion:</b> While we sat reading through the marketing training book, Aida and I discussed sales promotions such as raffles, package deals on complimentary products, and frequent customer programs. Her favorite idea was rewarding repeat customers with a free 16<sup>th</sup> lunch. It took all of a half day to draft, review, and finalize a quarter page flyer that matches our other publications in format. I printed forty of them on the cheap at the PC office in Dakar… and the program is underway already. I talked to Aida about having a client specific book in conjunction with this idea but for now we’ll just keep track of people in the daily ledger. <br />
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<b>Prospectus:</b> I made a one page double sided flyer for my leather worker Demba- to promote his skills and products- and showed it to Aida. She loved the idea and asked me to help her with her own. The details of the flyer are still TBD, but I’m hoping to make one for a tourist audience that could briefly describe dishes and their importance to the locals. Almost like a 411 for new comers to Senegal, but with pricing and directions included.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-u6WEQ-wjNB4/TcLOeOeE46I/AAAAAAAAA98/NY5u7ChYwSM/s1600/DSCN1090.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-u6WEQ-wjNB4/TcLOeOeE46I/AAAAAAAAA98/NY5u7ChYwSM/s200/DSCN1090.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Updating the Tripod</td></tr>
</tbody></table><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Menu Board:</b> Outside the front door is a tripod chalkboard that spells out the daily dish to all who pass by. But perhaps you're already inside and wondering what other meals you should come back for? Like the menu you’d find hanging in your favorite fast food joint, this would be a large scale display of all the dishes and their prices. Hopefully a chalkboard can be constructed and mounted on the wall so that later drinks and maybe desserts or other offerings can be added.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Advertisement Board:</b> How else are the people of Mboro going to realize Aida’s open for business on Easter Monday- a national holiday? Everyone too tired from partying is welcome pop around for a bite to eat… a tip they’d know if they read the chalk board (chalkboard paint, why didn’t I think of that???) on the outside wall of the restaurant. We talked about it being a great place to post the news, opening and closing irregularities, and menu announcements. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6jUM4vjRJrc/TdLSvXNBtoI/AAAAAAAACuc/4gnKSUnffcQ/s1600/DSCN1180.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="134" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6jUM4vjRJrc/TdLSvXNBtoI/AAAAAAAACuc/4gnKSUnffcQ/s200/DSCN1180.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Watch Specialist's Sign</td></tr>
</tbody></table><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Billboard:</b> Directly across the street from Aida’s restaurant is a street with a beautifully painted sign advising passersby of a watch repair specialist just a few meters from the main road. We had a discussion one day shortly after starting our training in the 4 Ps of marketing (product, price, place, promotion) where we discussed “if your place isn’t perfectly located, use promotion to ease the disadvantage.” I’m quite impressed that Aida quickly became concerned that because she was on the main road people could easily miss her locale if they drive too quickly down the road. So, she’s commissioned her son to paint a sign to be mounted high on a telephone pole pointing drivers many meters away to her door. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Alyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04734299142000265399noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996086848533850546.post-17141916497265786172011-05-05T21:22:00.001+00:002011-09-28T15:02:05.451+00:00Liqueurs de Warang<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-n5fysitBZCE/TcK8P0kmlbI/AAAAAAAABRw/_1ljidnNlYs/s1600/DSCN1084.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-n5fysitBZCE/TcK8P0kmlbI/AAAAAAAABRw/_1ljidnNlYs/s200/DSCN1084.JPG" width="200" /></a>It’s time for another bucket list check mark! I found myself accidently walking into the perfect opportunity to participate in a fun activity simply by being in the right place at the right time. Waking up in Dakar, I was presented with three friends headed to Warang- a destination not too far from Mboro- for the morning. Located just east of a popular tourist town, off the road headed to lesser known sightseeing treasures, is the distillery and tasting room of the <a href="http://translate.google.com/translate?hl=en&sl=fr&u=http://www.au-senegal.com/pages/countpage.php%3Fcount%3Dnom_page%26idetab%3D1868&ei=Et1OTcj-C9WAhAfDiuTrDg&sa=X&oi=translate&ct=result&resnum=1&ved=0CBgQ7gEwAA&prev=/search%3Fq%3Dliqueurs%2Bde%2Bwarang%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26hs%3DBQ9%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-US:official%26prmd%3Divns">Liqueurs de Warang</a>.<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yaq1oW0cr5s/TcK67bhGNUI/AAAAAAAABSE/egZHYjDvNSU/s1600/DSCN1057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yaq1oW0cr5s/TcK67bhGNUI/AAAAAAAABSE/egZHYjDvNSU/s200/DSCN1057.JPG" width="200" /></a>By tasting room I mean a backyard with pond, flower and ornamental tree garden, and a long, winding, covered bar. The pond had real lily pads and fish in it and the distillery resembled a ranch house bred with a barn. For decoration beautifully colored place mats- made from palm fronds and frequently exported in <a href="http://www.swahili-imports.com/home/si3_1227655287257/smartlist_259/artisan_crafted_african_home_decor.html">laundry hamper</a> form- were hung like enlarged wind chimes spinning in the light breeze. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">There were quite a few other tourists when we arrived, but they quickly worked their way through the tastings and meandered elsewhere for, presumably, lunch plans. My cab of four was left with another cab of volunteers who’d had the same idea but a different jumping off point than Dakar. Our clan quickly became chummy with the barkeep as we learned about the day’s offerings and worked our way through them more than once. By the end everyone lined up for the PC discount on their favorite bottles:</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QqUZs-57rR0/TcK7s-bSDoI/AAAAAAAABSI/m64c6PXXAEc/s1600/DSCN1076.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QqUZs-57rR0/TcK7s-bSDoI/AAAAAAAABSI/m64c6PXXAEc/s200/DSCN1076.JPG" width="150" /></a><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mint<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Our first sample reminded me a lot more of Senegalese tea than the cashew apple it was reportedly brewed with. The whole apple, plus the nut, is processed in what I can only describe as pickling-esque fashion. We were not allowed to see the distillery but a demonstration jar was up for display. It doesn’t matter, really, because once you drink whiskey colored shot you’ve all but forgotten about the cashews and are instantly transported to a snowy winter cabin with roaring fireplace and laced mugs of peppermint hot chocolate- sans chocolate!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">GEBIS<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">This flavor is a hybrid of ginger and bissap. I found it very sweet with the taste of alcohol taking the lead on the sensory deciphers. I commenting to friends that it would probably taste great mixed with Tonic, Orangina, or any other lightly flavored carbonated drinks. This boozy concoction reminds me of a remote island getaway with expansive white sandy beaches and bungalows. Call over the cabana boy and make sure he brings ice!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">GEBIS Plus<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QVu_Uj2Gl-U/TcK7DqqLE5I/AAAAAAAABRM/eouxb2kZkl0/s1600/DSCN1063.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QVu_Uj2Gl-U/TcK7DqqLE5I/AAAAAAAABRM/eouxb2kZkl0/s200/DSCN1063.JPG" width="200" /></a>Tada! This “plus” flavor means more ginger is prevalent. While I couldn’t necessarily taste the addition, I did remark that this mixture seemed noticeably less potent than the previous. It would not need a mixer in future and, as the bar-keep advertised, this liqueur was perfect for a “nice night.” I add to that by envisioning a summer barbecue with good friends and music where this liqueur is chilled and served in Dixie cups with your slice of watermelon for dessert. Or made into jell-o shots! </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Guava<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Thick, juicy, fruity… very much like someone threw a few guavas in a blender with a splash of rum. If it’s called pulp in this instance then it's there; the blender was set to pulverize. Don’t worry, it doesn’t take away from the high quality taste, if anything it lends it a completely unique excellence compared to the rest of the tastings. Consider this a great alternative to your usual Mimosa, or maybe even a Bloody Mary, at the next Sex and The City inspired Sunday brunch you host with the girls.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ccMk6cKxKpk/TcK6iwq7IAI/AAAAAAAABQ8/5e-kII6MEnw/s1600/DSCN1052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ccMk6cKxKpk/TcK6iwq7IAI/AAAAAAAABQ8/5e-kII6MEnw/s200/DSCN1052.JPG" width="200" /></a><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">3 Citrus<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Or next tasting was comprised of orange, lemon and grapefruit. It was sour and boozy… and honestly had my taste buds screaming “LEMON DROP” much like the shot at home (sugar and lemon already mixed in). Throw a bit in your chicken’s marinade for the next spring barbecue or, for a younger crowd, take a bottle to the next frat party and make some friends. If you can’t figure it out: I’m not a huge fan of lemon drops. But this is surely a great Senegalese stunt double, so enjoy.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Crème de Warang<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Close your eyes and imagine the following. It’s your favorite holiday. Somehow you haven’t eaten as much as a Peace Corps Volunteer dreams and there’s still room for dessert. How about an ice cream Sunday? You’ve cleaned out your guava laden blender and decide to opt for the liquid version of this treat. Throw in chocolate, cream and a few ripe bananas. You’re in the mood for a twist so you throw in coffee and hit pulverize once more. The best alcoholic milk shake of your life comes out; it’s sweet and creamy like you could never imagine. This tasty indulgence is the perfect end to any holiday, relaxed gathering, or random detour from Dakar back to Mboro.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Alyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04734299142000265399noreply@blogger.com0Mbour, Senegal14.374235337433149 -16.93933852264024214.083638337433149 -17.224296522640241 14.664832337433149 -16.654380522640242tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996086848533850546.post-47480482233969524202011-04-26T15:30:00.001+00:002011-09-28T15:03:31.834+00:00Easter Weekend<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>While Senegal is known for being a Muslim country, about 20% of the population of Mboro is actually Catholic. We have a beautiful church complex (school, chapel, dance hall, clinic, and living area), a handful of booze selling outlets, and even a few nuns on mission in our fair hamlet. The two religious groups get along swimmingly side-by-side: the elected mayor of Mboro is Catholic but most of his cabinet is Muslim, and the Catholic school is home to most of the practicing children (who can afford to go) but quite a few Muslim children attend as well. I’ve yet to hear of one conflict between the two parties; which is to be expected, but just in case you were wondering…<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Catholic Church of Mboro</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">The events leading up to Easter are worth mentioning. The local Catholic population had a party for Mardi Gras (Fat Tuesday) and then proceed onto Lent activities. Lent in Senegal is an exercise in solidarity with their Muslim friends who participate in the month long fast of Ramadan. They will spend six days a week- skipping Sunday- fasting during the day until an evening mass conducted at about 6:30p after which they are free to go home and eat. Some Catholics are said to forgo eating meat on Fridays during Lent (my choice), some don’t, and then there are those who don’t meat on any Friday of the year. I’ve yet to find indication or proof that any bad habits or guilty pleasures are given up for the forty day stint.</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">On Good Friday, most people are still working but those that aren’t take the day to prepare a meal called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ngallah</i> (pronounced: en-GAH-lah). It’s made from millet balls, peanut butter, and chocolate sauce in my neck of the woods. Upscale families add vanilla and orange extracts as well as coconut shavings and raisins. I’m told that elsewhere there is no chocolate mixed in and that’s a shame. This soup-like dish is made in enormous quantity, think of an oil drum, and then passed out to all friends, relatives, and neighbors of the household. My family received so many bowls of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ngallah</i> we were able to feed our ten person family twice over!</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Saturday is marked by <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ngallah</i> eating and preparations for Sunday’s meal. I spend the afternoon with some trainees posted in Mboro trading stories and a few beers. Mass takes place at 6:30p and again at midnight. After midnight mass a “revival” party is thrown. Family and friends get together for music, dancing, drinks, and dessert snacks. Unfortunately, I got really sick at this point in the weekend extravaganza. I passed the evening with a migraine and my toilet- as I couldn’t keep anything down. I briefly woke up just before midnight, but knew straight away it wouldn’t be a good idea to try mass or the revival party.</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AiQSQ3mSrHM/TbaFgfcz4VI/AAAAAAAAASs/EyvggqXFB28/s1600/DSCN0926.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AiQSQ3mSrHM/TbaFgfcz4VI/AAAAAAAAASs/EyvggqXFB28/s200/DSCN0926.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Church Choir</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Sunday isn’t exactly the main event, but is as close as one would come to it. Christine came to Mboro for the day as she lives in a town without a significant Catholic population, so we kicked off the day with 10a mass. We deemed this a ‘must-see’ for the phenomenal choir if not for the fashion show of Senegalese clothing like you couldn’t see anywhere else. Groups of women typically search out patterns made from religious depictions. Every combination of Mary and/or Jesus you can think of is represented and worn by each group of friends. As a bonus, half a dozen infants also got baptized during fifteen minutes of screaming.</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6VokxiKiND8/TbaQ1juEtKI/AAAAAAAAAS8/_g7t7yR1atQ/s1600/DSCN0965.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6VokxiKiND8/TbaQ1juEtKI/AAAAAAAAAS8/_g7t7yR1atQ/s200/DSCN0965.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Training Host Family</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">As I did my first two months of Peace Corps language training in Mboro as well, I am fortunate enough to have an entire second family in a different neighborhood of town- and they just happen to be Catholic. After mass we stopped by the boutique to buy some fancy juices that we brought as a gift to our hosts. Like most religious holidays, a hosting household will be filled with members of the other religious affiliation helping out for the day. Muslim neighbors from up and down the street were nearly finished with lunch preparations by the time we arrived. </div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lunch is Served</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">A few finished touches were completed, and an enthusiastic few minutes of dancing were had, before we sat down to a delicious meal of chicken vermicelli. The vermicelli was mixed with veggies, sausage, and olives. The chicken was served in the middle with ladles of onion sauce. It was so unbelievably good I ate until I was full. Then I sat back for 5 minutes before eating yet again; I ate so much I irritated my already upset stomach. Afterwards we were awarded with a buffet of drinks: beer, wine, local and tropical juices, sodas, and filtered water. Take your pick; have seconds and thirds.</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dRTFn65yn3A/TbaSpezLlUI/AAAAAAAAATA/8zlMzaaqh_g/s1600/DSCN0959.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dRTFn65yn3A/TbaSpezLlUI/AAAAAAAAATA/8zlMzaaqh_g/s200/DSCN0959.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dance Party!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">To keep ourselves from falling into a food coma, the music was turned up and a dance party was kicked off. The children were most enthusiastic, but everyone joined in for the the latest popular dances. Other neighbors came to visit and share their well wishes for the holiday. My former host sister set about making traditional tea, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">attaya</i>, in no less than three rounds. We nibbled on watermelon and- had we stuck around long enough- cookies and mini cakes. But alas, it was getting to be late afternoon, and we had others to visit. Stopping at along my street to greet friends and share drinks, we arrived back at the house so that Christine could visit with my family a bit.</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">As dusk drew near, a friend on short term contract with the local mine picked us up for an American dinner celebration of Easter. He was kind enough to drive Christine all the way back to her town, where we found a new restaurant to try, before I finally headed to bed. About this point two thoughts crossed my mind: 1) my family had yet to call so it was time to turn on Skype and 2) I was going to be sick again.</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Easter Monday is a national holiday in Senegal, so we all had the day off. Well, actually I had made plans with Muslim coworkers… but they got derailed by my incurred bacterial infection. The PG version is that I was stuck in my room all day because a) it was close to the toilet and b) I didn’t have enough energy to do anything but lie in bed all day anyway. My family spent the day making way too much noise to offer me a decent nap, but it was all in good fun. Traditionally, Catholics use this day to sleep and clean house after their massive amounts of partying. In the later hours of the evening you could hear music floating over the houses coming from the church grounds as though yet another good time was under way…</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Alyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04734299142000265399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996086848533850546.post-45410174415165271772011-04-18T07:50:00.004+00:002011-09-28T15:04:04.752+00:00Taibatoise CatalogAs Demba and I gear up for future festivals, expositions, and tourism conferences planned for my last few months of service, I felt it was time to make him a catalog. And what better place to display the draft than here? The one caveat is that everything displayed is thanks to the efforts of by Demba and myself. He has other products (Senegalese style bags, shoes, and even home decor) but I wanted to display our work together! You'll have to check out the catalog to see the full range of products.<br />
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If you're a fellow volunteer about to COS, and you're desperate for something below, please contact me before May! 2011 collection items should be available at upcoming events but quantity cannot be guaranteed. Everyone else should wait for my replacement to help fulfill your leather desires. Merci.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">2010 Collection</span><o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vsHapHaePDM/Tan9VvUsbcI/AAAAAAAAASM/Uob0gDucShM/s1600/HPIM1588.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vsHapHaePDM/Tan9VvUsbcI/AAAAAAAAASM/Uob0gDucShM/s200/HPIM1588.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Men's and Magic Wallets</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Name: Magic Wallet</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Bio: The commencement of my relationship with Demba occurred because my J.Crew magic wallet was the only thing of leather I had on me when I looked for something to recreate. It was a test subject, and Demba clearly passed. The item is a hit with PCVs and ex-pats alike.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Description: Our magic wallet works length wise, though the current <a href="http://www.jcrew.com/mens_category/accessories/necessaryluxuries/PRDOVR~19154/19154.jsp">J.Crew version</a> is horizontal. Slightly larger than your standard ID or credit card, and less than a centimeter thick, this wallet boasts two card slots per side. Elastic bands trap your money on either side.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Price: 2,000 cfa</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WzxI6ksozG0/Tan67x2IAxI/AAAAAAAAASE/Cx7ehxUFmWs/s1600/HPIM1806.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WzxI6ksozG0/Tan67x2IAxI/AAAAAAAAASE/Cx7ehxUFmWs/s200/HPIM1806.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sac Soda</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Name: Sac Soda</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Bio: An already chronicled <a href="http://awmoshier.blogspot.com/2010/06/accessories.html">story</a>, this is an exact copy of a red pleather (plastic/ fake leather) H&M bag I brought with me from the States. When it died I gave it to Demba, who has since recreated it for many a fellow lady.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Description: Large women’s bag with magnetic clasp closure; cloth lining with small zippered interior pocket. Fits 8 ½ x 11 sized documents, Netbooks and quite a few more things- making you think Mary Poppins’ bag isn’t all that unrealistic.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Price: 20,000 cfa</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-L3evAedSpac/TbHjCdS3sFI/AAAAAAAAASo/C0RTo8QIRTc/s1600/DSC01766.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-L3evAedSpac/TbHjCdS3sFI/AAAAAAAAASo/C0RTo8QIRTc/s200/DSC01766.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sac Alan</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Name: Sac Alan</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Bio: This weekend bag was designed at the request of a fellow volunteer as a gift for her visiting boyfriend, Alan, and was also our first product design based solely off photos downloaded from the web.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Description: Carry-on sized bag that an experienced traveler could live out of for a week while a more intensive packer could fit shoes… A sturdy zipper runs across the top and 1/3 the way down each side; cloth lined with small zippered interior pocket; the bag currently has only two carrying handles but a shoulder strap could be discussed.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Price: 35,000 cfa</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VKyWhPmmu0A/Taq1D2ds2NI/AAAAAAAAASQ/J7zgIw3Mi2I/s1600/new.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="149" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VKyWhPmmu0A/Taq1D2ds2NI/AAAAAAAAASQ/J7zgIw3Mi2I/s200/new.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sac Thomas</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Name: Sac Thomas</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Bio: Recreated for my fashion savvy friend and regional neighbor Thomas, this bag is a copy of a Lacrosse men’s bathroom bag. It was all the rage during the last Christmas gift giving season.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Description: I estimate this product to be 8 inches long, 4 wide, and 4 tall in dimension. The zipper closure runs the length of the top and about ¾ of the way down each side; cloth lined with small zippered interior pocket and two cloth unclosed pouches on the opposite wall; leather exterior loop for easy carrying.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Price: 10,000 cfa</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Z8R0-idIYB0/TaHo3yktK9I/AAAAAAAAAQ4/MFqpFnaUHXE/s1600/photo+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Z8R0-idIYB0/TaHo3yktK9I/AAAAAAAAAQ4/MFqpFnaUHXE/s200/photo+%25281%2529.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Portfolio</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Name: Portfolio</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Bio: Word spread pretty quickly that Demba had creative vision; all the way across the country in fact. A gal I hardly knew got a hold of me with an idea for a document holder for her eminent return to the corporate world. The Portfolio is a one of a kind, special order, item that is not held in stock.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Description: 8 ½ x 11 documents have found their home. Cloth lined interior with card holders and pen loops; comes with locking metal clasp and key.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Price: 17,000 cfa</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-X59SegS-yq4/TaHrHSG72jI/AAAAAAAAARA/wwcXwnyxGTU/s1600/DSCN0609.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-X59SegS-yq4/TaHrHSG72jI/AAAAAAAAARA/wwcXwnyxGTU/s200/DSCN0609.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Envelope</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Name: Envelope</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Bio: If the magic wallet is too unisex for any girl taking stock of this catalog the solution is the Envelope! It was designed as something small and simple because no one wanted an over sized woman’s wallet.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Description: Lacking a tape measure, I estimated this product to be about 3 inches by 6 inches. It was made just like the envelope you'd mail me a letter in with cloth lined interior, small zippered pocket, and a magnetic metal clasp that lets you avoid licking this envelope closed.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Price: 4,000 cfa</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sI3n6eJS-8U/TavUTOvmmbI/AAAAAAAAASk/IlFN5o-3FwU/s1600/DSCN0889.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sI3n6eJS-8U/TavUTOvmmbI/AAAAAAAAASk/IlFN5o-3FwU/s200/DSCN0889.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Braided Belt</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Name: Braided Belt</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Bio: I’ve lost weight in my near two year stint in West Africa, and well, I needed a belt that could keep up with my waist line changes. So we created the breaded belt to provide an endless supply of belt holes, thus skirting the pesky deficiency problem all together.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Description: About 1 inch thick, made to your desired length, with a 6 piece braid. Each end is sealed with a leather tab finished with metal buckle and two leather loops.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Price: 3,500 cfa</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">2011 Collection</span><o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PWDgEybFjHY/TaHucJ9SyFI/AAAAAAAAARQ/DfZ6bOtHRxI/s1600/DSCN0736.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PWDgEybFjHY/TaHucJ9SyFI/AAAAAAAAARQ/DfZ6bOtHRxI/s200/DSCN0736.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Magic WAX Wallet</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Name: Magic Wax Wallet</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Bio: Continuous product development... Even an old classic can be revamped into something new and unique. It could even be sold to clients who already have the old model! Admittedly I was also looking to design something simple and small that could be sold as “uniquely African.” You can’t get this one at J.Crew, folks!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Description: Same size and functionality as Demba's original, but the inside is now outfitted with color-coordinating African patterned cloth material curiously named 'wax.'</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Price: 2,000 cfa</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nSLVOttVbdw/TaHr5_c6hdI/AAAAAAAAARE/NWiChXmYwx4/s1600/DSCN0611.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nSLVOttVbdw/TaHr5_c6hdI/AAAAAAAAARE/NWiChXmYwx4/s200/DSCN0611.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sac Alys</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Name: Sac Alys</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Bio: By now, Demba has solidified his reputation as the “go-to guy” for any whimsical leather idea brought to life via pictures from the web, and that’s exactly what this bag represents. But because I was the first to formally order one I am once again a part of its namesake.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Description: Slight smaller than 8 ½ x 11, this is basically an over sized rectangle clutch. A zipper closes the top; cloth lined interior with small zippered pocket.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Price: 6,000 cfa</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: -24px;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DW72RdbYnvE/TaHsxW56BkI/AAAAAAAAARI/Q3bnXt9EcIc/s1600/DSCN0721.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DW72RdbYnvE/TaHsxW56BkI/AAAAAAAAARI/Q3bnXt9EcIc/s200/DSCN0721.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sac Scott</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Name: Sac Scott</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Bio: Once upon a time, my dear friend Ms. Scott brought a canvas army backpack along for her PC service ride. It held up pretty darn well, and put up a big fight, before finally busting too many straps to continue on. And so, we created a leather version for her; she couldn’t be happier.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Description: Cloth lined interior with small zippered pocket; adjustable backpack and closure straps with metal belt buckle closures; fits 8 ½ x 11 and small to average sized computers.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Price: 22,000 cfa<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sJGR4u_bsfE/TavRgGUMtzI/AAAAAAAAASg/F_le1HF-LRI/s1600/DSCN0893.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sJGR4u_bsfE/TavRgGUMtzI/AAAAAAAAASg/F_le1HF-LRI/s200/DSCN0893.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Soda Sandals</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Name: Soda Sandals</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Bio: Arguments are unavoidable at the office, even if the office doesn’t look like my old cubical. When Demba and I got into our first major fight he sought to augment his apology with a surprise pair of sandals. I’ve only ever worn flip flops in his presence and so that’s what he views as my preference, I suppose. What a beautiful and thoughtful gift!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Description: A simple leather flip flop, made to your size, with braided leather on the outer strap.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Price: Unknown; I wasn’t allowed to pay him back. But if I had to guess, no more than 10,000 cfa.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Symbol;"><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XTKoEwsPozM/TaHtnOjIwBI/AAAAAAAAARM/Ozwky4AvNLA/s1600/DSCN0726.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XTKoEwsPozM/TaHtnOjIwBI/AAAAAAAAARM/Ozwky4AvNLA/s200/DSCN0726.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alex's Shoes</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Name: Alex’s Shoes</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Bio: When an American foreign exchange student came to spend a week in my fair hamlet of Mboro, he couldn’t help but capitalize on the opportunity to design his own pair of shoes. Who can blame him, really? The shoes were expressly made to be less than office formal- a casual leather shoe for everyday wear.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Description: These couldn't be simpler, two pieces of leather coming together; rubber soles and lace ties; available in your size.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Price: 22,000 cfa</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BIN9QDNQYUA/TaHqWQ6cfgI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/N9im2O0d0CA/s1600/DSCN0489.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BIN9QDNQYUA/TaHqWQ6cfgI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/N9im2O0d0CA/s200/DSCN0489.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Computer Bag</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Name: Computer Bag</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Bio: Yet another volunteer returning to the fast pasted corporate world sought me out to create a professional piece for his future life. He asked for a suitable computer bag with a twist! Behold our first tests run at embedded name "engraving."</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Description: Simple handle; metal lock and key closure; divided cloth interior for documents with pen loops; and lightly padded computer compartment with Velcro secure; embedding included. Even comes with leather key chain to safeguard your key!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Price: 30,000 cfa</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b></b><br />
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</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Coming Soon:</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wdFvqm-0BAY/TdgCsMWZaHI/AAAAAAAAC98/SSZ3FZV5gJg/s1600/DSCN1266.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="149" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wdFvqm-0BAY/TdgCsMWZaHI/AAAAAAAAC98/SSZ3FZV5gJg/s200/DSCN1266.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Future Mary Belt</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Name: Mary Belt</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Bio: Last fall when a round of trainees came to Mboro to learn Wolof, they brought with them their accessories. It’s taken some time but Mary has agreed to loan me her amazing belt to copy.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Description: A 2 ½ inch thick belt that is meant to be worn around the mid-section and not the waist; It has a simple small metal buckle tied down by smaller pieces of leather, such that the belt overlaps itself before clasping.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Price: 8,000 cfa<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: -24px;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0fYLuJepwfQ/Taq1E0haRGI/AAAAAAAAASU/Yy9EFN91UrY/s1600/jericho+tote.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0fYLuJepwfQ/Taq1E0haRGI/AAAAAAAAASU/Yy9EFN91UrY/s1600/jericho+tote.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Future Sac Aida</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Name: Sac Aida</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Bio: Sadly the original Sac Soda is finally starting to show a sign of use… and besides no one has only one bag! So I’ve done a bit of research and I think I’ve found my next <a href="http://www.jcrew.com/womens_category/handbags/leatherbags/PRDOVR~26082/99102234912/ENE~1+2+3+22+4294967294+20~~~0~15~all~mode+matchallany~~~~~jericho%20tote/26082.jsp">bag</a>, via J.Crew.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Description: I plan to recreate this bag to be large enough to fit documents and average sized computers. I’ll keep the two outside pockets and ask for the usual small zippered interior. I might even go all out and ask for traditional African patterned wax fabric for the inside.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Price: 30,000 cfa</div>Alyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04734299142000265399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996086848533850546.post-56856537228897705712011-04-13T18:59:00.001+00:002011-09-28T15:04:28.461+00:00Thiou YapAnd so another recipe is recorded as Aida, Proprietor of the Resto Porokhane, and I move onto another business topic: Marketing. Today we sat down to learn another of my favorite dishes Thiou Yap (pronounced “chew yap”). This is a wonderful tomato based meat and vegetable dish served over white rice.<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Aida’s current marketing strategies are nothing to be laughed at. Her establishment is located on our hamlet’s main street, and she boasts the daily special on a tripod stand outside the front door. She sells meals on credit allowing customers to pay their tabs at the end of each month. She hands out business cards to people who are new to town or who work in Mboro but live elsewhere, telling each of them that they can call any time to reserve a plate. Today I threw some new ideas on the table: a frequent eater’s card (with free meal after a designated number), a fixed lunch menu to be distributed around town on a small flyer, a menu in English (for my visiting friends and anyone else who may speak it), and a lunch special where one can get the daily plate, a soft drink, and a piece of fruit for dessert for one fixed price. She was very receptive and I couldn’t help but challenge her to draft her own list of promotional ideas. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Z5HUqTSa1-4/TaXgzEvod_I/AAAAAAAAARs/gquco4jVtCg/s1600/DSCN0831.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Z5HUqTSa1-4/TaXgzEvod_I/AAAAAAAAARs/gquco4jVtCg/s200/DSCN0831.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Onions Make Everyone Cry</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Step 1: Ingredients</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>1 ½ kilos onion</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>½ kilo potatoes</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>1 small cabbage head</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>3 medium carrots</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>1 medium turnip</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>750g beef</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>1 cup dry vermicelli</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>2 kilos white rice</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>½ liter vegetable oil</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Salt to taste</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4fFTjN-0tzc/TaXfIC9rzdI/AAAAAAAAARk/QAjVjCwVSz4/s1600/DSCN0829.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4fFTjN-0tzc/TaXfIC9rzdI/AAAAAAAAARk/QAjVjCwVSz4/s200/DSCN0829.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Bulb of garlic cloves</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>2 tablespoons curry powder</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>4 small hot peppers</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>150g tomato paste</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>75g tomato flavored bouillon powder</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>1/8 cup vinegar</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>2 tablespoons black pepper</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Step 2: Rice</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Your rice is prepared started in much a similar way as the previous recipe (<a href="http://awmoshier.blogspot.com/2011/04/thiebou-yap.html">Thiebou Yap</a>) describes: de-stone, wash, and soak the rice in water for 5 minutes. Steam it in a sealed colander/ pot set up for 10 minutes (assuming you still don’t have one of those handy <a href="http://www.target.com/Rice-Cookers-Steamers-Kitchen-Appliances/b/3518671/ref=sc_fe_l_3_1038580?node=3518671">rice cookers</a>). Then pour the rice from the colander directly into the boiling water, adding salt, covering, and reducing the heat; you should have one liter of water for every kilo of rice in production.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0NXr7zeQB2Q/TaXdiN_M5qI/AAAAAAAAARc/ZHf62LdYsvg/s1600/DSCN0825.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0NXr7zeQB2Q/TaXdiN_M5qI/AAAAAAAAARc/ZHf62LdYsvg/s200/DSCN0825.JPG" width="150" /></a>Step 3: Meat Sauce</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Heat your ½ liter of oil in a large chili sized pot. Toss in the tomato paste and a bit of salt, stir it briefly, and then add your pre-cut bite sized pieces meat. At this point you add some <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">nokos</i>, that delightful mixture of black pepper, hot pepper, garlic and salt. Maybe you want a tablespoon, maybe three, depends on your desired spice level. Throw in about 4 cups of water and cover the pot leaving it to cook for 20 to 30 minutes.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LZJZbN7hz1w/TaXeU5mnhmI/AAAAAAAAARg/eiZldx90cgU/s1600/DSCN0826.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LZJZbN7hz1w/TaXeU5mnhmI/AAAAAAAAARg/eiZldx90cgU/s200/DSCN0826.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mortar and Pestle <i>Nokos</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Wash, peel, and cut into small pieces your onions, carrots and turnip. Throw them in the meat pot. Wash and peel your potatoes but cut them in to bite sized chunks about the same size as your meat pieces. Shred the cabbage and, along with the potatoes and one of your hot peppers), throw into the meat pot. If you add these items to early I’m told that they lose value. The veggies become total mush and the pepper loses kick. I have not tested this theory; but my crock pot experience tells me otherwise. Hmm. Now’s a good time to throw in more <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">nokos</i>. Aida could not give me a reason why she waited to add this second round. It just occurred to her, but my suspicions like in the loss of kick theory from above. After all, the first round was added nearly 40 minutes ago by now. Toss in the curry and tomato bouillon powders along with the vermicelli and enough water (½ a cup in our case) to make the mixture look like a pot of stew. Reduce the heat and after 10 minutes add the vinegar. Let your sauce stew another 20 minutes before serving. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oHYLtr8leVg/TaXcz3u_CMI/AAAAAAAAARY/ufX8qDKkiPk/s1600/DSCN0842.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oHYLtr8leVg/TaXcz3u_CMI/AAAAAAAAARY/ufX8qDKkiPk/s200/DSCN0842.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David, Cody, Rob, Aida, and Me</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Step 4: Presentation</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The white rice is heaped onto the plate first and then the sauce is spread generously across the top. Aida chose not to include garnishes on today’s meal, but I’m sure you could think of something. She did, however, offer a side dish of extra sauce for those who like a little rice in their stew. Some American friends came for their first go at a traditional meal today and they are hot sauce fanatics. Luckily, your third round of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">nokos</i> is actually made into a hot sauce that can be served on the side. Add extra hot peppers to this batch and, once pounded, mix in a few tablespoons of mustard, a dash of bouillon spice, and a splash of vinegar. The raw hot pepper pieces give this a great kick that won a “don’t mess with Texas” approval! </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Step 5: Modifications</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-n0J4plV2e7k/TaXgAzTVadI/AAAAAAAAARo/K_qWl83BHSY/s1600/DSCN0841.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-n0J4plV2e7k/TaXgAzTVadI/AAAAAAAAARo/K_qWl83BHSY/s200/DSCN0841.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aida's Thiou Yap</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">When I got back home from my exhausting morning, my host mother immediately asked me what I’d prepared; demanding a list of ingredients. The Senegalese adore talking about food. They compare recipes only when it comes to teaching others, but they will defend their own until their dying breath- or so I’ve learned. Recipes are passed down from generation to generation by word of mouth and through helping one’s mother for most of a childhood. So without prejudice I am obligated to share my mom’s take on the dish. She is adamant that one should never use tomato flavored bouillon. In fact she doesn’t like using bouillon at all, for any dish, because it’s full of MSG and absolutely terrible for your health in the mass quantities consumed on a regular basis here. But she claims simply to not like the taste, so instead my mother substitutes fresh cherry tomatoes. In addition she would “never” mix curry powder with the flavor tomatoes. The two just do not belong together. I’ve eat it both ways obviously and didn’t feel I noticed much of a difference.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">From my former purchasing days, and a continuous effort to explain cost analysis to Aida, we once again tallied the total cost of preparing the dishes. The cost of raw materials was 310 cfa ($0.62) per dish sold at 750cfa ($1.50). We sold out at 15 ½ plates and shut the shop down nearly an hour earlier than normal (only after at least 3 people had come by looking for a meal we just couldn’t serve). In point of fact, this is the 2<sup>nd</sup> day in a row that Aida has sold out of capacity. I’d love to take credit for helping her, but it just wouldn’t be the truth. Aida makes a truly gourmet dish and has a number of everyday regular customers. Word is getting out that her establishment and hospitality are top notch. </div>Alyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04734299142000265399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996086848533850546.post-1960579777666384112011-04-10T19:58:00.001+00:002011-09-28T15:05:00.076+00:00Breaking Points<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Now that I’m nearing the end of my service quite a few people have asked me questions like “If you had it all to do over again, would you?” and “Have you become a better person through this experience?” And the answer to both is pretty easy: yes! If I had my own experience to do all over again, I would do it. I go through the training, the faux pas, the weight loss, the adjustments, the vacations, and the million and one colds all over again because of the person it’s made me.<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I define stress as just about anything that makes a person uncomfortable, both physically and mentally. And a breaking point is that moment where, although you’ve held your cool until this point, all the stress put upon you causes you to snap. If it’s physical your body shuts down. If the breaking point is mental it’s that moment when you are full of rage, your brain (and rational thinking) have shutdown and you are no longer in control of your body and reactions (albeit this is probably only temporary- a maximum of one minute duration). The thing about my service is that, upon reflection, it’s been a field experiment in ‘what happens to Alys after she’s crossed her own breaking point.’</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Every culture clash, language barrier, and amenity forgone has at some point rattled me like never before. I once went on an 8 hour bike trip that broke me when I literally collapsed falling off my bike. Or there’s the time a mouse was taunting me by pooping all over my things but staying invisible until finally running across my desk while I was working. I started screaming, running, and crying uncontrollably.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Can the decency of a person be measured by how they handle their breaking point? I believe so. During this time in Senegal, I’ve learned a lot about how I’m prone to react to various trying situations. When a little kid calls me a racial slur, and it’s the end of my rope so I break, how do I handle it? Do I yelling mean things back, run after the kid and beat him, find his mother and rat him out (ensuring that she’ll beat him worse than I would have), or tell him off in his own language? I’ve tried it all… and I’m not proud. And the question then became how to handle that breaking point?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Somewhere along the route I remembered a story. We all visit our predecessors for about a week before actually beginning our service; it’s called Volunteer Visit (or Demystification). A friend of mine got assigned to a particularly rough town already littered with foreigners and tourism. So when he visited and saw firsthand how the volunteer was treated- like every other stranger they assumed couldn’t understand the insults but would likely hand out money anyway- he was a bit shocked at her response. She simply ignored it. She said nothing and acted as if she didn’t even realize they were talking to or about her. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">And as I look back on it, even my own predecessor reacted the same way. We would be walking the streets of Mboro when a group of people sitting outside of a house would yell and accuse us of being spies. He would translate it for me, and we’d talk about the lore that all PCVs are really CIA spies, but we acted as though our conversation wasn’t interrupted; which is basically ignoring it. These volunteers had a few experiences under their belts. They’ve probably reached their breaking points on countless occasions already before us newbies got a chance to observe them. Their learned reaction is no reaction at all; what does that mean? </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I’ve reacted in every way possible and yet none of them felt truly satisfying. Clearly my snap judgments aren’t to be trusted when it comes to annoyances. Therefore, shortly after having this very same mental discussion with myself I figured I’d try it their way. I’d take what I would describe as the “high road,” which is to not react at all. Back to the slur slinging child example: It was hard the first few times; my blood would boil. I was angry anyway, and the only thing that had changed was my outlet. Deep breaths and walking away helped. Slowly I got to a point where I didn’t turn my head to glare. And eventually I didn’t even slow my pace- I’d just walk on by. I didn't even hear it. The words no longer seem to register in my conscious thoughts. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">In a perfect world we are nice, cordial and respectful to everyone. Our breaking points would be the pin ultimate challenge of this. If I were a perfect person, I would take 5 minutes or more to stop and explain to the children how they were being disrespectful and that if they wanted to get my attention they should call me by my name. But in truth, t’s neither practical nor likely that a volunteer could be on-point every moment of a two year stint. So, in lieu of perfection or the opposite (an international incident) and also to save time- because this does happen multiple times per day- I don’t react. I had finally digested what matured PCVs had!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tQrvbAJtOSk/TaIHuGqSOtI/AAAAAAAAARU/0S0H6ZX4PeE/s1600/alys.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tQrvbAJtOSk/TaIHuGqSOtI/AAAAAAAAARU/0S0H6ZX4PeE/s200/alys.jpg" width="200" /></a>I’ve recently reread all of my stories and discovered a common story: an “incident” in which I completely lose my temper and act like a fool in response to any number of stimulants. It’s regrettable that there are so many of my ‘not finest’ moments on display. I can’t begin to defend the ways in which I’m simply not a perfect person. But I am trying. And never would I give up this experience that has opened my eyes to a number of different things, not the least of which is how I handle my breaking points.</div>Alyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04734299142000265399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996086848533850546.post-9852576723007763442011-04-06T10:47:00.030+00:002011-09-28T15:05:47.694+00:00Anger Management<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8co-dby5W_k/TZdVtiJKXkI/AAAAAAAAAQY/FzVn5KftImw/s1600/DSCN0744.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8co-dby5W_k/TZdVtiJKXkI/AAAAAAAAAQY/FzVn5KftImw/s200/DSCN0744.JPG" width="200" /></a>My New Year’s Resolution was to write more; both in my blogs and in my own personal journal. I’ve been doing an excellent job of chronicling my seemingly random thoughts and emotions in my off line endeavors. I’ve been looking for a way to describe my troubles to family and friends and possibly ask them for advice, but I never seemed to find a way about it. And yet as I went back over the last month, where it seemed like I dealt with a lot of anger management, I decided to just bite the bullet and share. I've since mounted this mole hill and I no longer feel so angry, but maybe sharing it will provide some insight about the day to day life of a volunteer.<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">February 25</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The Senegalese seem to be extra ordinarily good at pissing me off royally. I find myself cursing and screaming quite a lot these days. And no, it’s not like I need a break from them because I no longer think that helps. It may make things worse (revisit my non-confrontational issues and tendency to run away later). However, after a particularly annoying day I stop myself to wonder whether I’m being too harsh. No one is perfect; everyone screws up and hurts their friends or lets down their family members at some point. I know I’ve done my fair share. So what’s the difference? </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Well, it’s that when I apologize to someone I mean it. Lying is beyond 2<sup>nd</sup> nature here- maybe 1<sup>st</sup>- and their apologies seem to roll off the tongue just as fluently as any other word, making me weary to trust them. It doesn’t help that no matter how big or small a scene I make, the odds that the same offense will occur again the next day are way too high for my comfort. It always happens again. So either the Senegalese <u>never</u> learn, they don’t respect me enough to bother, or their culture is such that they just <u>do not</u> value the emotions of the people close to or important to them. I can’t decide which of those I’m rooting for.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I’ve considered that there’s always something good to be learned from other cultures- but I just can’t apply that here. That would mean the Senegalese are practicing the art of never respecting their friends wishes in the name of (nay, favor of) not changing who they are for others. An admirable trait except that they take it too far. They hurt people. And a part of me doubts they do it on purpose, or consciously. So this whole theory is caput. Maybe they are this way not by choice but because they know no other way. That’s a rough one. A girl can only try so hard before I’m back to thinking they never learn. Or they don’t want to. My head may be spinning. In the near future I need to find a new coping mechanism or get out of this brand of culture. Maybe both.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">March 1</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I’m slowly getting back into yoga, not because I’m enjoying it (though I am) but because I’m using it as a stress reliever. I’ve been angry. More irritable, flying off the handle, acting like a total ass. I need a new coping mechanism for the things I’m not adequately handling and I’m hoping yoga will do it. Really hoping.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">This morning the kids were screaming. They woke me up even though I had earplugs in. I got up to yell at Saliou. That’s not even rational. Kids don’t respond to that. I went back to bed until they all left and it wasn’t so chilly. When I got back up there was no bread left for my breakfast. Neither of these facts is more than annoying but I flew off the handle. I stormed to the boutique to buy bread but they were closed. I’m glad no one was around for me to be a jerk to. I slammed doors and swore. I sucked. I sent my mom my 2<sup>nd</sup> draft text asking if she’d left me bread (implying that she hadn’t) and it’s the worst I let out. This is an improvement from my days as a teen probably only because no one else was around.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I need to be quicker in catching myself, reeling it all back in. At least I’m catching myself at all… but it’s not enough. When things start to pile up I lose it quickly. I need to count to ten or something else for the immediate effects of me hulking into an ass. Long term my residual anger is helped by the yoga. I realize now as I write that it is helping. Probably the breathing. Breathing out and letting go of my air, steam, anger. And that’s good, but not enough. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Let’s go back a bit. I don’t mean to say reel it <u>all</u> in. Just my emotions. Just me losing my composure. I want to let go of my anger. I mean that’s probably why I scream and swear- to let it out- but that’s not working. So how do I let go, let it out in a quick and healthy way? A way that doesn’t turn me into a crappy angry (and ugly) person. Let go but control the emotions. Does this somehow connect to taking the high road? Am I back to this? </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">March 8</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Yesterday I lost my anger/ temper for the millionth time. My family didn’t call me to lunch (because they thought I was sleeping) and didn’t leave a plate for me. Realizing I was getting overly upset without cause I thought calling Christine would make it better. But I just ended up yelling at her. She knew I was just blowing steam but I still felt the need to apologize. And the worst part is she wasn’t making me feel better. I kept exaggerating the problem to make my freak out seem less idiotic, which made me sick about not being honest with her about the situation. It was a lose- lose conversation. Awesome. I’m just on an anger slope rolling down hill and gaining speed and casualty victims. Go me.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">It was until later that the Mefloquine paranoia crept into my thoughts. I used to do a better job of remembering that the drugs are affecting me… and act accordingly. But since some time before my trip home I’d let go of that. I don’t know if it’s a valid excuse or a scapegoat but I do know that I wasn’t so angry back then. Or maybe I was better at managing the same level of outrage by coping through remembrance of Mefloquine side effects? Who can say? But I will try this theory out for a while and see how it goes. I should also skip calling Christine until I calm down. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">March 18</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Leaving Dakar and the comforts of our home stay wasn’t easy… but was necessary. The trip back was bumpy and hot making me car sick all through the traffic of Rufisque. I tried to sleep and I took it easy once back in Mboro. Power was out so I went to the club for a St. Patty’s day beer. It seemed like the luck of the Irish wasn’t with me until today. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I was warned that the power and water might go out again, but I was able to get all my laundry done. Christine’s uncle called and came out to install my internet. It’s not completely up and running but Les has been all over Sonatel to get it done. For lunch I got to make egg salad (without bread) with veggies and mustard. In the afternoon I went to see Demba to give him money- and I used the motivation tactic of saying that I already had money for orders not yet completed and he stepped up and gave me a finish date. I told him I’d come back tomorrow with English lessons. Then back home I got help from the internet techs. I had good conversations with Samba about fixing my toilet, meeting with Talla next week, and maybe him paying the difference to upgrade to WiFi for the house. Somewhere in all this I was able to get info on avocado trees for Amar from a man who happened to stop by with a tree for Anna. In as best a way as Senegal could give me- luck was on my side. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Now Anna premade me beef and veggies for dinner and gave it to me before starting the family dinner… so I’ll enjoy my clean room, sheets, early dinner, pending internet, and season 4 of 24. I’m very relaxed. And I only hope my luck will continue. Although I’m fairly certain my period will start any day. And someone will undoubtedly annoy me shortly. But… until then I’m staying positive.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">March 19 </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">It seems to be continuing (this good luck) despite the start of my period and subsequent cramp pain. I had a great morning relaxing, visiting friends in town, and then at Demba’s shop. We went over a 1<sup>st</sup> English lesson, had some bissap, and then I got some great action shots of the guys working. For lunch mom cooked me veggies and I made a salad. The internet still isn’t up yet, but Les has called to assure me that the help hotline will be able to help (Hah!).</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Ok, at that last point I got up to double check that the internet wasn’t up- except it was! So I grabbed some orange credit (and beignets) and set myself up. I checked mail, chatted online, and found some downloads… basically spending 2.5 hours in utter bliss.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">While I was in Dakar I’d grabbed a copy of Chicken Soup for the Soul which I figured would help with my anger. Maybe a short story here or there would be able to calm me down during bouts of extreme frustration. Inshallah! But as of now, it’s like my luck has changed. Fingers crossed this is a long streak of good fortune vibes. Wouldn’t it be delightful if I didn’t have to crack open that book the rest of my time here? Yeah, but that’s not likely.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Maybe it’s pessimistic or just realistic (for Senegal?) but this will come to an end. Therefore it’s probably a good idea to continue exploring anger management options. But we’ll save that for tomorrow. Today, I’m just relaxing; enjoying the happiness.</div>Alyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04734299142000265399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996086848533850546.post-4416660115986920262011-04-03T12:37:00.111+00:002011-09-28T15:06:56.895+00:00Thiebou Yap<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Op4HhY1lmzw/TZcdeoJXMPI/AAAAAAAAAQA/N4xmYAwpMpk/s1600/DSCN0686.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Op4HhY1lmzw/TZcdeoJXMPI/AAAAAAAAAQA/N4xmYAwpMpk/s200/DSCN0686.JPG" width="150" /></a>Continuing with the recipes that I eat quite frequently and enjoy, I present you with Thiebou Yap (pronounced “cheb boo yah-p”) this is a traditional lunch meal translated to mean rice with meat. <br />
<a name='more'></a>I recently had the occasion to formally learn to make this dish whilst spending quality time with one of my favorite students. Aida is the proprietor and chef of the Restaurant Porokhane opened last year in Mboro. At present, we are in the process of discovering financial planning and cost-versus-price evaluation concepts. When she asked me for the millionth time to stay for lunch after our usual morning session this week, I told her I would agree if we could make the meal together from the beginning. In this way, she would be teaching me her forte. Meanwhile, I could use the opportunity to capture all the costs of a meal- which would lead to a total cost that we’d later compare to the sales price. We both had a successful day!<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NmD4HmSnnE8/TZceuKhjhUI/AAAAAAAAAQE/WtZoeQt3xKw/s1600/DSCN0647.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NmD4HmSnnE8/TZceuKhjhUI/AAAAAAAAAQE/WtZoeQt3xKw/s200/DSCN0647.JPG" width="200" /></a>Step 1: Ingredients</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Bunch of garlic cloves</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Salt</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Pepper</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Symbol;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>2 small green peppers</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Symbol;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>6 cubes of bouillon</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>1 kilo meat- including liver, heart, stomach, and testicle samplings!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dwQiJANyZlg/TZccANuSxAI/AAAAAAAAAP8/KjfeMF9TPnY/s1600/DSCN0651.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dwQiJANyZlg/TZccANuSxAI/AAAAAAAAAP8/KjfeMF9TPnY/s200/DSCN0651.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>1 kilo onions<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>1 small head of cabbage</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>250g carrots</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>250g turnip</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>3 hot peppers</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>¼ cup mustard</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>1 splash vinegar</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>1 splash lemon juice</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M6ayHZ5j2s4/TZca3iG8-VI/AAAAAAAAAP4/vZLreGZfrnY/s1600/DSCN0650.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M6ayHZ5j2s4/TZca3iG8-VI/AAAAAAAAAP4/vZLreGZfrnY/s200/DSCN0650.JPG" width="200" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Symbol;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">1 liter oil</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Symbol;">·</span><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Symbol;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">3 kilos white rice</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>1 ½ cups vermicelli</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Parsley and or celery leaves</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Tomato slices</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Step 2: Meat & Broth</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Cut the meat into small bite size pieces. The Senegalese don’t prefer to cut the fat off, in fact they cut around it- leaving its ribbons in the middle, but I suggest a slight modification in this regard. Wash the meat because you believe it might rid the meal of harmful bacteria or tiny bits of bone left by the butcher after his hacking. Put half the oil in a large chili sized pot over a medium fire. Grab a handful of diced onions and brown them in the pot of oil. Then throw in the meat and cook until browned on the outside. Add garlic, salt, pepper and hot pepper to your desired taste. Cook for 10 minutes covered. Then add one liter of water for every kilo of rice you’ll be making to the pot along with 2 bouillon cubes and some more salt. Recover.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">At this point I need to interrupt your cooking for a quick lesson on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">nokos</i>. This is equivalent to a Senegalese pesto made from a few cloves of garlic, a handful of chopped onion, chopped green pepper, black pepper, hot pepper, and 2 cubes of bouillon. Throw the lot in your wooden mortal and pestle and pound away until you’ve reached pesto consistency. It’s used in most- if not all- of my favorite dishes… the best of which is the injected into the grilled chicken variety. Take half of the batch you make now and throw it into the meat pot. Once absorbed in the broth, move the meat pieces into a small bowl with a few ladles of broth. Leave the rest of the broth in the pot for later.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U9KieTSc4t8/TZcqDCClGJI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/8AYDXV5fXEo/s1600/DSCN0678.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U9KieTSc4t8/TZcqDCClGJI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/8AYDXV5fXEo/s200/DSCN0678.JPG" width="150" /></a>Step 3: Rice</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Throw the vermicelli in hot oil (you can use the oil for the veggies or meat if you do it in advance) for 2 minutes- until brown- then remove and set aside. Remove bad grains and residual small stones from your rice, then wash and soak it in water for 5 minutes. Steam the rice by putting it in a metal colander over a pot of boiling water. Make sure to seal the rice by covering the top and tying fabric around the connection point between the colander and the pot of water; none of the holes of the colander should be exposed. Steaming in this way takes about 10 minutes. Or you could just use a rice cooker… Mix cooked rice and vermicelli into the broth created by the meat in the large pot. Cover and reduce heat. We reduced the heat by removing half of the charcoal under the pot; or you’d reduce the flame on your tank of gas. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cETg5oCYIYA/TZco93ju85I/AAAAAAAAAQM/-p1tHD7RjJE/s1600/DSCN0677.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cETg5oCYIYA/TZco93ju85I/AAAAAAAAAQM/-p1tHD7RjJE/s200/DSCN0677.JPG" width="200" /></a>Step 4: Veggies</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Wash all your vegetables. Prepare the veggies by peeling onions, carrots and turnips and cutting them into diced tiny pieces. Shred the cabbage using a cheese grater. In the remaining half liter of oil, sauté these vegetables for 10 minutes or so; once soft add in the remaining 2 cubes of bouillon, mustard, remaining <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">nokos</i> mixture, the whole (but washed) hot peppers, vinegar, salt, pepper, lemon juice, and a ½ cup of water. Mix well, cook for 2 to 4 minutes and then reduce to low heat. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SlN2t__1JR0/TZcnyQxQ3LI/AAAAAAAAAQI/8sZnB7L5MnU/s1600/DSCN0708.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SlN2t__1JR0/TZcnyQxQ3LI/AAAAAAAAAQI/8sZnB7L5MnU/s200/DSCN0708.JPG" width="200" /></a>Step 5: Presentation</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The rice is laid out first covering the bottom of your plate/ bowl so as to give the impression that rice is the only thing on the menu. I’m talking about a heaping plate of rice. Next, sprinkle a ladle full of vegetables across the top of the rice. Then place a few pieces of meat in the center of the plate. A few sprigs of parsley and celery leaf are sprinkled around the plate, as well as a slice or two of tomato. The hot pepper is removed from the veggie pot and served on a separate saucer plate so that anyone looking for an extra kick may squeeze its juicy contents at their own risk. The burnt rice at the bottom of the pot is a sort of delicacy in this neck of the world, so it’s scraped up and passed amongst the guests via a small bowl. Additional condiments could include actual hot sauce and/ or ketchup. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Step 6: Modifications</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">More common, and actually revered as THE dish of Senegal, is Thiebou Jen. This is the fish (jen) based version that I never eat due to my unofficial fish allergy. I’ve asked numerous people how the meal is prepared different between meat and fish varieties but they never have a clear answer. I’m fairly certain you could literally substitute the meats… but they say no when I ask. According to my mom, she only puts certain vegetables in the fish version that wouldn’t go in the meat and vice versa. For example, she would never put cabbage in the meat variety because- according to her gourmet pallet- the fish variety can be made with only items found naturally in Senegal. By contrast, the meat variety is therefore loaded down with imported delights such as olives, sausage, and hard boiled eggs; items or concepts brought in by the French once upon a time. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J8EMOVX1pPE/TZcucoPKx_I/AAAAAAAAAQU/eNZG052wEsg/s1600/DSCN0689.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J8EMOVX1pPE/TZcucoPKx_I/AAAAAAAAAQU/eNZG052wEsg/s200/DSCN0689.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">We planned to sell fifteen plates for lunch making the direct material cost of making the meal 410 cfa (or $0.88) while the selling price is 750 cfa (or $1.62). We haven’t gotten through the lessons on cost of labor or indirect costs… but I’m mildly confident that after having done so a profit margin will emerge. My batch of Thiebou Yap was a huge success with the fourteen plates sold while I was there. A few more had already been called in on reserve by the time I left. The above will lend you twenty generous helping plates of deliciousness. Enjoy!</div>Alyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04734299142000265399noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996086848533850546.post-15475821974512618222011-03-30T16:47:00.001+00:002011-09-28T15:08:26.099+00:00Toilet Woes<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-g1XYqbNhUT0/TZHtwFAVx5I/AAAAAAAAAPk/9aOBftVuuhg/s1600/DSCN0551.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-g1XYqbNhUT0/TZHtwFAVx5I/AAAAAAAAAPk/9aOBftVuuhg/s200/DSCN0551.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Western Toilet</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I’ve dealt with mice invasions, leaky roofs during rainy season, and getting screens put in my windows… but none of these has been more inconvenient than the near two week long incident that has come about with my toilet. <br />
<a name='more'></a>Well longer, if you count my ignorance to the mild leakage of water from some unknown place in my bathroom cubby. It took me a while to figure out it wasn’t me being clumsy during my daily laundry. It took me a bit longer to realize that the problem was related to my toilet. But the whole situation compounded when I left Mboro for nearly a week. Upon my return, the bowl of my toilet was completely empty. Hmm.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Ok, so I flushed it… and within 30 seconds the contents of the bowl had dispersed across my bathroom floor. Upon closer inspection I discover that the water is leaking out the base of the toilet, through a crack in the cement seal. Since the water’s out of the bowl and things can be seen a bit clearer, I decide to capitalize and hit up the inside bowl with some bleach and a scrub brush. While it makes me feel better to scrub up some of the gook down there, I may have jumped the gun. Apparently what I had been assuming was indefinable must-go growth in my toilet may have actually been a cement patch left by my predecessor, for as soon as I let up on the upper body workout scrubbing I realized I was left with an awful looking crack in the bottom of my bowl. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">My bathroom, as I call it, is comprised of a four foot square nook in the corner of my bedroom; three complete walls plus one half close it off from my bedroom come office and the rest of the world. It contains a sink, a toilet, a short sprinkler-esque hose (ahem, portable bidet because I don’t use T.P.), and a shelf. The floor rests about one inch below the rest of my beautiful bedroom tile, so when it floods (and this isn’t the <a href="http://www.awmoshier.blogspot.com/2010/07/upscale-flood.html)">first time</a>) I have a bit of a margin to rectify the problem.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rxigAXjR64M/TZHwB_WcfZI/AAAAAAAAAPw/2U_YAln-VYg/s1600/DSCN0558.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rxigAXjR64M/TZHwB_WcfZI/AAAAAAAAAPw/2U_YAln-VYg/s200/DSCN0558.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pape and the Cement</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I started to address my latest problem by talking to my Mom, leader of the pack and most likely to get things accomplished in a reasonable time frame, who suggested talking to my father because he has a plumber cousin. Dad takes one look at the cracks and concludes that the exterior base of the unit needs a new ring of cement. He’ll get one of my brothers to do it. I should’ve have asked more detail, but he was out the door before I got the chance. The next day, I ask him how much the cement would cost and where I should buy it. “We have cement in the back yard, I’ll get your brother to take care of it” -and then he’s out the door again. I swear most of our conversations only take place because I manage to catch him before he runs out the door. Later that day I catch him once more and he tells me to hand my brother 100 cfa (or 20<span style="font-family: 'Eras Medium ITC', sans-serif;">¢</span>) so that he can get another type of cement to mix with what is on hand. Great, done. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a3ZOQZXunlE/TZHvSDUFCSI/AAAAAAAAAPs/EZXZuEEwWJg/s1600/DSCN0556.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a3ZOQZXunlE/TZHvSDUFCSI/AAAAAAAAAPs/EZXZuEEwWJg/s200/DSCN0556.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Patch Work...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Next day I set about catching my brother before he heads out to his afternoon schedule of soccer matches. “Can you please fix my toilet today? I have a guest coming.” Pape had already acquired the necessary materials and was able to get to work right away. He set about to spreading what I roughly calculate as three times as much cement than was needed around the base of my toilet. I resolve to let this hefty patch take a full forty-eight hours to dry and cross ‘fix toilet’ off my to-do list. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">In the mean time, my guest arrives. He and I become a part of the consistent queue to use my family’s sole bathroom (toilet and shower) and there are now eleven people jockeying for time in there. It’s more than fun. Murphy’s Law gives me diarrhea. Thanks… I always wanted to fear shitting my pants AND dealing with it in front of everyone. Mother Nature sees fit to throw my period into the mix. Wasn’t that nice of her? Also (seriously, can you believe there’s an also?), my family doesn’t have the handy little spray bidet- because it’s broken- so we are left using a tea pot that no one seems to remember to refill. And speaking of no one, that’s who’s taught my brothers how to flush the toilet after each use. I don’t know how else to describe this picture- oh wait there is soap available only half the time- so that about covers the fun.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1lJnHi-2pHc/TZHwu8hqkmI/AAAAAAAAAP0/RFnrj479_g8/s1600/DSCN0559.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1lJnHi-2pHc/TZHwu8hqkmI/AAAAAAAAAP0/RFnrj479_g8/s200/DSCN0559.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">... Finished Seal</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">And about now you can image how forty-eight long hours later, when I pull the trigger to flush my newly repaired toilet and the water disappears from the bowl once more, I’m nearly in tears. I hold it together for the sake of my guest (who’s here for the week). But I’m not kidding you when I say I’m overly paranoid that this may never get resolved, so much so that I consider for the millionth time calling someone in the medical office about quitting Mefloquine (which heightens paranoia as a side effect). When my Dad takes a second look he concludes that the mystery local for the departing water is the foundation of the house, and that we’d probably have to change the whole toilet. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I know from that moment on, Peace Corps was going to have to get involved. I can’t finance the installation of a new toilet on my own, but that’s ok because PC can and does support volunteers in this regard. Then it occurs to me, who am I going to call? Normally, I’d call my APCD (Assistant Peace Corps Director) but mine recently left the post vacant. So then it became a guessing game… Do I call medical because no toilet equals increased sickness? Do I call the property manager because this is property that seriously needs to be managed?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Luckily, my training coordinator was scheduled to visit Mboro the next day. I capitalized on this situation by sharing my toilet woes and asking for his advice.” Yes, you will need a new toilet. Call this man,” and he gives me the number. The short version of this section of my story is that I made many phone calls that ended with a sigh and another number I should call. Feeling the paranoia creep back into my life, I took a deep breath and called the highest post in PC Senegal- the Country Director- and calmly explained my situation. “I have a quote and a toilet lined up, I know a guy who can install it, all I need is someone to tell me ‘It’s ok to replace your toilet; Peace Corps will reimburse you for it.’” And I kid you not, he repeated that exact phrase back to me “It’s ok to replace your toilet; Peace Corps will reimburse you for it.” Take that bathroom and paranoia!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Uhu2z86XhnI/TZHtCsugFCI/AAAAAAAAAPg/sNnMOHo_Sj0/s1600/DSCN0645.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Uhu2z86XhnI/TZHtCsugFCI/AAAAAAAAAPg/sNnMOHo_Sj0/s200/DSCN0645.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New Toilet, Seat and Cover!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I hike it down to the hardware store where my Mom has already negotiated the price of my new toilet at 35,000 cfa (or $70). I pay and get a receipt (that the Country Director has promised to personally sign off on!). I call my Dad to come pick up the new unit with his car and he says “sure, later.” Mom comes by the store and offers to take it back in a taxi with her. Later that evening my Dad’s cousin comes by to take a look at the job, we negotiate a price of 5,000 cfa (or $10) for labor, and he promises to come back the next afternoon. I set about clearing my agenda and accomplishing all that I need to the next morning. When I return to the house just before lunch, I find that my toilet has already been replaced and the plumber is packing up. As luck would have it, his morning job wasn’t ready so my mom used her key to let him into my room. I immediately feel paranoid that I need to double check nothing has been stolen from my unattended room- but as far as I can tell nothing was touched. He makes sure to demonstrate twice that my new model is a push button flush as opposed to the old model and its lever pull variety. He warns me to wait until the evening (for a smaller pile of base cement to dry) before I christen my new toilet. This model comes with the only ceramic toilet seat and cover I’ve seen in the country… and I couldn’t be happier. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">There comes a time in every volunteer’s service when something goes wrong in your room, hut or house. The problem is nothing more than simple wear and tear can feel like mountain that must be crossed. In the beginning it always felt like I didn’t have a map. How do I tell my family about the problem without offending them and their house? Where can I buy a toilet? Who will install it? How do I say all those words in French or Wolof? And how do I navigate the Peace Corps maze? These are the occurrences that make for bonding moments as you turn to family or village members for comfort and help. And as you go along a map seems to magically develop. The next problem that comes along you’ll know where to start the convo, where to get the parts, and which estranged family member is going to come around to help you. And best of all, you learn how to say words like “flood” in different languages. </div><br />
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</div>Alyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04734299142000265399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996086848533850546.post-77191907032290865912011-03-27T09:47:00.063+00:002011-09-28T15:09:15.854+00:00Bissap 101<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I've had a few people indicate interest in traditional African recipes, so I’ve started to collect a small database comprised of my most favorite or easily made dishes. Recently, I had a guest whose family back home was looking for the “how-to” on bissap juice. <br />
<a name='more'></a>It happens to be one of my favorite drinks here in Senegal, so we made a batch and I promised to pass on the details. Bissap is known in English as Roselle, and is a close relative of the hibiscus flower. The plant is prevalent all over West and North Africa, but seems to be attainable throughout the world. It is either red or white- and while both are readily available red is most commonly transformed into juice. More information on can be found on <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roselle_(plant)">Wikipedia</a>.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-sdewTvNTOpA/TY3W0RUYCqI/AAAAAAAAAPI/I9DNgeY-3to/s1600/DSCN0603.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-sdewTvNTOpA/TY3W0RUYCqI/AAAAAAAAAPI/I9DNgeY-3to/s200/DSCN0603.JPG" width="150" /></a>Step 1: Acquisition</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The most difficult and critical ingredient is going to be the bissap itself. A coffee can sized bucket of dried petals can be purchased in most Senegalese markets for 300 cfa (still less than $1 on a bad currency exchange day) and can be used to make several batches of delightful concoction. A buyer can order either the dried flower or the tea online from international sellers such as <a href="http://www.blogger.com/(http://www.alibaba.com/products/dried_roselle/--126.html)">Alibaba.com</a> or <a href="http://www.tradekey.com/ks-dried-roselle/">Tradekey.com</a>, though I personally have yet to attempt this option. So far, I’ve not been able to confirm if the dried flower is available in the US, but your best bet would be to check out health food such as Whole Foods Markets or Trader Joe’s or import stores. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-fY4OCgoOp68/TY3Ui9idTUI/AAAAAAAAAPA/NpLttpNfl9g/s1600/DSCN0643.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-fY4OCgoOp68/TY3Ui9idTUI/AAAAAAAAAPA/NpLttpNfl9g/s200/DSCN0643.JPG" width="200" /></a>Juice Ingredients:</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Half a medium saucepan of dried bissap flower petals</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Handful of mint leaves</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>1 cup of sugar</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>45 grams of powdered sweetened instant flavored drink (I used Foster Clark’s Pineapple Coconut, but Foster Clark’s is only available in Africa, Europe, and the Middle East)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Orange and/ or vanilla extracts- just a splash if you so choose</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Water</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Step 2: Steeping</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">To begin, rinse the petals and leaves. They are often a bit dirty or dusty and it couldn’t hurt to attempt to rid your life of potential bacteria. Actually, let’s be realistic… you aren’t going to get it all out, but at least you’ll feel better for having tried. Once they’re “clean” place the petals and leaves back in the medium sized pot and fill the pot with water. Let the mixture steep for about an hour; the water will turn red as the flavor of the mint and bissap are released. Strain the juice of solids into a large bowl or bucket (that can later be easily sealed and stored in the fridge). Replace the water in the saucepan and spend 5 minutes squeezing the petals and leaves to release another round of flavor. Strain the second pot into the same container.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: right;"></div> <a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-VD735tC6GIA/TY3X9KUl58I/AAAAAAAAAPM/zpXVUrJYNvM/s1600/DSCN0620.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-VD735tC6GIA/TY3X9KUl58I/AAAAAAAAAPM/zpXVUrJYNvM/s200/DSCN0620.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-RpaAXjLLs-M/TY3bZtHcm2I/AAAAAAAAAPc/w2nDT_prfcQ/s1600/DSCN0641.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-RpaAXjLLs-M/TY3bZtHcm2I/AAAAAAAAAPc/w2nDT_prfcQ/s200/DSCN0641.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-kHStkPgGyCs/TY3ZCmNZJMI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/yhGnjM-TsRg/s1600/DSCN0631.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-kHStkPgGyCs/TY3ZCmNZJMI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/yhGnjM-TsRg/s200/DSCN0631.JPG" width="150" /></a><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-IodZ3vSDBXQ/TY3Z4XN_etI/AAAAAAAAAPU/4ixHBE8qrr0/s1600/DSCN0634.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-IodZ3vSDBXQ/TY3Z4XN_etI/AAAAAAAAAPU/4ixHBE8qrr0/s200/DSCN0634.JPG" width="150" /></a>Step 3: Mixing</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Once you’ve brewed the base of your juice, it’s time to add in the good stuff. Mix in sugar, brown sugar or honey to sweeten the taste. Leaving it unsweetened will resemble an iced tea which is still pretty tasty. A squeeze of lemon or lime can yield more of a julep flavor- and is my preference when I’m looking to cut my sugar intake. Stir in an instant flavored drink mix and extracts to enhance the taste. Bissap is similar to cranberry juice, so other berry or tropical flavor additives seem to work the best. Alternatively, the juice is often enjoyed with simply the extra kick provided by the mint.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Step 4: Consuming</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">A chilled glass is the preferred way to serve the juice! Senegalese families often consumed it as an after meal dessert and treat on holidays or special occasions. Peace Corps volunteers have been known to mix in gin to make a “gissap” drink, use with equal parts of sprite and a shot of whiskey for something only consumed when poor in college, or rum and an umbrella whilst hanging out on the beach. The bissap flower petals can also be steeped with hot water and consumed shortly after for a tea that is pretty decent at relieving any abdomen related cramp. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-9Tabx9uK280/TY3VoKJJP7I/AAAAAAAAAPE/5SWWKchIHfA/s1600/DSCN0644.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-9Tabx9uK280/TY3VoKJJP7I/AAAAAAAAAPE/5SWWKchIHfA/s200/DSCN0644.JPG" width="150" /></a>Step 5: Moderation</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">After your first taste, I’m sure you’ll understand why bissap juice is ranked among Senegal’s highest assets in my opinion. But there are a few potholes on the way to bliss, so please, don’t make the same mistakes I have. Mostly, you need to steer clear of excessive consumption; bissap is a natural diuretic that will kick in around the 3<sup>rd</sup> glass. If that weren’t fun enough it will also keep you wide awake (whether or not you’re running to the bathroom) if consumed late at night. Of course, should this be your desired effect, I would recommend simply chewing on a rehydrated petal… which I’m told is tasty enough.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Here’s hoping this makes it to my friend’s inquisitive mom and all those looking to taste something new… Cheers!</div>Alyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04734299142000265399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996086848533850546.post-59106702588985641562011-03-23T10:10:00.029+00:002011-09-28T15:10:22.178+00:00Investment Talk<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;">, <a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-VKEZBBoRuT8/TYivPaj8RUI/AAAAAAAAAO8/3SKh3ip7b6M/s1600/HPIM1615.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-VKEZBBoRuT8/TYivPaj8RUI/AAAAAAAAAO8/3SKh3ip7b6M/s200/HPIM1615.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Money in the Market</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">What is an investment? Where I live, it means spending all your money as soon as you get it so as to avoid the possibility of giving to someone else. For if someone was to ask you for money, and you had it, you would need to give it to them by rule of Senegalese (and West African?) culture. Instead, you should buy something for yourself or the house as soon as you receive the funds. This way you’ve bought the cement, for example, needed to build that wall you’ve always wanted. Granted the cement is only the first step because you also need sand delivered and the labor to make the blocks… but it’s a building block (pun intended). You’re now one step closer to having your dream wall thanks to the investment.</span><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Now you can imagine how it can take more than ten years to build a new home. But how does a person buy a big ticket item like a car? There are loans available from formal banking institutions; the fees are outrageous but it’s doable. Or some women participate in a savings group called a <i>tontine</i> where each month the women bring a set amount and one of them gets to take the whole lot home. They take turns giving each other the big windfall until everyone’s had their chance… and suddenly they’ve all been able to save the same amount. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Given what I know about the investment system in Senegal, it’s been a bit hard to broach the subject of investments with my work partners (who happen to be small business entrepreneurs). We’re talking about people generally too small to have banking accounts or access to formal lending. There is no small business <i>tontine</i> available for sensible minded entrepreneurs (though I really should look into sparking one of those, huh??). And there are way too many incidents of successful businesses crippled by family members who stake claims to earnings for personal needs… as opposed to those funds going towards sustainability of the success or (gasp) future investments. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I realize it’s making us all uncomfortable to think of mixing business with friends and family. You’d never allow your sister to be the cashier and afternoon operator at your boutique. But the African lines can become so blurred… and it’s a shame that embezzlement isn’t even in the dictionary. Given all this, I need to work very hard to help my friends (I mean coworkers) overcome the challenges associated with investing in the profitability of their businesses.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The other day I was sitting in the shop of a friend, having just stopped to say hi, and a conversation sparked. It was a game changer. It started when I noticed a new set of plastic chairs around one of the tables. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-XmmGbZEiNzM/TYiqFxwRHII/AAAAAAAAAO4/1ETbxi6C5U4/s1600/DSCN0586.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-XmmGbZEiNzM/TYiqFxwRHII/AAAAAAAAAO4/1ETbxi6C5U4/s200/DSCN0586.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Resto Porokhane</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Me: What other improvements have you made? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Aida: See these new tables in the back? And those shelves were purchased last week and we’ll hang them on the wall as soon as the carpenter is free. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Me: What other ideas do you have planned? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Aida: Well eventually I want to get a refrigerator before the hot season and tile the floor before the end of the year. Next year we’ll repaint the walls. Also, my artistic son is in charge of the decorative artworks that we display.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Me: Are you saving money? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Aida: Yeah, I put some of what’s left over at the end of each month into buying new things. And I leave about $40 in my bank account for emergencies. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Me: Is there a specific amount that you set aside for new things? Or does your investments depend on what profit you have left over? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Aida: (After much clarification of the above question) I use whatever profit is available after I’ve made my gross purchases for the next month.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-yc8bPQMVyGU/TYipQe9vhAI/AAAAAAAAAO0/lm5KB7w9Kyk/s1600/DSCN0575.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-yc8bPQMVyGU/TYipQe9vhAI/AAAAAAAAAO0/lm5KB7w9Kyk/s200/DSCN0575.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New Table and Chairs</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">From this point on I launch into an “idea” I had about how to make sure she had enough money to lay tile in December. If we believe the project will cost $200 and there she saves $20 from March through December she will have enough for the project. Now she views the investment as a specific number rather than a residual of profit. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">Aida: So I can make sure I will be able to lay the tile in December because I will try to always have $20.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Me: Right. Otherwise you might $15 this month, $18 next, $21 the month after and so on… you might not have enough for the project if you aren’t aware of the goal.</span> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">There was this smile coating her entire face and look in her eye that said she couldn’t wait to put her first $20 in the bank account. So this simple conversation was loaded with investment talk and I’m pretty sure it left a mark. I mentioned a book I had with relative African examples on the subject and she’s reminded me twice to bring the book next time. (Note: I purposely keep forgetting to gage her level of genuine interest. Third time will be the charm!)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I’ve got a few other tricks up my sleeve, too. You may recall my ranting about a certain creator of fine leather products and some of his recent business successes. Well, before this glorious artisan expo (monumental sales extravaganza- is what it should be referred to as) it occurred to me that a large windfall could and should be put to investment use. But, if I didn’t act fast to promote my cause I’d be out of luck when family came calling for their share of the pie. So I started the conversation like this:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-iSV8hsCTeaw/TYXyYE_EAEI/AAAAAAAAAOs/qBG-bj37OAg/s1600/DSCN0725.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-iSV8hsCTeaw/TYXyYE_EAEI/AAAAAAAAAOs/qBG-bj37OAg/s200/DSCN0725.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"></span></o:p>Me: You know, if all goes well, you’ll have a lot of money from this expo. What do you think you’ll do with it all?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Demba: Well, I want to change a few things around here.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Me: Great. Like what?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Demba: I want to build a stock of finished product and raw skins. That way I don’t have to keep asking for advances for each order. I can just make things for your friends and get the money from you after they are delivered.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Me: Yes, that would make everything a lot simpler. What else?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Demba: I want to rebuild the outside awning and trim… and then repaint our name and logo. I also want to put up a new sheet wall with a sturdy wood mounting to separate the stock in the back from the work area and shop in the front. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Me: Those are awesome ideas. Do you know how much they’ll cost?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Demba: No, but I could find out.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The next week I went back and he had made a list of all the materials needed and their costs, including labor for the things he couldn’t do himself. We had a quick discussion to confirm that he saw this bottom number as a goal to bring home from the upcoming expo and I crossed my fingers. </span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-dKnRRheifqg/TYXzPybDuuI/AAAAAAAAAOw/dlwii4e4G2E/s1600/DSCN0495.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-dKnRRheifqg/TYXzPybDuuI/AAAAAAAAAOw/dlwii4e4G2E/s200/DSCN0495.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After: New Awning and Wall</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And low and behold, a month later I returned from America to find a rather large pile of raw hides and a brand new front awning with fresh paint. The curtain/ wall assembly was under construction; to be revealed a few months later. In addition, Demba hired a 2<sup>nd</sup> apprentice and was able to attend the big religious pilgrimage this year. Best of all, and my proudest moment as volunteer (yes, I was recently asked) is that I no longer have to collect or front advances for orders placed by fellow PCVs. Demba ranks in a new class of entrepreneur: one who needs a bit of training on appropriate stocking and liquidity of assets. </span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The investments, and talk of these things, continue!</span><span id="goog_1791285494"></span><span id="goog_1791285495"></span></div></div>Alyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04734299142000265399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996086848533850546.post-64331667200677912642011-03-20T11:35:00.040+00:002011-09-28T15:12:10.407+00:00High Points<div class="WordSection1"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-eQRDjH9DQOU/TYUqHgwqIAI/AAAAAAAAAOY/nwAsxQFQD-w/s1600/DSCN0427.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-eQRDjH9DQOU/TYUqHgwqIAI/AAAAAAAAAOY/nwAsxQFQD-w/s200/DSCN0427.JPG" width="149" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Saliou</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">It’s hard to stay positive every day of my Peace Corps service; some days are much harder than others. And so, I found myself taking a few moments each evening to review the best part of my day and sharing it with a fellow volunteer. Anything that makes me laugh or smile, diffuses frustration or anger, or generally lifts the spirit counts! It’s the one time when size doesn’t matter…<br />
<a name='more'></a></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Fellow PCV</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">1.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>Wind blowing away mosquitoes</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">2.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>COS (close of service) conference posted on calendar</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">3.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>No high point. <span style="font-family: Wingdings;">L</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Wingdings;"></span>4.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>News from a grad school application to arrive in the future</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">5.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>Finding a lost bag of gummi bears</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">6.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>Feeling appreciated by study abroad kids hosted</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">7.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>Creating the Ameri-list (arrival at home version of the bucket list).</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-TPXRAwRcZu0/TYUrzqerIHI/AAAAAAAAAOg/lJWsLQwG3N4/s1600/DSCN0254.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-TPXRAwRcZu0/TYUrzqerIHI/AAAAAAAAAOg/lJWsLQwG3N4/s200/DSCN0254.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">N'ice Cream</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Alys</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">1.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>Giant bag of fruit purchased</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">2.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>Shower with pretty smelling soap</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">3.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>Mardi Gras party with chicken, fries and salad</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">4.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>Journaling through a problem</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">5.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>Impromptu financial planning class</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">6.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>N’ice Cream trip to get old delicious ice cream</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">7.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>Dinner out with homestay family in Dakar</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I share a week's worth with you now because it illustrates a few important points about what I assume is the average Peace Corps service. More than sometimes, roughly most of the time, it’s the littlest of things that make a difference. The smallest hint of appreciation from a Senegalese person can make an entire week. That’s because the culture here is founded on negative reinforcement, so that rare positive version is highly coveted. When you expect someone to berate you for your poor language skills, but instead they just smile and let it pass without incident… it can change a whole day in a way I’ll never be able to explain. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/--gwnJTjU_r0/TYUq9lAmj5I/AAAAAAAAAOc/dxX29ww_Eqg/s1600/DSCN0485.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/--gwnJTjU_r0/TYUq9lAmj5I/AAAAAAAAAOc/dxX29ww_Eqg/s200/DSCN0485.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stir Fry Lunch</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Food is always important. A good meal can make a whole day better by being a) tasty, b) nutritious and c) plentiful. But most of us will take two out of three of those. Throw in some great American company and I’m happy as a clam. Having a variety of fruit available for breakfast or afternoon snack can give a girl something to look forward to and candy is the best kind of treat. But most thrilling are those times when I travel to the food filled glory that is Dakar; where you can find just about anything to satisfy your craving: Asian, Mexican, American, and desserts galore! </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">In the over weighted percentage of high points that involve a simple pleasure, one can occasionally find an “ah hah” moment or two that have potential. Perhaps it’s when your brother finally learns to use the word “please” (in English no less). Or maybe it’s when a business principle hits home with a work partner. And you know it because you see that idea in action a week after the conversation. There is no never ending bounty of these grand moments- and the entire incident will have lasted less than one hour. These facts are guaranteed. But they are happenings that I’ll remember five, ten, and fifteen years down the line. They will become the stories retold millions of times for friends and families that will over glorify my service. They will mean a lot to me, there is no doubt.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-NqNGptQEiG0/TYUuMBAnumI/AAAAAAAAAOk/ck_HaluxtiQ/s1600/HPIM1815.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-NqNGptQEiG0/TYUuMBAnumI/AAAAAAAAAOk/ck_HaluxtiQ/s200/HPIM1815.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Women's Group</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The fixing of a future date makes this deadline-less world seem more manageable; if I know something will actually happen- on a day it is said to happen- then there is a degree of controllability found in that. It seems like every day I fight the feeling of despair that tells me I won’t be able to accomplish anything today. Things move slower, more politically, and less productively here in Senegal and I have no control over that. But every so often, something is fixed. A Peace Corps training, a rendezvous with fellow PCVs to work on a project, or even an open house hosted by a women’s group feels great to plan. I may miss my Franklin Covey super planner immensely, but I’m holding it down one fixed appointment at a time.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-7psGfVAlWJs/TYUvEfEW4JI/AAAAAAAAAOo/KRIshcAo7aw/s1600/HPIM1954.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-7psGfVAlWJs/TYUvEfEW4JI/AAAAAAAAAOo/KRIshcAo7aw/s200/HPIM1954.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and Saliou</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">At the end of the day, avoiding an irritating mosquito bite should never be discounted. Big or small, this exercise of looking back and thinking about something that brought a smile to my face helps ease the stress of Peace Corps life. I can’t say I was ever the type to do this state-side. And I can’t promise that I’ll be able to continue this exercise after I’m gone- look at my life-long pile of failed New Year’s resolutions! But I can say right here and now, today, that this is one of the best coping mechanisms a volunteer can implement. I knew when I joined that I’d have the chance to get “back to basics,” as the over-played mantra says, but it means so much more than charcoal cooking and bucket baths. It’s about learning to appreciate what I do have and letting go of what I don’t; focusing on the high points!</div>Alyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04734299142000265399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996086848533850546.post-56361934526476166982011-03-13T09:24:00.001+00:002011-09-28T15:13:27.725+00:00Murder Mystery<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-enC9yEJ9S2k/TXyIMIgOI2I/AAAAAAAAAJc/X8pukdqBR1A/s1600/183054_691411813224_20301180_38343170_5124588_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-enC9yEJ9S2k/TXyIMIgOI2I/AAAAAAAAAJc/X8pukdqBR1A/s200/183054_691411813224_20301180_38343170_5124588_n.jpg" width="200" /></a>When I was a kid, I remember my parents throwing murder mystery parties every year on New Year’s Eve. I remember our house being transformed into a high school reunion, a cruise line, a ‘speak easy,’ and so many more fun places. The idea of a murder mystery party is that someone dies, people are assigned characters and clues, and everyone guesses who done it. <br />
<a name='more'></a>The way my parents used to play involved someone at the party taking another unsuspecting person aside and staging a death. The cops were once called after the neighbors heard a gunshot, and the party took a brief sabbatical while my parents explained the pile of blood-like ketchup in the snowy backyard. Hmm. Anyway, throughout the night the guests exchanged clues about one another which way or may not be true (false ones being called red-herrings). Anyone with a guess as to who the murder was and why he or she had done it, was to write their guesses down, time stamp them and turn them in. At midnight (after the usual ball dropping New Year activities) the box was opened, the guesses read, the truth proclaimed, and the winner awarded something I never thought to be awesome until I hit the legal drinking limit. I haven’t seen one of these since my parents got divorced, but I’ve been told that one can buy premade murder mystery story packages online to use at your own next party. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">However, one ambitious (or bored) member of my exciting Dakar region took it upon herself to write a murder mystery party for one of our mildly frequent gatherings. Dressing up in any old theme wouldn’t have been possible; the availability of variety in this country is slim to zilch. So instead, we embraced our surroundings and dove into a Senegalese themed mystery. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-w5siWgDiic4/TXyIKuyT_LI/AAAAAAAAAJY/1L4QUF0n85c/s1600/DSCN0247.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-w5siWgDiic4/TXyIKuyT_LI/AAAAAAAAAJY/1L4QUF0n85c/s200/DSCN0247.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Car Rapide</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I assume you don’t know much about our “public” transportation systems, so I’ll start with a brief review. The cheapest method to get from point A to point B is to walk. But the cheapest motorized way is taking an <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ndiage Ndiaye</i> or large white conversion van outfitted with benches so as to squeeze uncomfortably upwards of thirty or forty people inside. PCVs usually refer to them as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">alhums</i> because the front of each one reads <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">alhumdulilah</i> which means “thanks be to god” in Arabic. Thank you for not killing everyone in this death trap today… because these things are more prone to rolling than an SUV. However, these same vehicles in Dakar are yellow and blue and then called a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">car rapide</i>. The operation of one van is run by two men: the driver and the apprentice. The driver’s job should be obvious. The apprentice is the man at the back of the van- usually standing on the bumper outside holding onto the door- that calls out destinations, collects money, and bangs loudly on the sides to alert the driver to stop or continue the voyage. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">For the purposes of our murder mystery party, everyone is assigned a typical character found inside the back of that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">alhum</i>. And someone has killed the apprentice... Dun, dun, dun! </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">My character was a traditional African medicine woman, aka a crazy mystic. After a simple Google images search to confirm my suspicions (yes, Shia LaBeuf does appear as a result), I dug out my comb and ratted my hair. Then I grabbed some hot blue tights and an old ratty Senegalese shirt from the closet. I tied a head rap around my waist and another in my hair, donned all the jewelry I had, and painted my face with a mint mask sent in a care package. I took permanent marker to my hands and forearms because nothing says loco like awkward symbol tattoos. The final touch was to grab a couple of sticks and a creepy looking bottle of cough syrup as props. I, to put it bluntly, nailed it.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-dMWxhiL-iyA/TXyIQlhm2CI/AAAAAAAAAJo/32VDMBhuDo8/s1600/200316_691410925004_20301180_38343152_1801575_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-dMWxhiL-iyA/TXyIQlhm2CI/AAAAAAAAAJo/32VDMBhuDo8/s200/200316_691410925004_20301180_38343152_1801575_n.jpg" width="149" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beer Pong Champs</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The party was held in Popenguine, a now usual vacation spot, because really where else would we have it? I arrived just before the lunch hour and enjoyed a cold beer and quality time with a volunteer about to finish his service. Then it was off to the rental house on the beach where I spent most of the afternoon commandeering the beer pong table on the front porch with an ocean view. By dusk, dinner was prepared, costumes were changed into, and the drinking had long gotten under way. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-OIUVw7C9KRI/TXyIPJEtwCI/AAAAAAAAAJk/QfRn-QCRcDo/s1600/197117_691411513824_20301180_38343164_2363521_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-OIUVw7C9KRI/TXyIPJEtwCI/AAAAAAAAAJk/QfRn-QCRcDo/s200/197117_691411513824_20301180_38343164_2363521_n.jpg" width="148" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Women with Newborns</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Everyone had been given a few clues pertinent to their character or perhaps gossip about another. Mine, for example, were that the dead apprentice was the father of a newborn baby and also that I hated him. Or something like that. We mingled for a few hours exchanging clues and theories, but mostly playing around with our characters and taking pictures. Periodically, new clues would be announced to the entire group. The apprentice was strangled! A little while later: The killer is a man! And after that a blackmail note was found on the body. And then all the clues were out and it was time to stake a claim to our hypothesis. A few stellar ones were presented, but in the end it was the young university professor who’d done it. Why? Because he’d slept with one of his students and the apprentice found out and tried to blackmail him. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-6DSeTzGJ7No/TXyINbS4ZdI/AAAAAAAAAJg/C4WTVpcmE2o/s1600/184957_691411718414_20301180_38343168_1679033_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-6DSeTzGJ7No/TXyINbS4ZdI/AAAAAAAAAJg/C4WTVpcmE2o/s200/184957_691411718414_20301180_38343168_1679033_n.jpg" width="148" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Maribou, The Student, <br />
and a Bi-Fall</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The next morning, I spent a good ten hung over minutes listening to a friend explain why his hypothesis was better. He figured the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Maribou</i> (religious leader) had ordered his <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Talibe</i> (small beggar child under influence of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Maribou</i>) to do it because the apprentice had recently killed the daughter of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Maribou’s</i> best friend. And, after all, he’s the only one with the power to command a hit like that, right? Not to mention, the apprentice was demanding such a small blackmail payment from the professor that it wasn’t even believable. In any case, the game was fun. But dressing up and acting out the roles of the people we interact with every day was even more entertaining. </div><br />
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</div>Alyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04734299142000265399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996086848533850546.post-552106735938953072011-03-09T09:54:00.004+00:002011-09-28T15:13:49.622+00:00Random Facts on Senegal<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">These are little tid-bits, specific to Senegal’s people or culture, which should be shared. However they are too short to be described in their own individual postings so I’ve compiled them here. Their briefness doesn’t somehow make them less interesting, though, so pay attention:<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-u4GjNQ8ZE3g/TXdJkM1JRoI/AAAAAAAAAJM/F0YUbfd_A9I/s1600/DSCN0267.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-u4GjNQ8ZE3g/TXdJkM1JRoI/AAAAAAAAAJM/F0YUbfd_A9I/s200/DSCN0267.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="200" /></a>1.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>Senegal is translated from the Wolof <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sunu gal</i> to mean “our boat” because when the colonists came that’s what the people kept saying… Hey, that’s our boat. Only the colonists thought they were learning the name of the country. Well, that’s the lore anyway. Lost in translation, what?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">2.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>The night club in Mboro throws a party every month or so. This basically means the older grades of high school- and those who’ve just graduated- have an event that equates to a school dance. Alcohol is for sale, cover charge applies to men only ($3) and any of the private school kids are welcome to attend. Unfortunately, every song is a slow song and there are no chaperons. Get a room! The night club is not available for any other occasions, but the bar next door is sometimes open for business.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">3.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>The Post (office) may say they’re open on Saturday mornings, but I’ve yet to see it be true. Whether there’s a sign saying their closed for a particular reason, or no, I’ve never successfully wandered by or purposely showed up to an open Post on a Saturday morning. Ever. Yet, they still keep advertising it as a provided service for their valued customers. Maybe valued customers are not found in Mboro.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Dt7qsgEgWp0/TXdJH8KIOfI/AAAAAAAAAJI/QMyjXxr11Jo/s1600/African+Monument.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Dt7qsgEgWp0/TXdJH8KIOfI/AAAAAAAAAJI/QMyjXxr11Jo/s200/African+Monument.jpg" width="200" /></a>4.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>The African Renaissance Monument is not appreciated by the Senegalese people for the following reasons (in no particular order): the figures are scantily clad, the power will go out everywhere else in the city- but never at the statue, it cost millions upon millions to build (which could have gone to helping the aforementioned power issue?!?!), an unknown sum of tourism proceeds goes to directly to the president’s pockets (not the country’s) because he “thought of it,” and the child is pointing away from Africa towards the Americans as though to represent the burning desire of every African to leave the continent. Hmm, I get the animosity.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">5.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>Senegalese people, whether Christian or Muslim, enjoying using Christmas music as ring tones all year round. They also like other English songs such as “Happy Birthday” or any top 40’s hit sung by a black artist- but not nearly as much as the Christmas classics. Oh, holy night… Weird.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">6.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>This culture is huge on theater sketches; they absolutely adore watching and participating in them. They are always educational. Always. Ninety percent of the time they are humorous (the remaining ten being at some schools) so they’ll be informative and funny at the same time. Even when we organized a talent show at our girls’ summer camp, and encouraged the girls to choreograph their favorite dances, more than half of them choose to animate an important life lesson. Examples include not getting married too young or making sure to wash your hands before eating out of communal food bowls.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-h6QBUDTK-8E/TXdKAYuNEgI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/hrH2_NgRYoI/s1600/DSCN0470.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-h6QBUDTK-8E/TXdKAYuNEgI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/hrH2_NgRYoI/s200/DSCN0470.JPG" width="200" /></a>7.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>Senegal may not celebrate St. Patty’s Day, but her Catholics do celebrate Mardi Gras (Fat Tuesday) in the same fashion. This makes explaining the crazy drunken partying that is St. Patty’s Day a whole lot easier when in a country of predominately non-drinking Muslims. The kids all paint their faces and dress up while the adults get drunk. Sounds pretty similar, right?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">8.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>The Senegalese tend to be very superstitious people. The Muslim population (and even some Catholics) will get <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">gris gris</i> (good luck charms) made from leather and string. Inside the leather square is a piece of paper with the purpose of the charm- such as safe travels or ability to learn- that is blessed by a local <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Maribou</i> (religious leader specific to West Africa and Sufi-Islam). Once ready, the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">gris gris</i> is most commonly worn on the body as a bracelet, arm band, or waist band. Another example is the metal bracelets for infants that are worn until the child’s wrist grows too big for the piece. I have often asked for a charm against getting sick, but have yet to receive one. Bummer.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">9.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>Having domestic help is very common in the wealthier households of Senegal. I suspect it’s because there are typically fewer off-spring available to do the work (but subsequently additional funds available to pay for the help). A good maid is hard to come by, so we’ve gone through almost a dozen in my 1.5 years at Chez Ndaw. Her (always a she, never a he) tasks include sweeping the sand in front of the house and in the back courtyard, sweeping and moping the entire house, scrubbing the bathroom with bleach, doing the dishes from the night before, making lunch, cleaning dishes after lunch, sweeping and moping once more in the afternoon, ironing the laundry, and doing prep work for dinner (such as precutting veggies). In return she gets a meager salary, breakfast and lunch daily, and no vacation days (unless she calls in “sick”). You know a maid is about to or wants to quit when she’s sick a lot.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-6PUMUKTPa7Q/TXdJGXo-0eI/AAAAAAAAAJE/mqHZrdX-rgU/s1600/DSCN0477.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-6PUMUKTPa7Q/TXdJGXo-0eI/AAAAAAAAAJE/mqHZrdX-rgU/s200/DSCN0477.JPG" width="150" /></a>10.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>Shea butter is huge in Africa. Shea is prevalent in our corner of the continent and transforming it into a marketable lotion for export can be done relatively cheap. This was discovered decades ago thus many an organization has already jumped on the economies of scale and mass production, so now I can buy a large bottle of the vitamin D rich lotion for about $2. What’s the price back home? Think about it and let me know if you want a bottle brought back...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div>Alyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04734299142000265399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996086848533850546.post-18325572183034635792011-03-06T11:45:00.004+00:002011-09-28T15:14:46.545+00:00English Class<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-lJH-YxkMdew/TW-B1zKSdCI/AAAAAAAAAI8/MXxI5xUw7yw/s1600/IMG_0305.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-lJH-YxkMdew/TW-B1zKSdCI/AAAAAAAAAI8/MXxI5xUw7yw/s200/IMG_0305.JPG" width="200" /></a>The beans have already been spilled that I moonlight as an English teacher once a week. It’s a secondary project by Peace Corps standards; meaning it’s a method to occupy time that has nothing to do with small enterprise development. <br />
<a name='more'></a>Last year, I started teaching an unruly class of CM1 level kids. I’d tried the grade level up as well, but they just didn’t have the heart and I dropped them after a few weeks. As much as I hate to admit it, and hate kids, these classes became a staple in my service. Teaching each week was the only appointment that wasn’t broken (baring national holidays that is). As I’m a person who flourishes in routines, I gravitated back to this project when the school year started up again last October. This school year, I’m with the same group of kids who’ve moved up a grade level CM2 level- which is the equivalent of about 5<sup>th</sup> grade.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-PNSRyNQSnJQ/TW-BaGqyGTI/AAAAAAAAAI4/BgcGM0qAiHE/s1600/DSCN0452.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-PNSRyNQSnJQ/TW-BaGqyGTI/AAAAAAAAAI4/BgcGM0qAiHE/s200/DSCN0452.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Young Boys Team</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">In addition, I’ve joined the World Wise School program. This is a cross cultural matching program between a volunteer and a school teacher in the US. A volunteer and a teacher can apply separately to the program, or (like I did) together. I am matched with the teacher of my cousin’s daughter in Livonia, Michigan. We stumbled a bit trying to figure out how to utilize our match. The purpose of program is for me to have a structured outlet to share my experiences and findings regarding Peace Corps life, Senegal, and anything else not mainstream American with inquiring minds back home. In the end, my partnership with the English class provided the perfect mechanism. My 31 students were matched with the 31 students of my partner’s class back home and a pen-pal exchange was created. Back in the states, the kids had to get permission slips signed by parents and aren’t allowed to give out any contact information (much to the disappointment of their emailing and facebooking Senegalese pals). I have to translate every letter coming and going because the English level is still so rudimentary, but we’re having fun none-the-less. I also send home a multipage letter with each package with which I hope to explain the many oddities found in the letters generated by my side of the exchange; like multiple wives or cooking with a gas tank.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Anyway, now that we’re in our second year, it’s time to up the level of intensity in another way. I can’t help but feel that occasionally some sort of review is in order. There is just no justifying paying to print the pages in order to give an exam, since there’s no way in hell the kids will take it seriously. I mean, come on, it counts for nothing and there’s just no changing that. This is an elective, as I’ve been telling them all year. Not to mention I’ve given them my full blessing to walk out of my class at any time and never come back- no strings attached, no hard feelings. I don’t want to learn Chinese and if that’s how they feel about English, well, who am I to judge? So, in an attempt to circumvent the examination process, I started creating a Jeopardy style game to challenge their memory recall and critical thinking skills with their new English vocabulary. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-9xiGJfdOUps/TW-A-v6V4rI/AAAAAAAAAI0/JL8vJkIj8JM/s1600/DSCN0450.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-9xiGJfdOUps/TW-A-v6V4rI/AAAAAAAAAI0/JL8vJkIj8JM/s200/DSCN0450.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Jeopardy Board of Questions</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I build the game like a multiplication chart with subjects across the top and style of questioning down the side. This round’s subjects were: weather, colors, prepositions, house, vacation, and class phrases and vocabulary. The bonus round was America. To add depth to my game, there are five styles of questions and each category has only one type… this is the fun part. A spelling style question gives a multiple choice guess of which combination correctly spells a word. For example, if a team chooses “Class Phrases: Spelling,” I give them the word “Presqu’<span style="font-family: 'Eras Medium ITC', sans-serif;">á</span>” in French. Then I write the following options on the board: almost, amongst, amust, and ulmost. Other categories include: drawing (I give the word in English only and they have to draw what it is), fill in the blank (I give a sentence in English and they need to fill in the English word that is missing), pronunciation (I give write the word in both French and English and they have to correctly pronounce the word out loud), and translate (I write a sentence in French and they have to translate it into English). </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-eeReQnwiHY0/TW-CV-Gy_-I/AAAAAAAAAJA/MPmkKDwc244/s1600/IMG_0306.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-eeReQnwiHY0/TW-CV-Gy_-I/AAAAAAAAAJA/MPmkKDwc244/s200/IMG_0306.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Score Board</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The most popular categories are spelling, drawing, and pronunciation. Obviously some categories and styles of questioning are easier than others; however, in my world all the questions are worth 5 points. The entertaining part is that for every incorrect answer a team gives me I deduct one point. Most common problem amongst my gaggle of kids is that they never listen to each other. They frequently guess something already guessed by another student- even if it was the kid sitting 3 inches away who said it 5 seconds ago. Seriously; it’s that bad! So my deduction system is my attempt to cure this. I also force each team to have a one team captain, who serves as the sole representative able to answer any question. And this time, I finally had success. No repeats!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">During normal school lessons the kids sit in four groups of half circles. Last year, I split the teams up according to their assigned seating and it proved unentertaining. These were the people who were used to sitting next to each other, with their recurring group dynamics, and people inevitably attempted to switch groups anyway. So this time around, I decided to go guys against girls, but I still needed four teams so I upped the ante with an older half and younger half of both groups. We had a lot of fun lining up based on birthday and splitting off into teams. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-cZkCMHk_7-k/TW-AhoghCoI/AAAAAAAAAIw/n5w7H3g-ksE/s1600/IMG_0308.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-cZkCMHk_7-k/TW-AhoghCoI/AAAAAAAAAIw/n5w7H3g-ksE/s200/IMG_0308.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Winners: Older Girls Team</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">What is the incentive to win you ask? Besides bragging rights, of course, I dole out prizes, such as Jolly Ranchers (thanks to a care package) for the before Christmas break pop quiz. Just a few weeks ago a stellar three-some won new graphing paper notebooks for their ingenuity in a word search; I’d turned the class loose to find weather vocabulary. Without mass funding, or excessive goodies in care packages, I try to keep the prizes educationally related. Just like in the US, the kids have to bring their own supplies to class. Supplies are admittedly cheaper on this continent, but aren’t all together completely affordable especially when added to the tab of mandatory tuition fees and school uniform purchases. Ouch. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">In any case, on this occasion the winning team (the older half of the girls) earned themselves new notebooks and blue pens. Doesn’t sound too exciting, I’m sure, but they get a real sense of pride. A woman stopped me on the street once to tell me her son wouldn’t shut up after winning a new set of pens… so you know it’s a big deal for them. Anyone reading my page on care packages will notice the mention of prizes and other gifts for the kids. Think about it. In the mean time, there are four months left in the school year and therefore plenty of time to write pen-pals and expand vocabulary topics. And with any luck the end of the year game will be epic and draw a larger crowd than this last one did!</span>Alyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04734299142000265399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6996086848533850546.post-8618142233714664772011-03-02T13:28:00.003+00:002011-09-28T15:15:03.833+00:00Family Bio<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Peace Corps Volunteers in Senegal are assigned to live in host families as a means of protection, integration, and cultural experience. All gripes aside, my family is pretty great and I’d like to tell you a bit about each one of them.<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-05BCS2sIEko/TW0zHK9u66I/AAAAAAAAAIs/PBxBhznoLS4/s1600/DSCN0439.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-05BCS2sIEko/TW0zHK9u66I/AAAAAAAAAIs/PBxBhznoLS4/s200/DSCN0439.JPG" width="150" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Samba (Badji) Ndaw</b> Birthday 21 May 1962. My host father’s family hails from Touba, one of the holiest cities in Islamic Senegal. He’s a typical Wolof. For work, he’s a quality control manager at the chemical processing plant at the mining factory of Mboro. He’s high enough in the food chain to secure our family a house in the manager’s neighborhood where water and power are supplied free from the factory. Thanks, Dad. His lifelong dream of owning his own car came true in the fall of 2009. He bought a used car, that broke down shortly after, and we are now on our 3<sup>rd</sup> family car: a 1999 BMW. He also loves computers and when can’t surf the internet, he enjoys playing solitaire while watching soccer on TV. He dreams of owning farming land with drip irrigation and a small house so that he can spend time there to “get away from the noise of the kids.” He already has the land, but the rest is forever in progress.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_dqhBk-MK1E8/TU1MZfcys-I/AAAAAAAAAGQ/Z4FBxQG2Z5g/s1600/HPIM1491.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_dqhBk-MK1E8/TU1MZfcys-I/AAAAAAAAAGQ/Z4FBxQG2Z5g/s200/HPIM1491.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_dqhBk-MK1E8/TU1MZfcys-I/AAAAAAAAAGQ/Z4FBxQG2Z5g/s1600/HPIM1491.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Ndiaye Anna Ba</b> Birthday 16 January 1972. My host mother was born in Mboro. She went to school in Thies, then University in Dakar, but moved back to become a director and teacher at a private preschool in Mboro. A decent of Pulaars (with a Catholic name-sake grandmother in the mix), her ancestors hail from the north of Senegal. She’s overweight, but on a diet that’s working (or else Dad will get a 2<sup>nd</sup> wife). She’s recently taken up walking for exercise and has just learned how to drive… so that she can drive herself to the track. Her voice and personality are bigger than she is, but I suspect her heart is too. She’s rarely needs to leave the house to be social because everyone seems to come to her! Appliances are her passion. If it can cook, fry, cool, juice, cut or otherwise use electricity to make life easier she’ll try it. She once bought a microwave because she learned how fast it could heat/ cook things only to hide it in my room for months before talking Samba i<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">nto giving her the money to buy it. Her second passion is ornamental plants and trees… our backyard is beautiful.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-nRmWAJLPw7U/TW0yqKTkDJI/AAAAAAAAAIo/HXbE7dvuPXQ/s1600/DSCN0438.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-nRmWAJLPw7U/TW0yqKTkDJI/AAAAAAAAAIo/HXbE7dvuPXQ/s200/DSCN0438.JPG" width="150" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Insa (Ma’Issa) Badji</b> Birthday 21 March 1992. The first son born to Anna, adapted as a member of the family by Samba before his first birthday. He spent the first years of his life at Grandma’s while mom finished studying at University. His father lives elsewhere in Mboro, they have a minimal relationship. He dreams of joining the Senegalese Army where he can receive medical training so that after his service he can be a doctor. Once, he tried to explain menstrual cycles to me but I had flash backs of health class and left. For his birthday, he asks me for condoms. Its emotional things make Issa uncomfortable, and the need for a hug straight up boggles his mind. He speaks enough English to understand me when I go slowly.</span></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_dqhBk-MK1E8/TU1OaCD-vlI/AAAAAAAAAGY/s2hIVxe2wmY/s1600/DSCN0416.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_dqhBk-MK1E8/TU1OaCD-vlI/AAAAAAAAAGY/s2hIVxe2wmY/s200/DSCN0416.JPG" width="150" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Chiek (Pape) Ba </b>Birthday 30 September 1994. The nephew of my mom, he was kicked out of school in Thies for being a “bad boy,” and is most likely to ask you for something, whine when you don’t give it to him, and act hurt when call him out on his behavior. He’s known for asking his mother for something Anna is already in the process of acquiring for him… so that he can have two. His mother lives and works in Mauritania. Pape is frequently in charge of making Senegalese tea for the household at night and feeding the sheep. To continue his bad boy image, he sings American rap songs which have prompted numerous discussions of why the “n” word shouldn’t be used. He’s the only member of the family that doesn’t seem to mind giving me a daily hug or ask about “weird” American things. He loves to be photo graphed just as much as he wants to be your friend on Facebook.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-RCuQxHlSY8w/TW0yQkj0tNI/AAAAAAAAAIk/PTPCathn1_8/s1600/DSCN0441.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-RCuQxHlSY8w/TW0yQkj0tNI/AAAAAAAAAIk/PTPCathn1_8/s200/DSCN0441.JPG" width="150" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Ibrahima (Seidene) Ndaw</b> Birthday 19 December 1998. The first son of Samba and second of Anna, he is always getting in trouble for his grades. Though he isn’t dumb by any means, he’d just rather be doing something else… like watch TV. Seidene loves music videos. His favorite channel is the MTV-esque station playing a constant stream of French, Senegalese, and American top videos. He’s always singing the hottest song where the words are correct or no (it’s time of my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">life,</i> not wife! Geez, have you even seen Dirty Dancing???). He acts like I have cooties (I probably do) when I try to give him a hug after long trips away and his friends will seriously make fun of him when I say hi passing them on the street. He’s the only member of the family that calls me “Alys.”</div><div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_dqhBk-MK1E8/TU1OaCD-vlI/AAAAAAAAAGY/s2hIVxe2wmY/s1600/DSCN0416.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></span></div><br />
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</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_dqhBk-MK1E8/TU1PV1IN_PI/AAAAAAAAAGc/51YR-UTcV1A/s1600/DSCN0420.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_dqhBk-MK1E8/TU1PV1IN_PI/AAAAAAAAAGc/51YR-UTcV1A/s200/DSCN0420.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_dqhBk-MK1E8/TU1PV1IN_PI/AAAAAAAAAGc/51YR-UTcV1A/s1600/DSCN0420.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Alioune (Pa) Ndaw</b> Birthday 22 September 2002. The youngest in his class and considered the smartest offspring by my mother, I initially thought of Pa as suffering from middle child syndrome. Now days he doesn’t have trouble making his own headlines in our household. He spent most of last summer in Dakar with an uncle whilst undergoing major orthodontic surgery to correct his awkward teeth. Luckily his goofy smile remains. He uses his own small learning computer to play games and takes Karate classes. His French isn’t all that good, so we don’t have much to talk about.</span><br />
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</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_dqhBk-MK1E8/TU1RvFMVpZI/AAAAAAAAAGk/Cw1zOqB-GUE/s1600/FSCN0183.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_dqhBk-MK1E8/TU1RvFMVpZI/AAAAAAAAAGk/Cw1zOqB-GUE/s200/FSCN0183.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Ababacar (Baba) Ndaw</b> Birthday 2 April 2006. The favorite of my predecessor. I’m sure he was cute when younger but now that I’m here he’s solidly immersed himself in a terrible post-toddler stage. His hobbies include getting the youngest brother to say inappropriate or bad words, teaching him how to spit, and generally testing the boundaries and limits of every other member of the house hold. “Scapegoat” may not be a part of his vocabulary just yet, but that doesn’t mean he’s unfamiliar with the concept. He’s a brilliant blame passer. He also enjoys Karate class and fake boxing. Baba is a devil in the making with an adorable smile.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_dqhBk-MK1E8/TU1QilpxdNI/AAAAAAAAAGg/okSnZHN-6hA/s1600/DSCN0426.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_dqhBk-MK1E8/TU1QilpxdNI/AAAAAAAAAGg/okSnZHN-6hA/s200/DSCN0426.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_dqhBk-MK1E8/TU1QilpxdNI/AAAAAAAAAGg/okSnZHN-6hA/s1600/DSCN0426.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Saliou Ndaw </b>Birthday April 20 2008. The youngest and my favorite… for the time being. Saliou is learning Wolof, French and potty training at the same time. I’m slowly adding to his English vocabulary. He enjoys exactly all the same activities as his brother Baba, but especially enjoys riding a bike, rolling a ball or tire, or playing learning games on the computer. He does not like sharing. He’s fully aware that screaming annoys everyone in the house so he’s in a phase of doing so to get what he wants. Aside from the normal kid stuff, he has an unusual calm about him. He can be content to listen to soothing music on my mp3 player or attempting a yoga position or two with me. If he doesn’t understand what you’re saying, he’ll stare at you with the blankest look you’ve ever seen. What? He’s got a knack for blocking out pain as he got circumcised and 2<sup>nd</sup> degree burns on this foot from boiling porridge- all the in the same day!- yet doesn’t remember any of it.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div>Alyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04734299142000265399noreply@blogger.com0