Wolof Week

I have seriously lucked out. I've spent a week on a very pleasant vacation of sorts. In my continued attempt to be a decent volunteer I begged for assistance in learning a language I'm not all that interested in. As if the 8th wonder of the world, Peace Corps granted my request by informing me that I would be uprooted once more for a week in a small village about an hour and half from here. Paranoid of awkward family introductions, not being able to communicate with another town of people, and being annoyed with fellow students and the new professor... I headed off none-the-less.

As if someone figured it was time to cash in my karma chips, I was placed in class with 3 stellar people and a great teacher. All of them were witty and smart, but most importantly patient with my horrible lack of Wolof skill. In addition, the town (could I really say "town" when talking about 20 households?) of Ker Se Darou was utterly enchanting with the generosity of its people, quaint landscaping, and satisfyingly sluggish life style. Sprinkled between the intensive language sessions were hours of avoiding fish in the lunch bowl, discussions of Christmas plans with my fellows, bissap flavored ice, and time with my new host family- who doubled over with laughter and patience at my infantile language skills.

Four days after landing in Ker Se Darou (and at least two of which we spent begging not to go) we were paraded out. My family, in an act of the pin-ultimate of hospitality, dressed Jackie and I in new matching traditional African outfits and sent us on our way with a trail of children following. My Wolof may not be great, but the week was!