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?
Showing posts with label Environment. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Environment. Show all posts
Monday, June 6
Accro-Baobab Adventure
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?
Wednesday, December 15
Diva Cup
Stop. Before we go any further, I need to make the following announcement: this blog is about menstrual cycles. If you’re a guy perhaps it’d be better for you not to read this. I’m serious. This means you, Dad.
Ok, now that that’s out of the way… it has come to my attention that people I don’t actually know read my blog because of its informative properties. Therefore, I’ve chosen to share (in the most professional way I can hope for?) my knowledge on being a women in either the Peace Corps West Africa and dealing with my monthly gift.
The Peace Corps handbook tells a future volunteer to pack everything they could want for the next two years and specifically lists feminine hygiene products as a part of that pack. They say this because more often than not there is no place to buy what you’re looking for. Either it doesn’t exist, or you’d have to travel way too far to either find it, or easily return, on a monthly endeavor. If you’re a mildly OCD type like me, you’d be facing an excel “packing” spreadsheet attempting to calculate an average tampon usage per month multiplied by estimated duration in Africa, with buffers for any changes inevitably incurred by unforeseeable strain on the body (because let’s face it, adjusting to PC life is NOT easy). I didn’t like statistics class in college and therefore couldn’t find an acceptable calculation that didn’t involve an entire suitcase full of tampons.
So I opted for the alternative, Diva Cup, for the sole advantage of saving packing space. The diva cup is a closed-ended funnel shaped piece of molded plastic designed to rest inside a vagina and collect waste matter. Periodically the cup is extracted, emptied and reinserted. At the end of a menstrual cycle the cup is cleaned, sterilized, and stored until next month. This one product can be used for the entire duration of my Peace Corps service and takes up less room in my suitcase than a bottle of Tums. I found one of the only stores in my state to sell the device on its shelves and dragged a trusted friend with me. The economic crisis being in full swing, and everyone looking to save a few bucks, I talked my friend into buying one too. I didn’t have an opportunity to try the method out before heading to Africa but she did and, quite frankly, her results were inconclusive and a bit daunting.
Naturally this meant that along with all the other things I had on my mind, I got slammed with starting my period my very first night in Africa. Hurray! So I got out my cup, read the directions another seven times and spent a good half hour making sure I’d positioned it right. And I did all of this without dropping it down the new squat toilet I was adjusting to; bonus points! Thank god the Peace Corps took mercy on us in that first week by providing a running tap next to the hole in the ground as well as some toilet paper. I probably would’ve cried if they hadn’t been there.
The application of this product is something I’ve never had experience with… going inside. With the tampon’s easy applicator and removal string, who had the need? But honestly, the whole experience was similar to giving up toilet paper. The first time you do it a panic attack nearly cripples you with nightmares of germs and disease and you spend no less than ten minutes washing your hands. The next time you bring it down to a mere 5 minutes. Eventually, you relax. You haven’t gotten sick and, after all, that’s what soap was invented for.
As the months continue to rack up, I’ve become more and more appreciative of my Diva Cup. The benefits are more than the initial savings in suitcase room. Because it’s made of plastic, it can be worn for longer than 8 hours if necessary without fear of toxic shock syndrome. Additionally, there is no fear of leak (after you’ve gotten the hang of insertion, that is) and therefore no fear of embarrassing stains or inability to wash them out when I do my laundry by hand. If that weren’t enough, there are frequently times when water isn’t always available to wash either the cup or hands so this option allows me to wait until I’ve returned to the privacy of my own home, or at the very least a trusted locale.
Now let’s talk about trash. There are no landfills, no recycling centers, and no compost facilities to make things better. What we do have is a lot of delusions about how the trash isn’t affecting our environment. The outside perimeter of the city is covered in it. Either you carry it there yourself, or if you’re lucky (like me) someone goes around the neighborhood collecting it for you… and then dumps it out there. My family creates about one small desk size waste basket of non-biodegradable trash per week. That’s pretty impressive considering there are 8 of them. I make about one basket all by myself, and I’m constantly looking for a way to stop making more (damn drink mix packets!). Anyway, there’s a lot of waste product involved with the whole tampon issue and I’m seriously thankful that I’m not contributing all that to the town’s trash field. Kids and animals alike both play there, and the thought of them discovering (and playing with) my waste makes me cringe with embarrassment.
What do the Senegalese women do, you ask? Well, my understanding is that they employ the tactic of cotton fabrics stuffed in underwear which is then washed and reused. The whole process is well hidden as I’ve never seen anything resembling this hung out on the laundry line to dry. Feminine hygiene products are available for sale at western stores, but they are very expensive, and as I’ve mentioned before generally don’t appeal to the publicity that accompanies the trash removal aspect of society.
So now that I’ve convinced you to purchase your own Diva Cup (whether you’re joining PC or looking for a cost/ environmental savings at home) I’d like to touch on my one and only mishap with the cup. As I’ve mentioned before, at the end of the week, I clean and sterilize the cup before storing it away until the next month. In Mboro this means I borrow my family’s gas tank to boil it in water for about five minutes then soak it in a bleach water solution for another five minutes. Attempting to avoid the cup’s discovery by one of six of my brothers, I wait until the house is empty. As I’m always attempting to accomplish more than one task at a time this means I once found myself sufficiently distracted to the point of forgetting about the cup while it boiled on the gas. I remembered it again shortly after the water had completely boiled away and the plastic started to melt and smoke up the kitchen. Oops.
In utter panic I contacted my sister and explained that she needed to purchase me a new cup and mail it out within the next 24 hours so that by some miracle it would arrive before the next month. It got here 7 days later in one of those small flat yellow envelopes; alhumdililahi (frequently used Arabic saying for ‘thanks be to god’). Since that incident, I’ve altered my sanitization procedure so that I now remove the boiling water from the gas before put the cup in, followed by bleach. And I’ve also got a renewed sense of comfort knowing that my sister’s on call for African emergencies.
Sunday, April 4
Fishing
There are quite a lot of fish consumed in Senegal. Not by me, of course, but it’s a huge part of the country’s economy. So it’s only natural that fishing becomes a part of the tourism world as well. And although I wouldn’t call it a patriotic duty or anything, I definitely felt I had to try it out for myself.
Last weekend, my fellow volunteers and I rented another amazing house on the ocean front coast in the town of Popenguine. The volunteer that lives there organized a fishing trip with some of his friends in town. We woke up early on a Sunday morning and hiked across town to their launching point.
Set back a hundred feet from the shore were the wooden boats resting on logs in the sand between two houses. The boats are long and narrow, like gondolas. I’m sure there’s a better name for them, but I don’t know it. They’re painted vibrant primary colors with the name of the person who owns the boat and a year. A small motor, like the kind you’d use for canoe fishing, was brought out and attached to the back of the boat. It was secured with rope. With the help of about 20 Senegalese men, we pushed two boats out with 5 Americans and 2 Senegalese guides per boat into a very black ocean.
Motoring 12 kilometers west and directly into the ocean, we could hardly make out the shore between the mists. What looked like a four large hooks welded together to be thrown over a medieval castle wall yet to be scaled was actually thrown down to act as an anchor. I couldn’t tell you if it worked.
We sat neatly aligned up the middle of the boat on slabs of wood resting on ledges carved on each side. Leaning to one side caused the whole boat to rock; making movement a coordinated effort. 8x10 pieces of plywood were passed out which contained yards of fishing line wrapped lengthwise around it. At the end was a hook, followed by a weight, and another hook. Raw fish was brought as bait, diced up, and passed out. Luckily, I was able to ask a friend to bait for me.
We dropped our lines and started catching fish about 10 minutes later. I couldn’t tell you what kind, but they were grey and white and about 8 inches long. A line only stayed in for about 4 minutes before it would have to be brought up either with a fish or to remedy a lack of bait.
To pass the time, we chatted or spotted jelly fish floating by. They jelly fish were the size of an upside down cereal bowl. They were mostly red with white spots and white looking tentacles only a few inches long. They could only be seen when they were basically at the surface. They seemed to travel relatively alone- or we couldn’t see the others. And every time we saw one the camera couldn’t be unburied from its waterproof protection fast enough to catch the evidence.
We were told there was quite a current that prevented us from catching the big fish and in larger quantities… so we changed locations every so often. But the water was choppy, so within a short period of time 4 out of 5 Americans on our boat felt seasick and we decided to head back a bit early.
The rest of the afternoon was spent swimming, napping, and drinking beers on the porch while admiring the view. In the evening, we gutted and grilled the fish (about 9 total), and made yassa poulet (onion and vinegar sauce with white rice and chicken) and meatballs to soak up all the beer. In the evening we built a bonfire pit, took several attempts to create a roaring fire, set off rocket fireworks out of the empty beer bottles, and played beer pong. It was hands-down one of my favorite days in Senegal.
Last weekend, my fellow volunteers and I rented another amazing house on the ocean front coast in the town of Popenguine. The volunteer that lives there organized a fishing trip with some of his friends in town. We woke up early on a Sunday morning and hiked across town to their launching point.
Set back a hundred feet from the shore were the wooden boats resting on logs in the sand between two houses. The boats are long and narrow, like gondolas. I’m sure there’s a better name for them, but I don’t know it. They’re painted vibrant primary colors with the name of the person who owns the boat and a year. A small motor, like the kind you’d use for canoe fishing, was brought out and attached to the back of the boat. It was secured with rope. With the help of about 20 Senegalese men, we pushed two boats out with 5 Americans and 2 Senegalese guides per boat into a very black ocean.
Motoring 12 kilometers west and directly into the ocean, we could hardly make out the shore between the mists. What looked like a four large hooks welded together to be thrown over a medieval castle wall yet to be scaled was actually thrown down to act as an anchor. I couldn’t tell you if it worked.
We sat neatly aligned up the middle of the boat on slabs of wood resting on ledges carved on each side. Leaning to one side caused the whole boat to rock; making movement a coordinated effort. 8x10 pieces of plywood were passed out which contained yards of fishing line wrapped lengthwise around it. At the end was a hook, followed by a weight, and another hook. Raw fish was brought as bait, diced up, and passed out. Luckily, I was able to ask a friend to bait for me.
We dropped our lines and started catching fish about 10 minutes later. I couldn’t tell you what kind, but they were grey and white and about 8 inches long. A line only stayed in for about 4 minutes before it would have to be brought up either with a fish or to remedy a lack of bait.
To pass the time, we chatted or spotted jelly fish floating by. They jelly fish were the size of an upside down cereal bowl. They were mostly red with white spots and white looking tentacles only a few inches long. They could only be seen when they were basically at the surface. They seemed to travel relatively alone- or we couldn’t see the others. And every time we saw one the camera couldn’t be unburied from its waterproof protection fast enough to catch the evidence.
We were told there was quite a current that prevented us from catching the big fish and in larger quantities… so we changed locations every so often. But the water was choppy, so within a short period of time 4 out of 5 Americans on our boat felt seasick and we decided to head back a bit early.
The rest of the afternoon was spent swimming, napping, and drinking beers on the porch while admiring the view. In the evening, we gutted and grilled the fish (about 9 total), and made yassa poulet (onion and vinegar sauce with white rice and chicken) and meatballs to soak up all the beer. In the evening we built a bonfire pit, took several attempts to create a roaring fire, set off rocket fireworks out of the empty beer bottles, and played beer pong. It was hands-down one of my favorite days in Senegal.
Sunday, August 30
Letters From Abroad- August
Hi Family,
I've made it. I'm in one piece physically. Honestly though, having a rough time getting my head around things. Need to keep reminding myself that this is just like summer camp only permanent and with squat toilets. There are a lot of people here and it's a bit hard to make instant friends and get acquainted with everyone. Hopefully when we break off into small groups it will get better. My french skills from Rosetta aren't that helpful either. Bummer. Already taking malaria pills. More shots tomorrow. Can't wait for the side effects.
Write me.
Much love, Alys
Kazumi,
I have to confess, I was really unhappy and depressed my first day here. I was thinking every two seconds that I just want to go home and I'm stupid for doing this. But then I'd say I would not approve of me if I quit so early. I would be so ashamed!!! I couldn't go back to Hino and my house. I would have nothing to do with myself. I need to be here.
Then day two was much better.
And day 3 is ok, but a little scary like day one. It's really hard for an anti social person to make friends especially when there are 50 other people here trying to make new best friends too. I'm trying though. I'm making an effort. Although some people do not like my sense of humor. How is that possible? I'm waiting until Monday when we split into small groups of 4 to 5 people for the rest of our training... then I can get to know friends those people.
The Bleach Story.
We have to filter and then bleach our water here... but in my first weeks in country I didn't have a dropper for the bleach so I was doing it by hand. And then one night, while it was a million degrees in my room at 2am, and the power was out, I poured free hand in the dark. Subsequently, I drank too much bleach and had to be evacuated to Dakar a day later because of the burning in my throat and continuous throwing up. The med team kindly advised me that I didn't have to be here. Great. I had an endoscopy where I striped down and a huge man (who may or may not have looked like Frankenstein- I was mildly delirious from dehydration) held me down while they shoved a camera down my throat. Turns out I'm fine, with a mild case of acid reflux. Great.
On the way back the some current volunteers along for the ride convinced our driver to take the road less travelled to Lac Rose (Pink Lake) appropriately named because the water is actually pink. Surrounding the lake were my first glimpses at camels. Then five minutes more through sand dunes and we were on the beach! The ocean, my first African coastline. The whole thing was surreal, awesome. We drove the land cruiser about 3 feet from the water for an hour back to my village. We went through a neighboring village just as the fishermen brought the days catch ashore... swordfish about 5-6 feet in length! And then there were the millions of crabs running out of our way as we were raced down the coast. Almost made the trip to Dakar worthwhile. Almost.
Kai,
Loving is a strong word, but I'm making it. Things are a roller coaster here between wanting to cry "Uncle" and really enjoying all the new and different stimuli. Of course I'm still in training and spend all my time trying to learn French, but I'm sure things will calm down some time in October.
Alys
I've made it. I'm in one piece physically. Honestly though, having a rough time getting my head around things. Need to keep reminding myself that this is just like summer camp only permanent and with squat toilets. There are a lot of people here and it's a bit hard to make instant friends and get acquainted with everyone. Hopefully when we break off into small groups it will get better. My french skills from Rosetta aren't that helpful either. Bummer. Already taking malaria pills. More shots tomorrow. Can't wait for the side effects.
Write me.
Much love, Alys
Kazumi,
I have to confess, I was really unhappy and depressed my first day here. I was thinking every two seconds that I just want to go home and I'm stupid for doing this. But then I'd say I would not approve of me if I quit so early. I would be so ashamed!!! I couldn't go back to Hino and my house. I would have nothing to do with myself. I need to be here.
Then day two was much better.
And day 3 is ok, but a little scary like day one. It's really hard for an anti social person to make friends especially when there are 50 other people here trying to make new best friends too. I'm trying though. I'm making an effort. Although some people do not like my sense of humor. How is that possible? I'm waiting until Monday when we split into small groups of 4 to 5 people for the rest of our training... then I can get to know friends those people.
The Bleach Story.
We have to filter and then bleach our water here... but in my first weeks in country I didn't have a dropper for the bleach so I was doing it by hand. And then one night, while it was a million degrees in my room at 2am, and the power was out, I poured free hand in the dark. Subsequently, I drank too much bleach and had to be evacuated to Dakar a day later because of the burning in my throat and continuous throwing up. The med team kindly advised me that I didn't have to be here. Great. I had an endoscopy where I striped down and a huge man (who may or may not have looked like Frankenstein- I was mildly delirious from dehydration) held me down while they shoved a camera down my throat. Turns out I'm fine, with a mild case of acid reflux. Great.
On the way back the some current volunteers along for the ride convinced our driver to take the road less travelled to Lac Rose (Pink Lake) appropriately named because the water is actually pink. Surrounding the lake were my first glimpses at camels. Then five minutes more through sand dunes and we were on the beach! The ocean, my first African coastline. The whole thing was surreal, awesome. We drove the land cruiser about 3 feet from the water for an hour back to my village. We went through a neighboring village just as the fishermen brought the days catch ashore... swordfish about 5-6 feet in length! And then there were the millions of crabs running out of our way as we were raced down the coast. Almost made the trip to Dakar worthwhile. Almost.
Kai,
Loving is a strong word, but I'm making it. Things are a roller coaster here between wanting to cry "Uncle" and really enjoying all the new and different stimuli. Of course I'm still in training and spend all my time trying to learn French, but I'm sure things will calm down some time in October.
Alys
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