Shall I dare talk about the elephant in the room? Or rather the elephant that has left the building. Yes, I speak of my weight loss. If you’re a volunteer in country it’s about to get awkwardly personal. As for my friends and family, it’s never hard to admit flaws, but I hope it’ll be easier now that I’m doing better. So here goes…
Let’s call a spade a spade; before I came to Senegal I was overweight and disgusted with myself. A part of me knew I would have the opportunity to change my eating habits and revamp my nutritional intake. I go so far as to admit it’s one of the many reasons I came, though I never did at the time. In the end it wasn’t all too significant- just part of the pros. I went so far as to pack away a few sets of cloths in various sizes in anticipation of my return, and donated the rest to charity. There exist pictures of me from a shower and wedding I went to last July, and even at my best I felt horribly ugly on the outside.
Though, since this is full disclosure, from the moment I landed in Africa, weight has been one of the last things on my mind. Adjusting to heat, bugs, language, culture, and new types of food… all of it was very distracting to say the least. After a month it occurred to me that some of my pants were a bit loose. Two months in I confirmed having lost 20 pounds.
It was a combination of a lot of things, I’m sure. I had so many cases of diarrhea in the beginning it became a joke with my host family. It got to a point where I would run out mid sentence, come back to finish the sentence and keep going with the conversation- not even bothering to explain where I’d run off to. I spent a whole week in bed with a flu (vomiting and diarrhea), plus a head cold (serious congestion), and creeping eruption (worm infection under the skin that made my foot itch like no other). I lived on oral rehydration salts, bread and beans, and fruit that week.
Then there’s my battle with the fish. It became painfully apparent that I would have to come up with a better solution to my total aversion to fish. Every time we ate it, I threw it up. The taste alone started to make me gag- even if it was just eating rice and veggies prepared or sitting in the same bowl. I never ate fish in the States for this same reason, but I swear it’s more pungent here. When training was over I self diagnosed myself allergic and told my permanent host family I would make a separate meal for myself whenever the family was having dishes with fish. These days I’ll eat a salad, egg sandwiches, soup, millet porridge, or pasta when fish is on the menu. And yeah, I’m kind of a disgrace to other volunteers because I live in a coastal town that is very abundant with fish. Get over it.
Of course, there’s a whole other side to this story. The food itself wasn’t appetizing in the beginning. While I almost cried the first night we had pasta (not thinking it existed here- evidence of my naivety), I was confused by everything else. Onions are literally a part of every dish except millet porridges; they were driving me nuts. Meat is cut so as to include the fatty bits (for flavor?) and I thus I didn’t eat much of it either. Veggies and meat in general are fairly expensive compared to rice, pasta, and millet so there are typically only one or two carrots, potatoes, okra, or bitter tomatoes to be shared amongst the family. Sauces are colors I’d never imagined sauce could be, and made of leaves I didn’t think one could eat. And when you take all that away, you’re left with rice. Honestly, I got bored of rice… and it didn’t seem to fill me either.
There’s a small factor of timing of meals. Breakfast is early, 7a. Lunch is later than I was used to… at 2p. This being right in the heat of the day, it’s still hard sometimes to work up an appetite in the cool season. So you can imagine the difficulty back in the hot rainy season. Dinner is at 10p or later. Most days I nearly fall asleep waiting for it. It’s hard to eat when you’re half asleep because you have no energy because you hardly eat. Confusing, no?
Lastly, a few words should be given to the endless walking that became necessary to get around in Senegal. If walking in the heat were easy, adding the ever changing sandy terrain made it a bit more difficult. Admittedly, I feel constantly dehydrated, but that can’t have had too much of an impact after the first week. So you see, portion control, lack of processed foods, change in food substance, illness, meal timing, and walking all contributed to the weight loss program that is Peace Corps (eat that, Jenny Craig!).
In the beginning losing a lot of weight (and somewhat quickly) was a cultural problem. My host family during training, under traditional customs, was embarrassed, even ashamed, that their guest was losing weight. It was a sign that I was not being treated properly nor given enough food as the guest. They would try to force me to finish whatever was left in a bowl. And what’s worse, to continue to eat after throwing up… even if it made me do it again. I kept trying to explain that I was happy to lose weight, and that it was a good thing in my culture, something I needed, but in a place where large women are traditionally seen as beautiful my explanation was lost anyone listening. I felt like a failure both in the states, and now in Senegal. Awesome. They eventually started to come around. Especially when I told them how happy my Dad was, and even went so far as to say ‘thank you’ to them on his behalf.
These days things aren’t as dramatic as in the beginning. In the last 6 months I’ve lost another 30 pounds. I know it seems like a lot, but trust me I had it too loose… and probably still more if I work at it. I eat because I have to or its time, not because I’m excited about meals like I used to be in the States. Admittedly though, I’ve started to enjoy the food. Onions no longer annoy me. There are meals I love and can’t wait to eat when I see them being prepared. There are others I don’t care for, but I’m eating more and more of them each time. I also enjoy that none of the cloths I brought here fit anymore. I still wear the shirts, but I have had to import or purchase/ produce everything from the waist down… because the old stuff was falling off, literally. And who doesn’t love a slimmer shape? In fact, my host brother saw those pictures from last July not too long ago and was astonished that it was even me. He told me how good I looked now, and even gave me a hug and words of congratulations. That’s kind of a big deal in a country lacking PDA and words of encouragement (disapproval is much more prevalent).
I don’t know if my problem was what I was eating, or how much of it I was eating… but I’m changing those habits every day here. I’d like to tell you I’ve noticed how much more energy I have, or how great I feel, or how I don’t get short of breath after long walks… but in truth none of that has changed from State side. I’m fairly certain it’s the lack of proper nutrients and climate. I’m getting enough nutrients to survive and I’m generally used to the climate, but it’s not a perfect world. Some days I wonder if I’ll ever be 100% here. And then I push those thoughts out and enjoy the ride that I’m on now. A slimmer, healthier person is only one aspect of the better person I hope to be by the end of my service.
Wednesday, April 28
Sunday, April 25
Sustainable
In a few of the towns surrounding mine, there has been a lot of development work with exporting artisan products to the States and Europe. Grass baskets of all shapes, sizes and colors, jewelry, kitchen décor, leather products… the list seems to grow every day. And people in the states seem to be more and more aware. Wolof baskets are featured in Elle Décor Magazine and sold in Pier One. Purses are for sale in Banana Republic.
It wasn’t always this glorious though, and I will attempt to tell the story of the baskets in my area. Back in the day, woman from villages brought their baskets to the weekly market and competed against each other for minuscule sales at prices that were often below the cost to produce. Volunteers started by talking to the women about basic costing and pricing concepts… attempting to illustrate the losses they were incurring through their undercutting of the competition. There was talk of organizing the sellers, encouraging them to band together against buyers and hold a fixed market price.
A few years back, by chance, one travelling volunteer came across another expat who happened to be in the import business and looking for new endeavors in Western Africa. Baskets produced in the northern region of Thies came into play. And order was placed. The order was too large for any small group of village women, so it was decided that the multiple villages would need to be utilized to fill the order. And so it became apparent that a coalition was needed. Women from surrounding villages could join by paying a small fee. In return they would receive a membership card, a small portion of the order requirements, and guaranteed fair wages per basket produced (which coincidentally were higher than anything they could hope to be paid in the traditional market, and yet somehow lower than the rest of the world’s prices).
Volunteers came in to play once again when the management of basket production. Daily visits to the villages we made to explain and demonstrate quality control practices. Material purchase advances had to be made, and the volunteers went door to door to distribute the funds. Logistics had to be coordinated to get the baskets from each village to the port in Dakar. Peace Corps Volunteers took on the tasks of organizing donkey carts, warehousing, and trucking. The first order was filled; an apparent success stateside. Another order would be placed months later.
Peace Corps strives to promote and assist in projects demonstrating sustainability. Help the people help themselves. Granted this can’t always be done from the get go… so the first order was managed more under the guise of “get it done” and hope for the best; the best being a continuous flow of follow up orders. In the orders that followed, volunteers strove to teach still more business practices such as inventory control, scheduling, and price negotiations. But in the end, the ultimate Peace Corps goal is to remove the volunteer from the picture entirely. With this in mind, the importing agency developed working relations with the local English speaking Senegalese community members; in the hopes that they could perform the functions of the Peace Corps Volunteers.
Good things have come out of these few small orders: increased income and standard of living for whole villages involved, competition becoming comrades, and increased business savvy. And now, orders are starting to pick up dramatically. There’s talk that Cost Co wants to buy. While exciting news, I can’t help but wonder. This type of order is way beyond current production levels, meaning more villages would need to sign on to the alliance, as well as trained in the business practices. Increased staffing needs would mean the Peace Corps would probably have to help, instead of exiting the project. And then what happens when Elle Décor Magazine comes out with a different product du jour, and Wolof grass baskets become the new (or should I say washed out trend of) wicker? What will happen to those families in rural villages of West Africa who depended on that steady income?
The original importer in question came to speak to my training class. One of her messages was that in order for the villagers to survive the fickle Western consumer’s change of winds, they would need to be able to change their product to follow the trend. But I ask you this, do you currently own something made of wicker? I don’t have any of the answers, or even one possible suggestion. I don’t work on the project now, but if called to I would certainly come forward; I would teach the principles of product change and adaptation. But I’m not entirely sure I like the taste of this Kool Aid.
It wasn’t always this glorious though, and I will attempt to tell the story of the baskets in my area. Back in the day, woman from villages brought their baskets to the weekly market and competed against each other for minuscule sales at prices that were often below the cost to produce. Volunteers started by talking to the women about basic costing and pricing concepts… attempting to illustrate the losses they were incurring through their undercutting of the competition. There was talk of organizing the sellers, encouraging them to band together against buyers and hold a fixed market price.
A few years back, by chance, one travelling volunteer came across another expat who happened to be in the import business and looking for new endeavors in Western Africa. Baskets produced in the northern region of Thies came into play. And order was placed. The order was too large for any small group of village women, so it was decided that the multiple villages would need to be utilized to fill the order. And so it became apparent that a coalition was needed. Women from surrounding villages could join by paying a small fee. In return they would receive a membership card, a small portion of the order requirements, and guaranteed fair wages per basket produced (which coincidentally were higher than anything they could hope to be paid in the traditional market, and yet somehow lower than the rest of the world’s prices).
Volunteers came in to play once again when the management of basket production. Daily visits to the villages we made to explain and demonstrate quality control practices. Material purchase advances had to be made, and the volunteers went door to door to distribute the funds. Logistics had to be coordinated to get the baskets from each village to the port in Dakar. Peace Corps Volunteers took on the tasks of organizing donkey carts, warehousing, and trucking. The first order was filled; an apparent success stateside. Another order would be placed months later.
Peace Corps strives to promote and assist in projects demonstrating sustainability. Help the people help themselves. Granted this can’t always be done from the get go… so the first order was managed more under the guise of “get it done” and hope for the best; the best being a continuous flow of follow up orders. In the orders that followed, volunteers strove to teach still more business practices such as inventory control, scheduling, and price negotiations. But in the end, the ultimate Peace Corps goal is to remove the volunteer from the picture entirely. With this in mind, the importing agency developed working relations with the local English speaking Senegalese community members; in the hopes that they could perform the functions of the Peace Corps Volunteers.
Good things have come out of these few small orders: increased income and standard of living for whole villages involved, competition becoming comrades, and increased business savvy. And now, orders are starting to pick up dramatically. There’s talk that Cost Co wants to buy. While exciting news, I can’t help but wonder. This type of order is way beyond current production levels, meaning more villages would need to sign on to the alliance, as well as trained in the business practices. Increased staffing needs would mean the Peace Corps would probably have to help, instead of exiting the project. And then what happens when Elle Décor Magazine comes out with a different product du jour, and Wolof grass baskets become the new (or should I say washed out trend of) wicker? What will happen to those families in rural villages of West Africa who depended on that steady income?
The original importer in question came to speak to my training class. One of her messages was that in order for the villagers to survive the fickle Western consumer’s change of winds, they would need to be able to change their product to follow the trend. But I ask you this, do you currently own something made of wicker? I don’t have any of the answers, or even one possible suggestion. I don’t work on the project now, but if called to I would certainly come forward; I would teach the principles of product change and adaptation. But I’m not entirely sure I like the taste of this Kool Aid.
Wednesday, April 21
25 More Random African Things.
1) Poop is Wolof for poop.
2) The packaging of powdered milk advertises that it is fat filled… and it’s a good thing.
3) Stop signs are red and white, octagonal, and say "STOP." This took me months to realize as they hardly exist anywhere. I’ve either seen three of them… or seen the same one three times, it’s unclear.
4) The first American company I saw in Senegal was Shell Gasoline, followed by Hertz Rent-A-Car, Aldo, Guess, Diesel and Curves. Rumors have circulated about an Apple store, but it remains to be seen.
5) Male PC Volunteers have starting wearing head bands. I’m worried.
6) In the US, traffic jams prevent you from getting to work on time. In West Africa, stopping to greet friends and neighbors has the same effect: mandatory and time consuming.
7) On any given day, I can see any one of the following animal body parts in various states of decomposition in the street: chicken head, leg of sheep, squished frog, fish guts, unknown animal jaw, and the list goes on…
8) One of the goals of the current Mayor's administration is to put public restrooms in our town's market area. Others include: rainfall drainage infrastructure, new school classrooms, annexing the distance from town to the beach as part of Mboro, and city wide trash management program.
9) If I have an extreme case of diarrhea it’s perfectly acceptable, neigh welcome, to run to the nearest house and ask for the squat toilet. But they’ll probably ask you to stay for a meal and tea.
10) Peace Corps Volunteers have been in Senegal since 1963, this year we will double the number of volunteers in country to total over 300.
11) The Catholic community in Mboro is hard core and fasts all day long during Lent. It’s a cultural thing I’m sure, to give them street credit with all the Muslims that fast during Ramadan (which is only about 30 days). They also give up a bad habit and don’t eat meat on Fridays. Some “extremists” don’t eat meat on any Friday, Lent or no.
12) Senegal may be a 3rd world country, with poverty meaning anyone NOT making at least $1 a day, but that doesn’t stop its people from holding numerous fundraisers to send money to Haiti.
13) There is a rap song that when translated has a title of “On the Head of My Mom.” Hmm.
14) It’s a good thing Akon came out to Senegal for Independence Day (Apr 4th) because people were just starting to forget about him.
15) The concept of preventative maintenance does not exist. Things are fixed after they break; simple as that.
16) All sort of yearly planning is done around the rainy season (July through September): home improvements before, gardening during, holidays after.
17) Senegal has a unique type of wrestling, pronounced “Loot,” where the first person to fall down looses. It usually last about 1 minute… but there is 4 hours of entertainment leading up to the “big match.”
18) Follow up note: one famous wrestler renamed himself Mike Tyson. Genius.
19) There is a Senegalese version of MTV. It plays Wolof, French, and American music videos. I’d like to tell you that the American videos are the same ones that are popular in the states, but I’m afraid to check the charts.
20) Prostitution is legal; but frowned upon religiously and thus still and underground operation.
21) I live in a coastal city but have yet to find a single person who knows how to swim. What is that?
22) Except in major cities (read: where there are large populations of foreigners) there is no such thing as a store that sells more than one type of commodity. Hardware, fabric, electronics, prier mats, kitchen utensils, bread, meat, jewelry, shoes, hand bags, sheets, processed food products, fresh food products, gardening tools… all these items have their own special vendor and location.
23) Although the export standards are very high, the in country commercial retail standards don’t even come close. However, some still find registration too complicated and that’s probably why people sell product out of baskets, off tables, and not in a stationary place.
24) Sometimes I find a fruit that looks familiar and go to taste it, only to realize I was way off. This is how I found melon while looking for papaya... turns out melon is football shaped here. And there's a mini mango season that tastes more like a pear apple than a mango, even though I was actually trying to buy ditax. Also, there is a cranberry look-alike I've yet to fully decipher.
25) There is no such thing as a Senegalese cook book. Recipes are passed generation to generation. I’ve been interviewing my host Mom, but I doubt I’ll learn all my favorites in time.
2) The packaging of powdered milk advertises that it is fat filled… and it’s a good thing.
3) Stop signs are red and white, octagonal, and say "STOP." This took me months to realize as they hardly exist anywhere. I’ve either seen three of them… or seen the same one three times, it’s unclear.
4) The first American company I saw in Senegal was Shell Gasoline, followed by Hertz Rent-A-Car, Aldo, Guess, Diesel and Curves. Rumors have circulated about an Apple store, but it remains to be seen.
5) Male PC Volunteers have starting wearing head bands. I’m worried.
6) In the US, traffic jams prevent you from getting to work on time. In West Africa, stopping to greet friends and neighbors has the same effect: mandatory and time consuming.
7) On any given day, I can see any one of the following animal body parts in various states of decomposition in the street: chicken head, leg of sheep, squished frog, fish guts, unknown animal jaw, and the list goes on…
8) One of the goals of the current Mayor's administration is to put public restrooms in our town's market area. Others include: rainfall drainage infrastructure, new school classrooms, annexing the distance from town to the beach as part of Mboro, and city wide trash management program.
9) If I have an extreme case of diarrhea it’s perfectly acceptable, neigh welcome, to run to the nearest house and ask for the squat toilet. But they’ll probably ask you to stay for a meal and tea.
10) Peace Corps Volunteers have been in Senegal since 1963, this year we will double the number of volunteers in country to total over 300.
11) The Catholic community in Mboro is hard core and fasts all day long during Lent. It’s a cultural thing I’m sure, to give them street credit with all the Muslims that fast during Ramadan (which is only about 30 days). They also give up a bad habit and don’t eat meat on Fridays. Some “extremists” don’t eat meat on any Friday, Lent or no.
12) Senegal may be a 3rd world country, with poverty meaning anyone NOT making at least $1 a day, but that doesn’t stop its people from holding numerous fundraisers to send money to Haiti.
13) There is a rap song that when translated has a title of “On the Head of My Mom.” Hmm.
14) It’s a good thing Akon came out to Senegal for Independence Day (Apr 4th) because people were just starting to forget about him.
15) The concept of preventative maintenance does not exist. Things are fixed after they break; simple as that.
16) All sort of yearly planning is done around the rainy season (July through September): home improvements before, gardening during, holidays after.
17) Senegal has a unique type of wrestling, pronounced “Loot,” where the first person to fall down looses. It usually last about 1 minute… but there is 4 hours of entertainment leading up to the “big match.”
18) Follow up note: one famous wrestler renamed himself Mike Tyson. Genius.
19) There is a Senegalese version of MTV. It plays Wolof, French, and American music videos. I’d like to tell you that the American videos are the same ones that are popular in the states, but I’m afraid to check the charts.
20) Prostitution is legal; but frowned upon religiously and thus still and underground operation.
21) I live in a coastal city but have yet to find a single person who knows how to swim. What is that?
22) Except in major cities (read: where there are large populations of foreigners) there is no such thing as a store that sells more than one type of commodity. Hardware, fabric, electronics, prier mats, kitchen utensils, bread, meat, jewelry, shoes, hand bags, sheets, processed food products, fresh food products, gardening tools… all these items have their own special vendor and location.
23) Although the export standards are very high, the in country commercial retail standards don’t even come close. However, some still find registration too complicated and that’s probably why people sell product out of baskets, off tables, and not in a stationary place.
24) Sometimes I find a fruit that looks familiar and go to taste it, only to realize I was way off. This is how I found melon while looking for papaya... turns out melon is football shaped here. And there's a mini mango season that tastes more like a pear apple than a mango, even though I was actually trying to buy ditax. Also, there is a cranberry look-alike I've yet to fully decipher.
25) There is no such thing as a Senegalese cook book. Recipes are passed generation to generation. I’ve been interviewing my host Mom, but I doubt I’ll learn all my favorites in time.
Sunday, April 18
Summer Camp!
I think it’s about time I officially start calling myself a 1st year volunteer; as a new round of trainees have come and work projects are starting to require my attention. One project in particular has taken over my everyday thought process: a girls summer camp.
The idea started in our last phase of training, when we heard an inspiring presentation about a camp held on the other side of the country that incorporates many different sectors of Peace Corps volunteer work. “I wanna do that” was the first thing that came to my mind. Luckily, I wasn’t alone. There are 6 other women in my regional area of the country that also got here last August. We’d already started meeting once monthly for western food, drinks, English, and general relaxation… and of course shop talk. Apparently, we all had the same thought with regards to starting a summer camp in our own region, so a couple weeks after our last round of training we met up for lunch and our first meeting.
We decided on utilizing an existing scholarship program that rewards the top 7th, 8th, and 9th grade girls in each class by paying tuition fees for the following school year (about $10) as an incentive for the girls to stay in school. This is a pretty big problem in Senegal as young women have large amounts of household responsibilities that prevent them from studying. If a student doesn’t pass the end of year exam they’ll get held back. If you’re held back enough times, you get permanently kicked out of the public school system. It’s rare that these kids will then get a chance to go to private school, as it typically costs much more. If that weren’t bad enough, still other girls drop out all together because they marry young and get pregnant. So, when finding about a purpose for the camp, we couldn’t help but think about the perfect “work/ life balance” that American women are taught from a young age.
More volunteers were recruited to help with the project, and staffing positions were assigned. Yours truly, with her aversion to children, was appointed chief financier. My immediate responsibilities are to write the proposal to secure grant funding for the project, and when camp time comes I’ll be in charge of the money, but also of monitoring and recording all purchases in order to submit a final report to the grant committee. Other volunteers hold positions such as Camp Director, Camp Food Coordinator, Documentarian/Videographer, Lead Counselor and Camp Counselor. We plan to have Senegalese counterparts that will job shadow our positions so that in future years the whole project can be turned over to the community, thus creating project sustainability without Peace Corps volunteers. We’ve also started a website for the people involved to share files and keep a group calendar of deadlines. It is our hope that this over-documented project will make it that much easier should any other volunteer wish to start a similar project.
As far as day by day, the camp will have one day dedicated to each of the following topics: health (mental health and dealing with stress, malaria prevention, sexual pressures, hygiene, and nutrition), environment (agricultural related topics like container gardening, trash sorting, and composting), gender development (the woman’s role), business skills (costing, pricing, and money management), and future planning (actually creating goals for the short and long term with these girls). In between all that educational bits will be exercise, arts and crafts, and games. In the evening we’re planning movie night, game night, a talent show, a dance, and more. I dare say it’s going to be a hell of a good time, if we can pull it off.
We are fortunate enough to partner up with the University of Bambey (a town a few hours away from Mboro). They're so excited about our proposed program that they offered to donate their campus to host us for the week. Lodging, classroom facilities and equipment, and even their dining hall and staff will be available to us. A major score! This will cut our project costs dramatically and, hopefully, be the beginning of a great program for the University to continue. If we're really successful, maybe in a few years other Universities in the country will copy our model. But I'm getting way ahead of myself and that's out of my service time frame...
Anyway, the whole thing is set to kick off the last week of September, so there’s a lot of work to do now to write all the proposals and to get everyone on board and fix budgets… and then we wait. We’ll receive final word on funding mid-May and formally invite the girls to camp, but the rest of the to-do list won’t pick up again until August or September.
Anyway, wish us luck as we'll probably need it. And if anyone wishes to know more about the scholarship program for the local girls please send me a note and I'll get info to you.
The idea started in our last phase of training, when we heard an inspiring presentation about a camp held on the other side of the country that incorporates many different sectors of Peace Corps volunteer work. “I wanna do that” was the first thing that came to my mind. Luckily, I wasn’t alone. There are 6 other women in my regional area of the country that also got here last August. We’d already started meeting once monthly for western food, drinks, English, and general relaxation… and of course shop talk. Apparently, we all had the same thought with regards to starting a summer camp in our own region, so a couple weeks after our last round of training we met up for lunch and our first meeting.
We decided on utilizing an existing scholarship program that rewards the top 7th, 8th, and 9th grade girls in each class by paying tuition fees for the following school year (about $10) as an incentive for the girls to stay in school. This is a pretty big problem in Senegal as young women have large amounts of household responsibilities that prevent them from studying. If a student doesn’t pass the end of year exam they’ll get held back. If you’re held back enough times, you get permanently kicked out of the public school system. It’s rare that these kids will then get a chance to go to private school, as it typically costs much more. If that weren’t bad enough, still other girls drop out all together because they marry young and get pregnant. So, when finding about a purpose for the camp, we couldn’t help but think about the perfect “work/ life balance” that American women are taught from a young age.
More volunteers were recruited to help with the project, and staffing positions were assigned. Yours truly, with her aversion to children, was appointed chief financier. My immediate responsibilities are to write the proposal to secure grant funding for the project, and when camp time comes I’ll be in charge of the money, but also of monitoring and recording all purchases in order to submit a final report to the grant committee. Other volunteers hold positions such as Camp Director, Camp Food Coordinator, Documentarian/Videographer, Lead Counselor and Camp Counselor. We plan to have Senegalese counterparts that will job shadow our positions so that in future years the whole project can be turned over to the community, thus creating project sustainability without Peace Corps volunteers. We’ve also started a website for the people involved to share files and keep a group calendar of deadlines. It is our hope that this over-documented project will make it that much easier should any other volunteer wish to start a similar project.
As far as day by day, the camp will have one day dedicated to each of the following topics: health (mental health and dealing with stress, malaria prevention, sexual pressures, hygiene, and nutrition), environment (agricultural related topics like container gardening, trash sorting, and composting), gender development (the woman’s role), business skills (costing, pricing, and money management), and future planning (actually creating goals for the short and long term with these girls). In between all that educational bits will be exercise, arts and crafts, and games. In the evening we’re planning movie night, game night, a talent show, a dance, and more. I dare say it’s going to be a hell of a good time, if we can pull it off.
We are fortunate enough to partner up with the University of Bambey (a town a few hours away from Mboro). They're so excited about our proposed program that they offered to donate their campus to host us for the week. Lodging, classroom facilities and equipment, and even their dining hall and staff will be available to us. A major score! This will cut our project costs dramatically and, hopefully, be the beginning of a great program for the University to continue. If we're really successful, maybe in a few years other Universities in the country will copy our model. But I'm getting way ahead of myself and that's out of my service time frame...
Anyway, the whole thing is set to kick off the last week of September, so there’s a lot of work to do now to write all the proposals and to get everyone on board and fix budgets… and then we wait. We’ll receive final word on funding mid-May and formally invite the girls to camp, but the rest of the to-do list won’t pick up again until August or September.
Anyway, wish us luck as we'll probably need it. And if anyone wishes to know more about the scholarship program for the local girls please send me a note and I'll get info to you.
Tuesday, April 13
100 Things I'm Concerned About
Below are things that have me concerned about leaving my life in Senegal (aka things Senegalese culture is making me do or the type of person I'm changing into):
1) I might start asking everything in the negative form. “You don’t have a pencil I can borrow, do you?”
2) I might have the urge to walk to the Post every week, because I wouldn’t trust them to deliver directly to my door.
3) I might be confused as to why I have so much leg room on my flight home.
4) I might believe that wearing makeup is pointless and time consuming (both application and removal), but then go overboard on holidays.
5) I may continue to shower 3 times a day.
6) I might take afternoon naps, regardless of whether or not I’m supposed to be working.
7) I might correct people’s English mid sentence.
8) I might be prone to hiding beef jerky in my dresser.
9) I may start beeping people (calling and hanging up before they answer, and expecting them to call me back) to save credit- or minutes.
10) I might continue to apply sun block daily like moisturizer.
11) I might walk into a room and comment on whatever you’re doing. Example: “Peace be with you. You are sitting.”
12) I might get pissed and start swearing, but not realize that you can understand my swear words because you DO speak English.
13) I may ask your child to go to the store and buy me something.
14) I might wear flip flops in the shower.
15) I might serve you dessert (instead of a real dinner) if you come over for dinner on a Sunday.
16) I might dance without moving my feet- just knees, hips, and arms.
17) I might call you racist if you don’t say “hello” to me on the street.
18) I might dress my best to go on a road trip.
19) I might carry a water bottle around obsessively. And drink mix packets, too.
20) I may sweep my room daily; carpet or no.
21) I may have to buy an oscillating fan in order to sleep.
22) I might go to the grocery store every day because processed and packaged foods won’t make sense to me. Buying in bulk won’t either.
23) I may carry anti-diarrhea meds and malaria prophylaxis in my purse at all times.
24) I might use a mosquito net as decoration, but also obsessively tuck it in before going to bed.
25) I might take an hour to order a beer, because there are more than 2 types available. And my favorite one won’t be there.
26) I may be pissed there isn’t a flashlight function on the end of my phone.
27) I might eat rice every day for lunch.
28) I may say things in a language you won’t understand.
29) I might miss spell every word in the English language.
30) I may bring you fruit if I leave town and come back.
31) I might be confused if on holidays we do more than sit in chairs staring at the ground.
32) I may offer to help pay for the rented sound system for your child’s baptism.
33) I may play my music 20 decibels too loud.
34) I might be confused if the rooster crows only at dawn.
35) I might never use a dryer again.
36) I might not buy a TV, because the screen would be too big for my eyes. And also because my computer will travel with me.
37) I might miss bissap, tamarin, and bouie juices.
38) I might be addicted to MSG.
39) I may blatantly lie about why I didn’t call you back because I’ll think you can’t dispute me.
40) I might be fashionably late to everything.
41) I may be uncomfortable using toilet paper.
42) I might make a clucking noise in the place of verbal agreement or nodding.
43) I may spend ten minutes restating something someone else has already said, because I agree with them.
44) I might try to negotiate prices at the grocery store, or maybe even Target. Definitely with cabs.
45) I might not notice when flies land on me.
46) I may stop to talk to complete strangers for long periods of time on the street.
47) I might not realize someone is hitting on me if they aren’t asking me to marry them within the first 5 minutes of conversation.
48) I might look around for the screwdriver in order to roll down the car window.
49) I may tickle your palm with my finger secretly during a hand shake to indicate wanting to sleep with you.
50) I might be deathly afraid of the rain.
51) I might dig a hole in order to bury the carcass if you tell me we are eating a large game animal for a meal.
52) I may put up post it notes of vocabulary in multiple languages.
53) I might burn my trash.
54) I might use the same piece of cloth for a sheet, robe, towel, blanket or skirt.
55) I may be overly paranoid when someone gets a fever.
56) I might think a spaghetti sandwich is normal.
57) I might not respond to my American name.
58) I might expect to be able to shop during traffic jams… and be upset when I can’t.
59) I may comment about the weather in every conversation.
60) I might wear a belly chain with beads because I’ll think it’s sexy.
61) I may call you just to say “Hello.” And then just hang up after without saying goodbye.
62) I may treat every meal like an eating contest to see who can finish first. I will not speak during this contest.
63) I may filter my water forevermore.
64) I may eat an unhealthy amount of mangos.
65) I might not hate children as much as I did when I left. Or I might hate them more. It’s still unclear.
66) I might be used to the sound of children getting beaten and therefore get rejected when applying for a job at child protective services.
67) I might beat your kids if they don’t greet me.
68) I might have to buy a whole new wardrobe, as I’m sure nothing will fit anymore.
69) I might not be deathly afraid of mice.
70) I may appreciate that lizards eat all the other bugs I hate.
71) I may come to believe that climate control in a motor vehicle means ability to roll down the window.
72) I may hang curtains in the back seats of my next car, in order to keep out the sun and heat.
73) I may think that stickers of old men I don’t know are a valuable art form that should be displayed both in the house and all over my car.
74) I might be confused when the next election happens promptly and there are legitimate opposing candidates to the current president.
75) I might wear what you will assume to be my pajamas in public.
76) I might prefer large bulky metal jewelry that incorporates the shape of balls.
77) I may ask everyone I meet if they have a husband/ wife- and if not offer to set them up.
78) I might forget the meaning of personal space.
79) I may confuse a gay couple for brothers or sisters, because I might forget that gay is an actual preference and not something that “DOES NOT EXIST.”
80) I might repeat your last name 5 to 10 times when I see you because I think it is a sign of respect.
81) I may secretly text someone else if I decide to spend the night anywhere other than my house; and I will think it’s for my own safety.
82) I may expect to hear about public demonstrations and riots throughout the country via text message.
83) I might be confused if, when asked how you are. you reply with anything other than “I’m here” or “I’m in peace only.”
84) I may add an insane amount of sugar to my coffee, tea and juices.
85) I might find a way to add onions to every meal.
86) I might obsessively keep notes on blog ideas.
87) I might complain that US currency is not color and size coded.
88) I may tell you that you know nothing if you do not understand something I try to explain.
89) I may be nervous and panicked when left alone.
90) I may likely change all my cloths regardless of who is in the room, and without closing the door.
91) I might try to order café Touba (which tastes like a mixture of chai tea and coffee) at Starbucks.
92) I may complain that there is a serious lack of decent tailors.
93) I might assume that although you live near water, you have no idea how to swim.
94) I may sit on the floor when you have me over and tell me dinner is ready.
95) I might leave my shoes on when entering the house, but take them off when entering the sitting room.
96) I might be depressed when the power goes out, assuming I won’t be able to sleep at night.
97) I might have a stock pile of candles and matches, because I assume the power will go out.
98) I might take time off of work to celebrate holidays according to other religions.
99) I might be disappointed that I can’t go to church to listen to good music and tune out the rest.
100) I might miss Senegal.
1) I might start asking everything in the negative form. “You don’t have a pencil I can borrow, do you?”
2) I might have the urge to walk to the Post every week, because I wouldn’t trust them to deliver directly to my door.
3) I might be confused as to why I have so much leg room on my flight home.
4) I might believe that wearing makeup is pointless and time consuming (both application and removal), but then go overboard on holidays.
5) I may continue to shower 3 times a day.
6) I might take afternoon naps, regardless of whether or not I’m supposed to be working.
7) I might correct people’s English mid sentence.
8) I might be prone to hiding beef jerky in my dresser.
9) I may start beeping people (calling and hanging up before they answer, and expecting them to call me back) to save credit- or minutes.
10) I might continue to apply sun block daily like moisturizer.
11) I might walk into a room and comment on whatever you’re doing. Example: “Peace be with you. You are sitting.”
12) I might get pissed and start swearing, but not realize that you can understand my swear words because you DO speak English.
13) I may ask your child to go to the store and buy me something.
14) I might wear flip flops in the shower.
15) I might serve you dessert (instead of a real dinner) if you come over for dinner on a Sunday.
16) I might dance without moving my feet- just knees, hips, and arms.
17) I might call you racist if you don’t say “hello” to me on the street.
18) I might dress my best to go on a road trip.
19) I might carry a water bottle around obsessively. And drink mix packets, too.
20) I may sweep my room daily; carpet or no.
21) I may have to buy an oscillating fan in order to sleep.
22) I might go to the grocery store every day because processed and packaged foods won’t make sense to me. Buying in bulk won’t either.
23) I may carry anti-diarrhea meds and malaria prophylaxis in my purse at all times.
24) I might use a mosquito net as decoration, but also obsessively tuck it in before going to bed.
25) I might take an hour to order a beer, because there are more than 2 types available. And my favorite one won’t be there.
26) I may be pissed there isn’t a flashlight function on the end of my phone.
27) I might eat rice every day for lunch.
28) I may say things in a language you won’t understand.
29) I might miss spell every word in the English language.
30) I may bring you fruit if I leave town and come back.
31) I might be confused if on holidays we do more than sit in chairs staring at the ground.
32) I may offer to help pay for the rented sound system for your child’s baptism.
33) I may play my music 20 decibels too loud.
34) I might be confused if the rooster crows only at dawn.
35) I might never use a dryer again.
36) I might not buy a TV, because the screen would be too big for my eyes. And also because my computer will travel with me.
37) I might miss bissap, tamarin, and bouie juices.
38) I might be addicted to MSG.
39) I may blatantly lie about why I didn’t call you back because I’ll think you can’t dispute me.
40) I might be fashionably late to everything.
41) I may be uncomfortable using toilet paper.
42) I might make a clucking noise in the place of verbal agreement or nodding.
43) I may spend ten minutes restating something someone else has already said, because I agree with them.
44) I might try to negotiate prices at the grocery store, or maybe even Target. Definitely with cabs.
45) I might not notice when flies land on me.
46) I may stop to talk to complete strangers for long periods of time on the street.
47) I might not realize someone is hitting on me if they aren’t asking me to marry them within the first 5 minutes of conversation.
48) I might look around for the screwdriver in order to roll down the car window.
49) I may tickle your palm with my finger secretly during a hand shake to indicate wanting to sleep with you.
50) I might be deathly afraid of the rain.
51) I might dig a hole in order to bury the carcass if you tell me we are eating a large game animal for a meal.
52) I may put up post it notes of vocabulary in multiple languages.
53) I might burn my trash.
54) I might use the same piece of cloth for a sheet, robe, towel, blanket or skirt.
55) I may be overly paranoid when someone gets a fever.
56) I might think a spaghetti sandwich is normal.
57) I might not respond to my American name.
58) I might expect to be able to shop during traffic jams… and be upset when I can’t.
59) I may comment about the weather in every conversation.
60) I might wear a belly chain with beads because I’ll think it’s sexy.
61) I may call you just to say “Hello.” And then just hang up after without saying goodbye.
62) I may treat every meal like an eating contest to see who can finish first. I will not speak during this contest.
63) I may filter my water forevermore.
64) I may eat an unhealthy amount of mangos.
65) I might not hate children as much as I did when I left. Or I might hate them more. It’s still unclear.
66) I might be used to the sound of children getting beaten and therefore get rejected when applying for a job at child protective services.
67) I might beat your kids if they don’t greet me.
68) I might have to buy a whole new wardrobe, as I’m sure nothing will fit anymore.
69) I might not be deathly afraid of mice.
70) I may appreciate that lizards eat all the other bugs I hate.
71) I may come to believe that climate control in a motor vehicle means ability to roll down the window.
72) I may hang curtains in the back seats of my next car, in order to keep out the sun and heat.
73) I may think that stickers of old men I don’t know are a valuable art form that should be displayed both in the house and all over my car.
74) I might be confused when the next election happens promptly and there are legitimate opposing candidates to the current president.
75) I might wear what you will assume to be my pajamas in public.
76) I might prefer large bulky metal jewelry that incorporates the shape of balls.
77) I may ask everyone I meet if they have a husband/ wife- and if not offer to set them up.
78) I might forget the meaning of personal space.
79) I may confuse a gay couple for brothers or sisters, because I might forget that gay is an actual preference and not something that “DOES NOT EXIST.”
80) I might repeat your last name 5 to 10 times when I see you because I think it is a sign of respect.
81) I may secretly text someone else if I decide to spend the night anywhere other than my house; and I will think it’s for my own safety.
82) I may expect to hear about public demonstrations and riots throughout the country via text message.
83) I might be confused if, when asked how you are. you reply with anything other than “I’m here” or “I’m in peace only.”
84) I may add an insane amount of sugar to my coffee, tea and juices.
85) I might find a way to add onions to every meal.
86) I might obsessively keep notes on blog ideas.
87) I might complain that US currency is not color and size coded.
88) I may tell you that you know nothing if you do not understand something I try to explain.
89) I may be nervous and panicked when left alone.
90) I may likely change all my cloths regardless of who is in the room, and without closing the door.
91) I might try to order café Touba (which tastes like a mixture of chai tea and coffee) at Starbucks.
92) I may complain that there is a serious lack of decent tailors.
93) I might assume that although you live near water, you have no idea how to swim.
94) I may sit on the floor when you have me over and tell me dinner is ready.
95) I might leave my shoes on when entering the house, but take them off when entering the sitting room.
96) I might be depressed when the power goes out, assuming I won’t be able to sleep at night.
97) I might have a stock pile of candles and matches, because I assume the power will go out.
98) I might take time off of work to celebrate holidays according to other religions.
99) I might be disappointed that I can’t go to church to listen to good music and tune out the rest.
100) I might miss Senegal.
Sunday, April 11
Have I Met A Guy???
A number of people have asked me if I’ve met a guy here. The short of it is, yes.
I’ve met the 6 men in my family, all my neighbors, the guys at the post and mayor’s office, the teachers at the school, the men who run the cyber café and even the friends of friends at the boutique. I’ve met them all, and quite frankly, the search for Mr. Right continues.
Some qualities I’ve figured out I don’t appreciate:
• asks me to marry him within 5 minutes of knowing him,
• has someone else ask me to marry him—ever,
• asks me for money,
• gets offended because I refuse to respond to cat calls,
• has no idea how to cook,
• thinks sweeping (or cleaning of any form) is beneath him,
• is under the impression I’m looking to spend the rest of my life financially supporting him,
• has, or believes in having, multiple wives,
• beeps me (calls and hangs up before I can answer) constantly and actually expects me to call back,
• thinks I’m an idiot just because I don’t speak his language,
• expects me to have children,
I think that covers most of my recent epiphanies, but what about the nice normal American guys in Peace Corps? It is true that there are decent men here; attractive, like-minded, and lacking qualities above. But alas, there are still barriers… Remember your last college relationship (where a date is getting drunk at a house party and going back to bunk beds to pass out) because that’s what dating a PCV is like… and I’ll pass. Am I alone here?
I’ve met the 6 men in my family, all my neighbors, the guys at the post and mayor’s office, the teachers at the school, the men who run the cyber café and even the friends of friends at the boutique. I’ve met them all, and quite frankly, the search for Mr. Right continues.
Some qualities I’ve figured out I don’t appreciate:
• asks me to marry him within 5 minutes of knowing him,
• has someone else ask me to marry him—ever,
• asks me for money,
• gets offended because I refuse to respond to cat calls,
• has no idea how to cook,
• thinks sweeping (or cleaning of any form) is beneath him,
• is under the impression I’m looking to spend the rest of my life financially supporting him,
• has, or believes in having, multiple wives,
• beeps me (calls and hangs up before I can answer) constantly and actually expects me to call back,
• thinks I’m an idiot just because I don’t speak his language,
• expects me to have children,
I think that covers most of my recent epiphanies, but what about the nice normal American guys in Peace Corps? It is true that there are decent men here; attractive, like-minded, and lacking qualities above. But alas, there are still barriers… Remember your last college relationship (where a date is getting drunk at a house party and going back to bunk beds to pass out) because that’s what dating a PCV is like… and I’ll pass. Am I alone here?
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, March 28
Teaching English
Second grade is the time when one learns the concept of short and long vowels. I never learned this. I don’t remember circumstances- if I wasn’t there or if I never understood the lesson- but I do remember the embarrassment of not knowing this simple concept. Honestly, I still don’t quite get it. The point is that for the rest of my public school education I told myself I wanted to be a teacher. I wasn’t going to let another kid feel left out like I had.
Then one day I realized I didn’t like kids, and threw the whole teaching idea out the window.
And I later moved to Senegal. Here, my predecessor introduced me to one of his work partners, the headmaster at the local Catholic school. Pierre is a very motivated guy. He believes in shaking up the system, doing everything for the kids, and making the important things happen no matter the cost. He’s not only the headmaster but also a full time teacher.
So, when he asked if I could spend an hour a week with his class giving them an intro to English class, I accepted. He explained that the kids wouldn’t start learning English for another few years when they got to high school, but that he thinks it’s an important language and that the kids would be more excited to learn it from an “expert.”
I was scared. I’m no expert. And having given up the teaching idea long ago, my head is filled with business concepts and models- not grammar and vocabulary. The first day, I drew from my recent Peace Corps experience of learning new languages and started to nervously rattle out greetings and responses. Pierre stayed in the class with me that day helping to keep the kids under control and reminding me to help them with pronunciation.
After the first day I had a migraine. I tried to get a beer with Devin, my predecessor, but threw it up. I went to bed at 6p. The second time, I had a simple headache but it didn’t derange my night. The third time I started to worry more about the content of my lessons.
The thing is, the kids were really starting to show an interest. One week I showed up to school to find every class room completely empty except the one with my kids. The kids were sitting quietly at their desks, notebooks and pens out, and patiently waiting for me. When I asked what was going on I was told that they’d spent the whole week studying for a national exam equivalent to the stress level of the MEAP in Michigan or perhaps like the SATs for grade school kids. But when Pierre asked them if they wanted their usual Friday afternoon English class at the end of their long week, they insisted, even though every other kid in the country got the rest of the day off. I was blown away.
It was officially time for me to take an active role in teaching these kids. So I went to the Peace Corps resource library in Dakar and found some books on teaching English. I checked one out related to teaching with on a zero budget. I started a notebook with activities and lesson topics tailored to my beginner’s level class. I’m trying to organize a pen pal program with a school back in the states, which the kids are really excited about.
Not wanting, or having the authority, to give an exam I recently organized our first review session into a game of Pictionary. The winning team walked away with brand new pens (thanks to a care package from home). The kids loved it!
I don’t know how much I’ll be able to accomplish in the rest of this school year, or even next year, but I’m excited. I’m excited to find new and interesting ways to present my language (and yes, some culture too). I’m excited to motivate people in my town. I’m excited to have a side project to all my business plans. And I’m even a little excited that I don’t totally hate the kids. Ok, maybe just thankful, but still… it’s cool, right?
Then one day I realized I didn’t like kids, and threw the whole teaching idea out the window.
And I later moved to Senegal. Here, my predecessor introduced me to one of his work partners, the headmaster at the local Catholic school. Pierre is a very motivated guy. He believes in shaking up the system, doing everything for the kids, and making the important things happen no matter the cost. He’s not only the headmaster but also a full time teacher.
So, when he asked if I could spend an hour a week with his class giving them an intro to English class, I accepted. He explained that the kids wouldn’t start learning English for another few years when they got to high school, but that he thinks it’s an important language and that the kids would be more excited to learn it from an “expert.”
I was scared. I’m no expert. And having given up the teaching idea long ago, my head is filled with business concepts and models- not grammar and vocabulary. The first day, I drew from my recent Peace Corps experience of learning new languages and started to nervously rattle out greetings and responses. Pierre stayed in the class with me that day helping to keep the kids under control and reminding me to help them with pronunciation.
After the first day I had a migraine. I tried to get a beer with Devin, my predecessor, but threw it up. I went to bed at 6p. The second time, I had a simple headache but it didn’t derange my night. The third time I started to worry more about the content of my lessons.
The thing is, the kids were really starting to show an interest. One week I showed up to school to find every class room completely empty except the one with my kids. The kids were sitting quietly at their desks, notebooks and pens out, and patiently waiting for me. When I asked what was going on I was told that they’d spent the whole week studying for a national exam equivalent to the stress level of the MEAP in Michigan or perhaps like the SATs for grade school kids. But when Pierre asked them if they wanted their usual Friday afternoon English class at the end of their long week, they insisted, even though every other kid in the country got the rest of the day off. I was blown away.
It was officially time for me to take an active role in teaching these kids. So I went to the Peace Corps resource library in Dakar and found some books on teaching English. I checked one out related to teaching with on a zero budget. I started a notebook with activities and lesson topics tailored to my beginner’s level class. I’m trying to organize a pen pal program with a school back in the states, which the kids are really excited about.
Not wanting, or having the authority, to give an exam I recently organized our first review session into a game of Pictionary. The winning team walked away with brand new pens (thanks to a care package from home). The kids loved it!
I don’t know how much I’ll be able to accomplish in the rest of this school year, or even next year, but I’m excited. I’m excited to find new and interesting ways to present my language (and yes, some culture too). I’m excited to motivate people in my town. I’m excited to have a side project to all my business plans. And I’m even a little excited that I don’t totally hate the kids. Ok, maybe just thankful, but still… it’s cool, right?
Sunday, March 21
WAIST
WAIST (or West African Invitational Softball Tournament) is an excellently masked excuse to gather mass amounts of Americans in the biggest city in West Africa for a long weekend of pure debauchery (none of which can be fully described without naming names).
Peace Corps has by far the largest turnout with volunteers coming from Niger, Mali, Burkina Faso, Ghana, Mauritania, Benin, Gambia, and of course Senegal. But also in attendance are embassy, NGO, and UN workers who work very hard to have American products shipped in for consumption: hot dogs, cheeseburgers, candy bars and other packaged lunch snacks. Booze is available at all hours.
Teams are formed between coworkers and countries, and team uniforms are generated. This year my team of Dakar regional PC volunteers dressed as wrestlers... and accompanying us were teams of cave men, country club members, lumberjack, mimes, bums from unnamed countries, and more. A social league runs a parallel tournament to the more competitive bunch but in the end the trophies are the same size, though neither rest with my team.
Between games, we caught rays of sun and drinks by the pool. Any partying not accomplished by day (pesky game schedule!) is more than made up for at night. A well organized schedule of events scattered across the weekend and Dakar included: open mic night downtown, date auction at the home of the US marines, mingling at the local hotspot, all night dancing at the club on the beach, and culminating in an awards banquet resembling homecoming in both attire and venue (high school gym, I kid you not!).
It’s no wonder why volunteers dream, long for, and anticipate this event throughout the year; reminiscent of Christmas to a 3 year old. A documentary has even been made in homage this time-honored fest. And I too count the days until next February…
Peace Corps has by far the largest turnout with volunteers coming from Niger, Mali, Burkina Faso, Ghana, Mauritania, Benin, Gambia, and of course Senegal. But also in attendance are embassy, NGO, and UN workers who work very hard to have American products shipped in for consumption: hot dogs, cheeseburgers, candy bars and other packaged lunch snacks. Booze is available at all hours.
Teams are formed between coworkers and countries, and team uniforms are generated. This year my team of Dakar regional PC volunteers dressed as wrestlers... and accompanying us were teams of cave men, country club members, lumberjack, mimes, bums from unnamed countries, and more. A social league runs a parallel tournament to the more competitive bunch but in the end the trophies are the same size, though neither rest with my team.
Between games, we caught rays of sun and drinks by the pool. Any partying not accomplished by day (pesky game schedule!) is more than made up for at night. A well organized schedule of events scattered across the weekend and Dakar included: open mic night downtown, date auction at the home of the US marines, mingling at the local hotspot, all night dancing at the club on the beach, and culminating in an awards banquet resembling homecoming in both attire and venue (high school gym, I kid you not!).
It’s no wonder why volunteers dream, long for, and anticipate this event throughout the year; reminiscent of Christmas to a 3 year old. A documentary has even been made in homage this time-honored fest. And I too count the days until next February…
Sunday, March 14
Ode to Christine
I've actually spent the last month away from Mboro. I have enough obsessive compulsive disorder in me to have created blogs in advance of my departure and schedule them to post at a specific time each week, so as not to interrupt the entertaining stream of blog fun.
But in actuality I was gallivanting Senegal for a month partaking of a variety of activities such as: cool graoul (monthly ex-pat party), super bowl party (and somehow I didn't actually watch it!), learning how to create a perma-garden, All Volunteer Conference- for all Peace Corps volunteers in West Africa, WAIST (West African International Softball Tournament), and almost 3 weeks of IST (or in-service training). While I didn't always have internet, I did have a plethora of free time to spend getting to know and enjoying my fellow volunteers. I made some new friends (I hope) and began to really appreciate my current ones.
The culmination of this extravaganza was the long car ride home tonight with my neighbor and best friend in country, Christine. Between conversation topics, it dawned on me that we're making amazing memories daily... and we're doing it together. Some days Christine gets on my nerves and me on hers or the Senegalese get on both our nerves, but thus far we've weathered it together and are closer because of that. At some point we'll leave Senegal, but we'll be friends for a very long time. One could even have a Mefloquine dream about what she’d say to my wedding videographer’s candid camera.
So here’s to freak-out text messages, hysterical phone calls, PC crushes, club 84, tequila on the grave or that actually is Patron, gravy mishaps, “AM,” steps that trip you out of no-where, Christmas in paradise, wrestler shopping trips, bunk sharing, and all of my future favorite memories. Here’s to my partner in the sand box, Christine.
But in actuality I was gallivanting Senegal for a month partaking of a variety of activities such as: cool graoul (monthly ex-pat party), super bowl party (and somehow I didn't actually watch it!), learning how to create a perma-garden, All Volunteer Conference- for all Peace Corps volunteers in West Africa, WAIST (West African International Softball Tournament), and almost 3 weeks of IST (or in-service training). While I didn't always have internet, I did have a plethora of free time to spend getting to know and enjoying my fellow volunteers. I made some new friends (I hope) and began to really appreciate my current ones.
The culmination of this extravaganza was the long car ride home tonight with my neighbor and best friend in country, Christine. Between conversation topics, it dawned on me that we're making amazing memories daily... and we're doing it together. Some days Christine gets on my nerves and me on hers or the Senegalese get on both our nerves, but thus far we've weathered it together and are closer because of that. At some point we'll leave Senegal, but we'll be friends for a very long time. One could even have a Mefloquine dream about what she’d say to my wedding videographer’s candid camera.
So here’s to freak-out text messages, hysterical phone calls, PC crushes, club 84, tequila on the grave or that actually is Patron, gravy mishaps, “AM,” steps that trip you out of no-where, Christmas in paradise, wrestler shopping trips, bunk sharing, and all of my future favorite memories. Here’s to my partner in the sand box, Christine.
Sunday, March 7
What Hobbies?
Before I left, there were a number of different interviews to join the PC. One face to face, and quite a few more via telephone. If memory serves, in every one of them I was asked how I was going to cope with the stresses of this new job. I can't remember my answers specifically, but I'm sure it was nothing those guys in DC hadn't heard before: something about finding new hobbies or keeping up with my old ones.
Well, my old stress releasing hobbies included watching movies, tennis, working out, reading, and cooking. After I've been here nearly 6 months, I can effectively determine which of these will work, and which wont. There is a tennis court in the westernized neighborhood, but as I didn't bring my racket and I haven't met anyone else who plays... we're out of luck there. And speaking of workout in general, there's no gym per se here so I'm left to my own devices (not the best scenario). The PC bike I was issued isn't useful in the land of sand. And as it is so hot, I'm considering a modified version of bichrem yoga (heat provided by Mama Africa).
There is a mild shortage of reading material. There are books, but this requires 1) reading in french or 2) going to the PC library- out of Mboro- and trading out on a regular basis. Who has the time for that? I could get an online subscription, but that costs money. For now, I'll keep reading, but at a reduced pace, utilizing the library and Google news. Movies are a little more readily available. There is an underground trading of movies throughout PC, and now that I have a very large external hard drive (thanks Dad) I am building a database of my favorite movies and TV shows to keep myself entertained.
And lastly, cooking. I'm fairly certain that my family not only doesn't believe that I've lived alone before, but they also are sure I can't cook. I've made things for them. I've explained that I lived alone. I even talk about recipes and preparation methods with my mom. They still don't trust me. I can cook when I go to PC regional houses out of Mboro, but again that's a vacation time scenario. Occasionally, I can force my hand at home (when fish is being served for everyone else) if I jump in before my mom and start making something, but that doesn't happen often as I do try to work a lot.
OK, at this point I have movies, some reading, potential yoga (although I'd need to find a mat), and sporadic cooking experiences. It's time to find other hobbies. Preferably something involving motion as movies already covers the sitting on my butt style. A few weeks back I was feeling particularly bored and guilty for sitting in my room for hours at a time during the afternoon, so I grabbed my camera and started taking pictures of my brother. Then I wandered around outside and took a few more shots. The next day I started walking around town taking photos. I did this a few more times, even going to the market with my mom one day. I rather enjoyed myself- though I took a lot of boring stupid shots- because I did accidentally find some really cool things to shoot, played with the old beat up camera figuring out some different techniques, and got myself out of the house. Aside from the nice long walks, and people I got to meet because of this activity, I found out that my town is creating a website and there is the potential that some of my pictures could be utilized there. Score.
Other possibilities I'm considering are joining the church choir (because they have a keyboard I could potential borrow), but I have a feeling that requires a certain amount of religious commitment I'm not thrilled about. Or there's taking up running in the wee hours of the daylight. I hate running. Perhaps I can skip trying cooking myself meals, and start baking desserts or breakfast items. I suppose that one could also consider blog writing to be a new hobby, though I frequently find myself mildly stressed at the self-imposed "one entry per week" mandate and the constant reminder the back of my mind to be on the look out for discussion topics. But what's a girl to do? Gotta keep the folks apprised of the situation.
Well, my old stress releasing hobbies included watching movies, tennis, working out, reading, and cooking. After I've been here nearly 6 months, I can effectively determine which of these will work, and which wont. There is a tennis court in the westernized neighborhood, but as I didn't bring my racket and I haven't met anyone else who plays... we're out of luck there. And speaking of workout in general, there's no gym per se here so I'm left to my own devices (not the best scenario). The PC bike I was issued isn't useful in the land of sand. And as it is so hot, I'm considering a modified version of bichrem yoga (heat provided by Mama Africa).
There is a mild shortage of reading material. There are books, but this requires 1) reading in french or 2) going to the PC library- out of Mboro- and trading out on a regular basis. Who has the time for that? I could get an online subscription, but that costs money. For now, I'll keep reading, but at a reduced pace, utilizing the library and Google news. Movies are a little more readily available. There is an underground trading of movies throughout PC, and now that I have a very large external hard drive (thanks Dad) I am building a database of my favorite movies and TV shows to keep myself entertained.
And lastly, cooking. I'm fairly certain that my family not only doesn't believe that I've lived alone before, but they also are sure I can't cook. I've made things for them. I've explained that I lived alone. I even talk about recipes and preparation methods with my mom. They still don't trust me. I can cook when I go to PC regional houses out of Mboro, but again that's a vacation time scenario. Occasionally, I can force my hand at home (when fish is being served for everyone else) if I jump in before my mom and start making something, but that doesn't happen often as I do try to work a lot.
OK, at this point I have movies, some reading, potential yoga (although I'd need to find a mat), and sporadic cooking experiences. It's time to find other hobbies. Preferably something involving motion as movies already covers the sitting on my butt style. A few weeks back I was feeling particularly bored and guilty for sitting in my room for hours at a time during the afternoon, so I grabbed my camera and started taking pictures of my brother. Then I wandered around outside and took a few more shots. The next day I started walking around town taking photos. I did this a few more times, even going to the market with my mom one day. I rather enjoyed myself- though I took a lot of boring stupid shots- because I did accidentally find some really cool things to shoot, played with the old beat up camera figuring out some different techniques, and got myself out of the house. Aside from the nice long walks, and people I got to meet because of this activity, I found out that my town is creating a website and there is the potential that some of my pictures could be utilized there. Score.
Other possibilities I'm considering are joining the church choir (because they have a keyboard I could potential borrow), but I have a feeling that requires a certain amount of religious commitment I'm not thrilled about. Or there's taking up running in the wee hours of the daylight. I hate running. Perhaps I can skip trying cooking myself meals, and start baking desserts or breakfast items. I suppose that one could also consider blog writing to be a new hobby, though I frequently find myself mildly stressed at the self-imposed "one entry per week" mandate and the constant reminder the back of my mind to be on the look out for discussion topics. But what's a girl to do? Gotta keep the folks apprised of the situation.
Sunday, February 28
Emotional States of Volunteerism
The bullet points of this outline are directly copied, or paraphrased, from a Peace Corps handbook, entitled A Few Minor Adjustments, I got just before leaving. And although I read it then, its meaning is a lot more personal now. My personal thoughts are added in parenthesis.
Chapter One. A New Country.
(At this stage you are adjusting to:)
A) The Climate.
B) The Food.
C) The New Community.
D) The Loss of Language.
E) The Lack of Amenities.
F) The Loss of Routines.
G) At this stage you feel: alone, culture shock. (Outside of that, I personally would include: frustrated, bitter, hungry, sick, and depressed.)
Chapter Two. Pre-Service Training (PST) Experience.
A) Strangers.
B) Not in Control. During training, your time- and, indeed, your life- are not your own.
C) Living with a Host Family... is a constant adjustment.
D) More... is More. (Someone once said during our training "We're always on" meaning there's no end of the day, and going home from work to what is familiar.)
E) Guilt. (Here is where they say I felt guilty for hating the process because everything was just for me. But truthfully I had so many other emotions that this never happened for me. Was I cold hearted, or just exhausted?)
Chapter Three. Settling In.
A) The vanishing Americans. (I think they mean the revelation that I'm now alone.)
B) Talking Points. Another surprise you may have during settling in is to discover that your language skills aren't as good as you thought.
C) Culture Lab. (If PST was a lab in which to experiment with trial and many errors, that lab is now gone along with the people who were so forgiving.)
D) Cooking? No One Said Anything About Cooking! Another discovery that awaits you during settling in is how many things were done for you during training, things that you now realize you've never had to do in-country. (Cooking, laundry, shopping, etc).
E) The Culture of PST. (A daily routine that is now over; time to make yet another new one.)
F) Slow Starting.
G) Where Are the Hardships? (This isn't true for me either. While I joke that I'm in the Posh Corps, I still recognize that there are challenges of a different nature that I may NOT have initially expected, but I am now dealing with.)
H) But This Isn't What I Expected! (Didn't I just say that?)
Chapter Four. A New Culture.
A) Culture As Behavior. (Culture is expressed through behavior.)
B) Intellect and Emotions. Information is a tool, a necessary, but by no means sufficient, condition for successful adjustment. You can understand the notion intellectually and, at the same time, fail utterly to appreciate the true meaning.
C) Predicting the Behavior of Host Country Nationals.
D) Accepting Host Country Behavior.
E) Changing Your Own Behavior. Effective PC services requires not only that you predict and get used to host country nationals, but that you adjust your own behavior so that you don't offend them. (Easier said than done.)
F) Cultural Sensitivity. (I don't have to like it, but I do have to live with it... and not step on any toes.)
G) Can I Still Be Me? ...when being you may not be appreciated or understood in the local culture, you will have to stand your ground.
H) The Possibility of Friendship. (Where does culture stop and one's personality begin?)
Chapter Five. The World of Work.
A) Culture: A New Ingredient. (As if a normal new job wasn't enough to deal with, add a new country's culture.)
B) Common Culprits.
i) The Concept of Power. (The US is a low power distance country where, in general, rank isn't pulled, special status doesn't exist, and people work independent from bosses. Senegal is the opposite, a high power distance country.)
ii) Cultural Dichotomies. (The American view: treat everyone equally and then anyone can achieve their desires. Senegalese version: treat those closest to you better than others; doing all you can takes you only so far, and the rest is a matter of good fortune.)
iii) Direct and Indirect Communication Styles. (They are way too many difference to get specific.)
iv) The Pace of Events. (Picture that story about the tortoise and the hair... I'm the tortoise right now.)
C) Trust Me. The issue here isn't whether you're liked or appreciated or whether your credentials are adequate or whether your intentions are good. Its a matter of trust and credibility, which can only come over time.
D) Adjusting On (and to) the Job.
E) Structural Challenges. (What exactly is my job description?)
F) Agents of Change. You like to think that when you leave your host country things will not be quite the same as you found them.
Chapters Six. The Peace Corps Experience.
...You seek a profound encounter with a foreign culture, a series of experiences that change forever the way you think about the world, your own country, and yourself. You expect to be challenged, to have your patience and your mettle tested, to be pulled, pushed, or otherwise forced into new ways of thinking and behaving. (Their point is that given this, don't spend all your time with other ex-pats and minimize this experience.)
Chapters Seven. Coming Home.
A) The Notion of Home. Neither the place where you left off nor the person who went overseas exists anymore. (Home is where the routine is.)
B) How Nice. Your self-esteem isn't helped when no one seems especially interested in what you've been doing for the past two years. (Maybe this blog isn't such a good idea...)
C) A Face in the Crowd. (I'm not the only white person that people want to stare at?)
D) Back to Normal.
E) Back to Work.
F) Home Alone. (There is no neighboring volunteer, who just went through the same thing yesterday, to call when I'm totally freaking out.)
G) The Stages of Readjustment.
i) Excitement and Joy.
ii) Get On With Your Life. (The idea of moving back into the old life, and won't that diminish what I've just gone through?)
iii) Make Your Peace.
H) Think Back.
Needless to say, I'm somewhere in the middle of Chapters 4, 5 & 6. And I'll probably be there for the next year and a half. But I do remember from my study abroad program that Chapter 7 was pretty hard too. But then again, I've always said that Italy was the best thing I've ever done with my life. So I guess Peace Corps will be competing for number one on the list now.
Chapter One. A New Country.
(At this stage you are adjusting to:)
A) The Climate.
B) The Food.
C) The New Community.
D) The Loss of Language.
E) The Lack of Amenities.
F) The Loss of Routines.
G) At this stage you feel: alone, culture shock. (Outside of that, I personally would include: frustrated, bitter, hungry, sick, and depressed.)
Chapter Two. Pre-Service Training (PST) Experience.
A) Strangers.
B) Not in Control. During training, your time- and, indeed, your life- are not your own.
C) Living with a Host Family... is a constant adjustment.
D) More... is More. (Someone once said during our training "We're always on" meaning there's no end of the day, and going home from work to what is familiar.)
E) Guilt. (Here is where they say I felt guilty for hating the process because everything was just for me. But truthfully I had so many other emotions that this never happened for me. Was I cold hearted, or just exhausted?)
Chapter Three. Settling In.
A) The vanishing Americans. (I think they mean the revelation that I'm now alone.)
B) Talking Points. Another surprise you may have during settling in is to discover that your language skills aren't as good as you thought.
C) Culture Lab. (If PST was a lab in which to experiment with trial and many errors, that lab is now gone along with the people who were so forgiving.)
D) Cooking? No One Said Anything About Cooking! Another discovery that awaits you during settling in is how many things were done for you during training, things that you now realize you've never had to do in-country. (Cooking, laundry, shopping, etc).
E) The Culture of PST. (A daily routine that is now over; time to make yet another new one.)
F) Slow Starting.
G) Where Are the Hardships? (This isn't true for me either. While I joke that I'm in the Posh Corps, I still recognize that there are challenges of a different nature that I may NOT have initially expected, but I am now dealing with.)
H) But This Isn't What I Expected! (Didn't I just say that?)
Chapter Four. A New Culture.
A) Culture As Behavior. (Culture is expressed through behavior.)
B) Intellect and Emotions. Information is a tool, a necessary, but by no means sufficient, condition for successful adjustment. You can understand the notion intellectually and, at the same time, fail utterly to appreciate the true meaning.
C) Predicting the Behavior of Host Country Nationals.
D) Accepting Host Country Behavior.
E) Changing Your Own Behavior. Effective PC services requires not only that you predict and get used to host country nationals, but that you adjust your own behavior so that you don't offend them. (Easier said than done.)
F) Cultural Sensitivity. (I don't have to like it, but I do have to live with it... and not step on any toes.)
G) Can I Still Be Me? ...when being you may not be appreciated or understood in the local culture, you will have to stand your ground.
H) The Possibility of Friendship. (Where does culture stop and one's personality begin?)
Chapter Five. The World of Work.
A) Culture: A New Ingredient. (As if a normal new job wasn't enough to deal with, add a new country's culture.)
B) Common Culprits.
i) The Concept of Power. (The US is a low power distance country where, in general, rank isn't pulled, special status doesn't exist, and people work independent from bosses. Senegal is the opposite, a high power distance country.)
ii) Cultural Dichotomies. (The American view: treat everyone equally and then anyone can achieve their desires. Senegalese version: treat those closest to you better than others; doing all you can takes you only so far, and the rest is a matter of good fortune.)
iii) Direct and Indirect Communication Styles. (They are way too many difference to get specific.)
iv) The Pace of Events. (Picture that story about the tortoise and the hair... I'm the tortoise right now.)
C) Trust Me. The issue here isn't whether you're liked or appreciated or whether your credentials are adequate or whether your intentions are good. Its a matter of trust and credibility, which can only come over time.
D) Adjusting On (and to) the Job.
E) Structural Challenges. (What exactly is my job description?)
F) Agents of Change. You like to think that when you leave your host country things will not be quite the same as you found them.
Chapters Six. The Peace Corps Experience.
...You seek a profound encounter with a foreign culture, a series of experiences that change forever the way you think about the world, your own country, and yourself. You expect to be challenged, to have your patience and your mettle tested, to be pulled, pushed, or otherwise forced into new ways of thinking and behaving. (Their point is that given this, don't spend all your time with other ex-pats and minimize this experience.)
Chapters Seven. Coming Home.
A) The Notion of Home. Neither the place where you left off nor the person who went overseas exists anymore. (Home is where the routine is.)
B) How Nice. Your self-esteem isn't helped when no one seems especially interested in what you've been doing for the past two years. (Maybe this blog isn't such a good idea...)
C) A Face in the Crowd. (I'm not the only white person that people want to stare at?)
D) Back to Normal.
E) Back to Work.
F) Home Alone. (There is no neighboring volunteer, who just went through the same thing yesterday, to call when I'm totally freaking out.)
G) The Stages of Readjustment.
i) Excitement and Joy.
ii) Get On With Your Life. (The idea of moving back into the old life, and won't that diminish what I've just gone through?)
iii) Make Your Peace.
H) Think Back.
Needless to say, I'm somewhere in the middle of Chapters 4, 5 & 6. And I'll probably be there for the next year and a half. But I do remember from my study abroad program that Chapter 7 was pretty hard too. But then again, I've always said that Italy was the best thing I've ever done with my life. So I guess Peace Corps will be competing for number one on the list now.
Sunday, February 21
African Friends & Money Matters
I first read African Friends and Money Matters just after install. At the time a few points stood out, but I kept mentally coming back to one specifically. The idea is that, in Africa, knowledge is guarded while possessions are shared. From the moment we got off the plane, and I noticed the women a few rows in front of me using the in-flight blanket to carry her baby off said plane, it just the beginning to the awareness that personal property was a loosely defined term on this continent. But what I didn’t notice was how little information was shared.
This could have been because we were in Peace Corps training; where information was spit at us from left and right. But when the lessons were over, and quality time with the host family began, I was too tired to miss the lack of substantive information being passed around. Daily happenings on my street, the weather and accompanying climate changes, and whether or not the maid was doing a good job in the house were common topics. What was missing was the pertinent stuff like when we were eating meals, how profitable was my mother’s vegetable stand, and what I would be doing here in Senegal.
The idea that those last topics are highly valuable information that should be guarded with extreme care was beyond me. If everyone knew what time dinner was in the States, then they’d be sure not to intrude then. Family time is important, and one would not want to impose where they were not invited. In Africa, knowing the schedule is an open invitation to sit down for the meal. But social hospitality isn’t the issue. The issue is those that are always looking for a free meal where vegetables and meat are expensive commodities.
Likewise, the profitability of the vegetable stand would be readily discussed between Western friends and family. We are a culture of seeking free advice, and value the opinions and ideas of those closest to us; therefore we would open up about the status of our business as yet another opportunity to engage in such an exchange. But for the African entrepreneur, if a stand is doing well then family and friends will find a need to ask for money or resources. And if the stand is doing poorly, there is certainly no advice to be gained from saying so.
And lastly, my work in Senegal is what Westerners consider a conversation starter. This is why I’m here; this is what I hope to do. I’m excited- nay, proud- to tell people I’m here to share my business savvy in hopes of helping them to better their lives. In my case, it’s also a subtle message that says “I’m looking for work.” I’m here for you and here’s an opportunity to mention your shop, stand, or profession and seek free advice (which we not only love to get but also love to give). Though, again, in Africa my host family couldn’t have appeared less interested in why I was here. Perhaps to them, that seemed like an invasion where it is not socially appropriate seek knowledge from another. And I suppose I made them uncomfortable by sharing.
They say knowledge is power, but I think Africans take this more literally than Westerners. After enlightening myself to the above thoughts, I imagine a secondary goal in my time here: to illustrate that knowledge is a resource that can be both valuable and shared for communal benefit. Knowledge may be power, but ability to share knowledge could be more powerful.
This could have been because we were in Peace Corps training; where information was spit at us from left and right. But when the lessons were over, and quality time with the host family began, I was too tired to miss the lack of substantive information being passed around. Daily happenings on my street, the weather and accompanying climate changes, and whether or not the maid was doing a good job in the house were common topics. What was missing was the pertinent stuff like when we were eating meals, how profitable was my mother’s vegetable stand, and what I would be doing here in Senegal.
The idea that those last topics are highly valuable information that should be guarded with extreme care was beyond me. If everyone knew what time dinner was in the States, then they’d be sure not to intrude then. Family time is important, and one would not want to impose where they were not invited. In Africa, knowing the schedule is an open invitation to sit down for the meal. But social hospitality isn’t the issue. The issue is those that are always looking for a free meal where vegetables and meat are expensive commodities.
Likewise, the profitability of the vegetable stand would be readily discussed between Western friends and family. We are a culture of seeking free advice, and value the opinions and ideas of those closest to us; therefore we would open up about the status of our business as yet another opportunity to engage in such an exchange. But for the African entrepreneur, if a stand is doing well then family and friends will find a need to ask for money or resources. And if the stand is doing poorly, there is certainly no advice to be gained from saying so.
And lastly, my work in Senegal is what Westerners consider a conversation starter. This is why I’m here; this is what I hope to do. I’m excited- nay, proud- to tell people I’m here to share my business savvy in hopes of helping them to better their lives. In my case, it’s also a subtle message that says “I’m looking for work.” I’m here for you and here’s an opportunity to mention your shop, stand, or profession and seek free advice (which we not only love to get but also love to give). Though, again, in Africa my host family couldn’t have appeared less interested in why I was here. Perhaps to them, that seemed like an invasion where it is not socially appropriate seek knowledge from another. And I suppose I made them uncomfortable by sharing.
They say knowledge is power, but I think Africans take this more literally than Westerners. After enlightening myself to the above thoughts, I imagine a secondary goal in my time here: to illustrate that knowledge is a resource that can be both valuable and shared for communal benefit. Knowledge may be power, but ability to share knowledge could be more powerful.
Sunday, February 14
25 Random African Things
1) I do my laundry daily and by hand.
2) I can deal with mosquitoes, flies, cockroaches, lizards, and spiders... but I'm drawing the line at mice. And perhaps the bigger lizards.
3) It's an art to be able to sleep through the 5:15a call to pray from the local mosques, which are broadcast over loud speaker throughout the whole city. Luckily, I was able to train during Ramadan, when the mosques broadcast song and prier 24/7.
4) I refuse to respond to hissing, "Hey, my sister," or even "Toubab" (white ghost person) if you're older than 5 years old. It's rude and you know better.
5) Mefloquine (anti-Malaria prophylaxis) makes me crazy with paranoia, and I have occasional insomnia. I also loose my hair, and am overly prone to extremities going numb.
6) I love that African mustard tastes like mayo and wasabi mixed together but looks deceptively like the boring yellow stuff.
7) I miss my dog, because pets don't exist here. Sheep and chickens are referred to as assets or future meals.
8) I'm concerned there is karma in the fact that I live with 6 boys ranging from 2 to 17 years old, as anyone who knows me knows that I am not fond of children.
9) Given the 9 other people (6 boys, 2 parents, and a maid) I share a shower with, multiplied by 3 showers a day, it's amazing that I rarely have to wait in line.
10) Missing the unexpected things is hardest: new babies, deaths, weddings, etc. Why are so many people suddenly getting engaged? The upside is that there are a lot of all three here.
11) Mashed potatoes are called puree in french. Here they have the consistency of having been through a blender with milk and butter; but are still awesome. I'm working on a skin-on American chunky style with my Mom, but it might take a while.
12) The fruit here tastes at least 3 times better than at home; mango, watermelon, grapefruit, ditax; but not so much with the oranges (which are actually green, and I feel a sign).
13) Male Peace Corps volunteers generally don't wear their shirts. Women in the north don't always wear them either (or so I'm told).
14) One can only get 4 kinds of beer in Senegal: Flag and Gazelle (brewed locally), Castel and Dutch Royal. I prefer Gazelle with lime; tastes like Corona.
15) If your right hand is dirty when someone goes to shake it, the person will instead grasp your right wrist. There's no getting out of shaking hands.
16) People wear scarves and ski hats/masks in the "winter." It's only 75 degrees.
17) Mass transit is decorated with the phrase "Thanks be to God," in Arabic though spelled out with Latin letters, which I take to mean "Dear God, please let us make it..."
18) I'm trying to teach my 2 year old brother where Senegal is on the world map, but he keeps pointing to Brazil. Hmm...
19) Its easier to say that I'm allergic to fish then to explain that the taste of if makes me throw up. Either way, the point gets across, I don't eat it.
20) When traveling, the car may look like something Americans would've scrapped 15 years ago, has rust holes all the way through the door, no cushion left on the seats, and probably no crank to open the window... but by god, the people have their best cloths pressed, hair done, makeup fresh, and perfectly matching accessories. A confusing sight for sure.
21) Window shopping is simply not done. You don't look at something, touch something, or show interest in anyway unless you are ready to spend the next 15 minutes negotiating a price in order to purchase.
22) The term "sick day" has a whole new meaning to me. And it accompanies another term (recently invented) "Africa better" meaning the best I can be- for being out of my element.
23) I'm fairly certain that the most common first word for the African child was "Obama." The second was "Nice."
24) I've recently been known to mix 3 languages in once sentence... and was understood.
25) My African name is Soda Ndaw. The other day I accidentally misspelled Moshier. French vowels are confusing, but it also doesn't feel like my name anymore.
2) I can deal with mosquitoes, flies, cockroaches, lizards, and spiders... but I'm drawing the line at mice. And perhaps the bigger lizards.
3) It's an art to be able to sleep through the 5:15a call to pray from the local mosques, which are broadcast over loud speaker throughout the whole city. Luckily, I was able to train during Ramadan, when the mosques broadcast song and prier 24/7.
4) I refuse to respond to hissing, "Hey, my sister," or even "Toubab" (white ghost person) if you're older than 5 years old. It's rude and you know better.
5) Mefloquine (anti-Malaria prophylaxis) makes me crazy with paranoia, and I have occasional insomnia. I also loose my hair, and am overly prone to extremities going numb.
6) I love that African mustard tastes like mayo and wasabi mixed together but looks deceptively like the boring yellow stuff.
7) I miss my dog, because pets don't exist here. Sheep and chickens are referred to as assets or future meals.
8) I'm concerned there is karma in the fact that I live with 6 boys ranging from 2 to 17 years old, as anyone who knows me knows that I am not fond of children.
9) Given the 9 other people (6 boys, 2 parents, and a maid) I share a shower with, multiplied by 3 showers a day, it's amazing that I rarely have to wait in line.
10) Missing the unexpected things is hardest: new babies, deaths, weddings, etc. Why are so many people suddenly getting engaged? The upside is that there are a lot of all three here.
11) Mashed potatoes are called puree in french. Here they have the consistency of having been through a blender with milk and butter; but are still awesome. I'm working on a skin-on American chunky style with my Mom, but it might take a while.
12) The fruit here tastes at least 3 times better than at home; mango, watermelon, grapefruit, ditax; but not so much with the oranges (which are actually green, and I feel a sign).
13) Male Peace Corps volunteers generally don't wear their shirts. Women in the north don't always wear them either (or so I'm told).
14) One can only get 4 kinds of beer in Senegal: Flag and Gazelle (brewed locally), Castel and Dutch Royal. I prefer Gazelle with lime; tastes like Corona.
15) If your right hand is dirty when someone goes to shake it, the person will instead grasp your right wrist. There's no getting out of shaking hands.
16) People wear scarves and ski hats/masks in the "winter." It's only 75 degrees.
17) Mass transit is decorated with the phrase "Thanks be to God," in Arabic though spelled out with Latin letters, which I take to mean "Dear God, please let us make it..."
18) I'm trying to teach my 2 year old brother where Senegal is on the world map, but he keeps pointing to Brazil. Hmm...
19) Its easier to say that I'm allergic to fish then to explain that the taste of if makes me throw up. Either way, the point gets across, I don't eat it.
20) When traveling, the car may look like something Americans would've scrapped 15 years ago, has rust holes all the way through the door, no cushion left on the seats, and probably no crank to open the window... but by god, the people have their best cloths pressed, hair done, makeup fresh, and perfectly matching accessories. A confusing sight for sure.
21) Window shopping is simply not done. You don't look at something, touch something, or show interest in anyway unless you are ready to spend the next 15 minutes negotiating a price in order to purchase.
22) The term "sick day" has a whole new meaning to me. And it accompanies another term (recently invented) "Africa better" meaning the best I can be- for being out of my element.
23) I'm fairly certain that the most common first word for the African child was "Obama." The second was "Nice."
24) I've recently been known to mix 3 languages in once sentence... and was understood.
25) My African name is Soda Ndaw. The other day I accidentally misspelled Moshier. French vowels are confusing, but it also doesn't feel like my name anymore.
Sunday, February 7
Friend Shock
I think I need to admit that I'm having a really rough week. Granted, I haven't left Mboro (except one afternoon to meet other volunteers for lunch) in over a month. And the idea that I haven't been able to relax and let go in that long is really starting to take an emotional toll. Because in reality, I don't do a whole lot during the day. Go here, go there, take a nap (it's seriously still hot here in the middle of the day), and teach a class, blah blah. I watch a lot of movies so there's no way I'm physically exhausted. But emotionally... that's a different story.
Every time I look at this picture of my Dad I have on my desk, it's all I can do to stop myself from crying. I know it's dumb but this is the longest I've been without a big bear hug from my Dad. In reality, I should've moved away a long time ago, but I don't think it's that. Because even if I move away, I can still drive or fly home. I just can't do that here. I'm stuck, just stuck.
And it's not all about the hug, it's the whole idea that I miss being with people I can relate to. It's so hard talking to people when I barely have the language skills for a decent conversation. And then there's culture and a lack of common ground. I literally have zero friends in my town. Zero. None. And it sucks so much.
And you know what? This leads me to spend time on facebook looking at my friends pages and missing them. Then (and this might be the paranoia from the Malaria pills but...) I start to think that the only thing I know about my friends lives is what I read in facebook posts. What is that? Facebook posts aren't really anything. But someone will say they went to the gym or that they went out dancing with some of my other friends... and I feel so left out. I want so badly to know how people are doing, and what they're doing, that I've resorted to cyber stalking them.
And then... When I face the fact that I'm now a cyber stalker I realize that I'm really scared of losing all these "friends." I use quotes because knowing someone on facebook doesn't make us friends. Having a relationship with that person does. Being there when shity things and good things happen does. Interaction with people makes friendships.
I try to email people a lot... but they don't really write back. And (again with the paranoia) then I start to feel conceded for sending people emails continuously- because if they don't write back then all I have to talk about is me. I guess if I had to imagine their side of things, not many "new" things happen. People go to work, go to the gym, and go to the bar for a few drinks. The usual stuff. And telling me about it may seem boring, but I feel like I live for it. I wrote an email the other day with just questions like: what are you weekend plans, what new songs do you listening to, what was the last piece of clothing you bought and what's it look like, what color is your nail polish, and what do you order from Tim Hortons these days? It may seem boring to you, but a new coffee drink would be interesting to me now.
It seems sort of idyllic to go away for 2 years and come back and have everything be totally new, but I don't want it. I think it'd be too much of a culture shock and I'd like to know about this random stuff now. Not to mention, just like the culture shock would suck, imagine having "friend shock" and actually having to say "so what have you been up to the last couple of years?" Let's try and save that for the high school reunions please. Because anyone I'd say that to when I got back is clearly no longer a friend. And have we covered that I don't want to lose my friends?
Every time I look at this picture of my Dad I have on my desk, it's all I can do to stop myself from crying. I know it's dumb but this is the longest I've been without a big bear hug from my Dad. In reality, I should've moved away a long time ago, but I don't think it's that. Because even if I move away, I can still drive or fly home. I just can't do that here. I'm stuck, just stuck.
And it's not all about the hug, it's the whole idea that I miss being with people I can relate to. It's so hard talking to people when I barely have the language skills for a decent conversation. And then there's culture and a lack of common ground. I literally have zero friends in my town. Zero. None. And it sucks so much.
And you know what? This leads me to spend time on facebook looking at my friends pages and missing them. Then (and this might be the paranoia from the Malaria pills but...) I start to think that the only thing I know about my friends lives is what I read in facebook posts. What is that? Facebook posts aren't really anything. But someone will say they went to the gym or that they went out dancing with some of my other friends... and I feel so left out. I want so badly to know how people are doing, and what they're doing, that I've resorted to cyber stalking them.
And then... When I face the fact that I'm now a cyber stalker I realize that I'm really scared of losing all these "friends." I use quotes because knowing someone on facebook doesn't make us friends. Having a relationship with that person does. Being there when shity things and good things happen does. Interaction with people makes friendships.
I try to email people a lot... but they don't really write back. And (again with the paranoia) then I start to feel conceded for sending people emails continuously- because if they don't write back then all I have to talk about is me. I guess if I had to imagine their side of things, not many "new" things happen. People go to work, go to the gym, and go to the bar for a few drinks. The usual stuff. And telling me about it may seem boring, but I feel like I live for it. I wrote an email the other day with just questions like: what are you weekend plans, what new songs do you listening to, what was the last piece of clothing you bought and what's it look like, what color is your nail polish, and what do you order from Tim Hortons these days? It may seem boring to you, but a new coffee drink would be interesting to me now.
It seems sort of idyllic to go away for 2 years and come back and have everything be totally new, but I don't want it. I think it'd be too much of a culture shock and I'd like to know about this random stuff now. Not to mention, just like the culture shock would suck, imagine having "friend shock" and actually having to say "so what have you been up to the last couple of years?" Let's try and save that for the high school reunions please. Because anyone I'd say that to when I got back is clearly no longer a friend. And have we covered that I don't want to lose my friends?
Sunday, January 31
American Dream
Over the past few weeks I've been preparing for a speech I was to give at the local high school. The English classes were to have a special seminar with a few Western guest speakers about the American Dream. My Senegalese supervisor, also an English teacher at the school, asked me to prepare something as a guest speaker. I was asked to give my point of view as the sole American at the event in an inspiring way so that the Senegalese students would learn to dream, too.
I happily obliged. I wrote my own reflections, googled definitions and clichés, consulted family and friends, and even made notes on the perfect success story of a close friend making his dream come true. The gist of which was that "dream" is an outdated term because with hard work and dedication your dream is merely a goal yet to be achieved. And while I was working on this grand speech I was bombarded with examples of people who needed to hear it.
My brothers and their friends wanted me to do their English homework for them. One brother wants me to basically find and apply to a University in England (and accompanying scholarships) for him. Amazingly, they all seem to be so annoyed and frustrated when I tell them no. I explained that they could ask me questions and I'd explain when they don't understand. And, I would correct their English sentences or letters to University administrators. But still, they were appalled that I wouldn't just do it for them. They acted as though they didn't have the time to what's been asked of them, and it will never get done if I DON'T do it. Perhaps you can understand why I was tempted to invite them to this event.
The day before, however, when I call my supervisor to confirm place and time, he told me they were going to rest and NOT have the event on the scheduled day. What happened? Are we rescheduling? When were you going to tell me?
At this point, I reference Senegalese culture in the art of not answering a question. If one doesn't want to say, they will answer a different un-posed question or say they can't understand my French. I've tried to push before, but I find that when cornered, the Senegalese will lie, saying what they think you want to hear, to get you to drop the issue. In conclusion, I got no answers about what happened, only that I now have my Saturday afternoon free.
There's no saying whether or not I would've actually gotten my message across, but then I remember the fun quip "You never know until you try." Which in this case I take to mean, I can't just give in to the guilt trips and question dodging. I've got to stick it out for 2 years and try like hell to share with anyone who'll listen. At the very least, maybe I get my brother to get himself to England.
And so, when I think about why it is that I'm so upset this American Dream event got canceled, I have to admit to myself that it's not because of the time I've spent researching and writing my remarks, nor the shadiness of its' cancellation, it's because of the lost opportunity to share that part of my culture that explains to these young kids why Americans live by stupid clichés like "Nothing is free," "Time is money," "Life isn't fair," and "You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need..."
I happily obliged. I wrote my own reflections, googled definitions and clichés, consulted family and friends, and even made notes on the perfect success story of a close friend making his dream come true. The gist of which was that "dream" is an outdated term because with hard work and dedication your dream is merely a goal yet to be achieved. And while I was working on this grand speech I was bombarded with examples of people who needed to hear it.
My brothers and their friends wanted me to do their English homework for them. One brother wants me to basically find and apply to a University in England (and accompanying scholarships) for him. Amazingly, they all seem to be so annoyed and frustrated when I tell them no. I explained that they could ask me questions and I'd explain when they don't understand. And, I would correct their English sentences or letters to University administrators. But still, they were appalled that I wouldn't just do it for them. They acted as though they didn't have the time to what's been asked of them, and it will never get done if I DON'T do it. Perhaps you can understand why I was tempted to invite them to this event.
The day before, however, when I call my supervisor to confirm place and time, he told me they were going to rest and NOT have the event on the scheduled day. What happened? Are we rescheduling? When were you going to tell me?
At this point, I reference Senegalese culture in the art of not answering a question. If one doesn't want to say, they will answer a different un-posed question or say they can't understand my French. I've tried to push before, but I find that when cornered, the Senegalese will lie, saying what they think you want to hear, to get you to drop the issue. In conclusion, I got no answers about what happened, only that I now have my Saturday afternoon free.
There's no saying whether or not I would've actually gotten my message across, but then I remember the fun quip "You never know until you try." Which in this case I take to mean, I can't just give in to the guilt trips and question dodging. I've got to stick it out for 2 years and try like hell to share with anyone who'll listen. At the very least, maybe I get my brother to get himself to England.
And so, when I think about why it is that I'm so upset this American Dream event got canceled, I have to admit to myself that it's not because of the time I've spent researching and writing my remarks, nor the shadiness of its' cancellation, it's because of the lost opportunity to share that part of my culture that explains to these young kids why Americans live by stupid clichés like "Nothing is free," "Time is money," "Life isn't fair," and "You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need..."
Sunday, January 24
Transportation 101
The transportation system in Mboro is quite interesting. There's basically one main road that runs through town from cities inland toward the coast, then curving south to Dakar. The garage is on the far side of town, by the coast. And by garage I mean the hub of transportation and vehicle repair.
First I'd like to say that the quality of the vehicles here leaves much to be desired, as most should've been scrapped 100,000 miles ago. It is not uncommon to have a seat without a cushion, a window without a crank to open it, or a door without a hole to the outside world. A/C and seat belts are a luxury I've only had in official Peace Corps transportation. A radio, on the other hand, is almost always rewired so that wonderful Senegalese music can be played at astonishingly loud volumes in all powered modes of transportation. Curtains are also hung to block out the scorching sun. And one final note, official Peace Corps training mandates checking all 4 tires before entering a vehicle and taking down the license plate number for possible future reference.
Throughout Mboro one can find the following modes of transportation:
Sept Place: seven seats, as the name implies, for sale in a station wagon going directly to one place. Destinations are predetermined popular locations/ major cities. The car will make stops on long trips for food, gas, etc... and has been used to run errands for the driver (10 min at the pharmacy once, no joke).
Car Rapids: Also known as alhums, ndiage ndiaye, or death traps these are conversion vans outfitted to be like buses that are loaded from the back, filled to 150% capacity, and also have predetermined destinations. They are the most dangerous form of transportation and also prone to frequent accident and even tipping over. Unlike the sept place anyone can get on and off at any time making a simple 40 minute trip by car take nearly 2 hours by car rapid... which begs to inquire about the name, but we'll let it go this time.
Clandos: A roving taxi of sorts or trolley in the states; it has one fixed route that it circles. The taxi drives up and down the main route in town and one can get in or out at any point for one fixed price of 100 CFA or about $0.22.
Taxis: The actual kind that will drive you anywhere you want to go. However, you're likely to get ripped off unless you know the local price.
Dad's Car: Like most Senegalese people, my host Dad dreamed of having a car of his own. And his dream finally came true just around the time I got to Senegal. Buying an old BMW (as in so old you'd probably scrapped it in the States but someone threw it on a boat and sold it to my Dad), with failing interior parts that accompany all the failing parts under the hood, my Dad has spent unknown sums continuously trying to fix the contraption. It has spent more time at the garage then outside our house, of this I'm sure.
Chariot: Over glorified name for a cart made of planks of wood thrown over a pipe "axle" with two wheels and pulled by a miniature donkey. Mostly commonly used to haul product across town, but people have been seen catching a slow ride from time to time.
Bike: Peace Corps issued at 2 inches too short for my body... I feel like an adult riding an over sized kid's toy. Not to mention it doesn't exactly work in the sand. This object sits sadly in my room.
Foot: This is provided by yours truly, but must be fed protein and kept hydrated.
There is also one common myth I'd like to clear up: there are no elephants in Senegal. It seems a bit hard to push out of the mind, but elephants are typically found as transportation in Asia. Camels do exists, though not in Mboro.
I'll leave you with one final thought. The number one cause of death in Senegal is car accident. Not Malaria, AIDS, or any other horrible health consideration. And not death by political unrest of any kind either. It's car accident. This is probably why on nearly every car rapid the word "allhumdulylah" is painted as often as decoration is appropriate. This is Arabic for "thanks be to god." I can only imagine they wish to say thanks in advance for a safe trip to any destination, because that's what I do every time I get back to my house safely.
First I'd like to say that the quality of the vehicles here leaves much to be desired, as most should've been scrapped 100,000 miles ago. It is not uncommon to have a seat without a cushion, a window without a crank to open it, or a door without a hole to the outside world. A/C and seat belts are a luxury I've only had in official Peace Corps transportation. A radio, on the other hand, is almost always rewired so that wonderful Senegalese music can be played at astonishingly loud volumes in all powered modes of transportation. Curtains are also hung to block out the scorching sun. And one final note, official Peace Corps training mandates checking all 4 tires before entering a vehicle and taking down the license plate number for possible future reference.
Throughout Mboro one can find the following modes of transportation:
Sept Place: seven seats, as the name implies, for sale in a station wagon going directly to one place. Destinations are predetermined popular locations/ major cities. The car will make stops on long trips for food, gas, etc... and has been used to run errands for the driver (10 min at the pharmacy once, no joke).
Car Rapids: Also known as alhums, ndiage ndiaye, or death traps these are conversion vans outfitted to be like buses that are loaded from the back, filled to 150% capacity, and also have predetermined destinations. They are the most dangerous form of transportation and also prone to frequent accident and even tipping over. Unlike the sept place anyone can get on and off at any time making a simple 40 minute trip by car take nearly 2 hours by car rapid... which begs to inquire about the name, but we'll let it go this time.
Clandos: A roving taxi of sorts or trolley in the states; it has one fixed route that it circles. The taxi drives up and down the main route in town and one can get in or out at any point for one fixed price of 100 CFA or about $0.22.
Taxis: The actual kind that will drive you anywhere you want to go. However, you're likely to get ripped off unless you know the local price.
Dad's Car: Like most Senegalese people, my host Dad dreamed of having a car of his own. And his dream finally came true just around the time I got to Senegal. Buying an old BMW (as in so old you'd probably scrapped it in the States but someone threw it on a boat and sold it to my Dad), with failing interior parts that accompany all the failing parts under the hood, my Dad has spent unknown sums continuously trying to fix the contraption. It has spent more time at the garage then outside our house, of this I'm sure.
Chariot: Over glorified name for a cart made of planks of wood thrown over a pipe "axle" with two wheels and pulled by a miniature donkey. Mostly commonly used to haul product across town, but people have been seen catching a slow ride from time to time.
Bike: Peace Corps issued at 2 inches too short for my body... I feel like an adult riding an over sized kid's toy. Not to mention it doesn't exactly work in the sand. This object sits sadly in my room.
Foot: This is provided by yours truly, but must be fed protein and kept hydrated.
There is also one common myth I'd like to clear up: there are no elephants in Senegal. It seems a bit hard to push out of the mind, but elephants are typically found as transportation in Asia. Camels do exists, though not in Mboro.
I'll leave you with one final thought. The number one cause of death in Senegal is car accident. Not Malaria, AIDS, or any other horrible health consideration. And not death by political unrest of any kind either. It's car accident. This is probably why on nearly every car rapid the word "allhumdulylah" is painted as often as decoration is appropriate. This is Arabic for "thanks be to god." I can only imagine they wish to say thanks in advance for a safe trip to any destination, because that's what I do every time I get back to my house safely.
Sunday, January 17
A Family's Parasite
I got in a fight with my brother over fish. I adapted the policy to tell the people of Senegal that I'm allergic to fish- because it just seemed easier than explaining that every time I eat it I become violently ill. So from the first week I moved in, I worked out an agreement with my host mother that when the meal included fish she would tell me in advance and either I or she would make something separate for me to eat in my room.
My eldest brother, thinking anything from 'why should she be so special' to 'perhaps she's just too weak and if we continue to feed it to her she's get over it' has never been keen on the idea of a separate meal for me. And in the times when our family doesn't have a maid, the afternoon meal generally becomes the responsibility of said brother to prepare it after he gets home from school.
Well, this week I walked into the kitchen while he was preparing the fish... and he told me he'd be making vegetables for me separately. Great, that's something Mom does too. Except, when it came time to eat, there was clearly no separate plate, no Mom to explain, and a house full of men confused as to why I wasn't sitting down at the lunch bowl. Awesome.
Three bites into the fish dish and sure enough, I was started throwing up. Angry, hungry, and nauseous... I hid in my room for the rest of the afternoon. Later in the evening, when my brother got back from school he came to greet me, but I told him I was angry because he'd made me sick. He said nothing and left.
Two days later I still wasn't talking to him, and got the impression he didn't really seem to care. So I confronted him about it. I told him I wanted him to apologize. Why? Because you fed me fish when you said you were making me something else. No, I said I made the vegetables in a separate pan from the fish. Well as you can see, if they all end up together in the end then I still get sick. That's not my problem. Ok, well why didn't you tell me there was soup in the refrigerator that Mom had left me. Why did you let me just eat the fish. That's not my problem. Ok, forget the fish. How come when I got sick, you didn't care? Doesn't it bother you that I was sick because of something you'd given me? That's not my problem. Awesome.
That's the moment when I realized that I'd been taking the term "family" a little too literally and had begun to lose the context. These people are my HOST family. They are here to pretend to be my family, to host me in housing and food, but they have no obligation to actually act as my family. Especially since I pay them rent and food allowances to cover the aforementioned.
It may seem irrational that I'm upset, but that doesn't mean I'm not. I care about these people because they are the closest thing I currently know to a family; like living family organism. I pretend to be a part of the colony because it makes me feel better. And in so pretending, if something happens to disrupt the function I am concerned and immediately seek remedies to rectify wrongs. When someone else is sick, I bring them water or make hot tea.
But looking at it from their point of view, I'm temporary. Volunteers may come and go, but they, the true members of the family, remain... and therefore I can't really be counted on. So, given that, why should they bother putting more effort than necessary into a relationship with me. It's not their problem, just as my brother said.
On top of feeling like a parasite to these people, I've now lost the ability to talk to the person I felt the most comfortable with, by brother. The crappy part is that he seemed to be the only person who understands the concept of "homesick" and he was the easiest to talk to (although admittedly that could be because he's got the best English skills).
As it stands, though, I think I'll choose to keep pretending to be part of the family instead of a parasite. That just seems more livable.
My eldest brother, thinking anything from 'why should she be so special' to 'perhaps she's just too weak and if we continue to feed it to her she's get over it' has never been keen on the idea of a separate meal for me. And in the times when our family doesn't have a maid, the afternoon meal generally becomes the responsibility of said brother to prepare it after he gets home from school.
Well, this week I walked into the kitchen while he was preparing the fish... and he told me he'd be making vegetables for me separately. Great, that's something Mom does too. Except, when it came time to eat, there was clearly no separate plate, no Mom to explain, and a house full of men confused as to why I wasn't sitting down at the lunch bowl. Awesome.
Three bites into the fish dish and sure enough, I was started throwing up. Angry, hungry, and nauseous... I hid in my room for the rest of the afternoon. Later in the evening, when my brother got back from school he came to greet me, but I told him I was angry because he'd made me sick. He said nothing and left.
Two days later I still wasn't talking to him, and got the impression he didn't really seem to care. So I confronted him about it. I told him I wanted him to apologize. Why? Because you fed me fish when you said you were making me something else. No, I said I made the vegetables in a separate pan from the fish. Well as you can see, if they all end up together in the end then I still get sick. That's not my problem. Ok, well why didn't you tell me there was soup in the refrigerator that Mom had left me. Why did you let me just eat the fish. That's not my problem. Ok, forget the fish. How come when I got sick, you didn't care? Doesn't it bother you that I was sick because of something you'd given me? That's not my problem. Awesome.
That's the moment when I realized that I'd been taking the term "family" a little too literally and had begun to lose the context. These people are my HOST family. They are here to pretend to be my family, to host me in housing and food, but they have no obligation to actually act as my family. Especially since I pay them rent and food allowances to cover the aforementioned.
It may seem irrational that I'm upset, but that doesn't mean I'm not. I care about these people because they are the closest thing I currently know to a family; like living family organism. I pretend to be a part of the colony because it makes me feel better. And in so pretending, if something happens to disrupt the function I am concerned and immediately seek remedies to rectify wrongs. When someone else is sick, I bring them water or make hot tea.
But looking at it from their point of view, I'm temporary. Volunteers may come and go, but they, the true members of the family, remain... and therefore I can't really be counted on. So, given that, why should they bother putting more effort than necessary into a relationship with me. It's not their problem, just as my brother said.
On top of feeling like a parasite to these people, I've now lost the ability to talk to the person I felt the most comfortable with, by brother. The crappy part is that he seemed to be the only person who understands the concept of "homesick" and he was the easiest to talk to (although admittedly that could be because he's got the best English skills).
As it stands, though, I think I'll choose to keep pretending to be part of the family instead of a parasite. That just seems more livable.
Sunday, January 10
Lait Caille
I'm not sure I entirely understand what goes into lait caille, or sweet milk, but I am starting to familiarize myself with all its uses. A spoiled yogurt that's been sweetened so that people will actually eat it, this product can be sold in plastic pouches or by the tub. Its typical uses are a) frozen and later eaten like ice cream and b) poured over hot millet and eaten for dinner on Sundays.
Occasionally with the latter option, called ngallah (spelling not guaranteed), other fun items are added to the milk, such as pineapple, raisins, or coconut shavings. Ngallah is traditionally served on Easter in Catholic Senegalese households, but as my host mother says, it's easy to prepare and that's just the type of meal she wants to make on a Sunday night before a long week of work starts. Given the amount of vitamins in both millet and lait caille, not to mention the different ethnic stores in the states, I recommend everyone try to make this dish. Therefore, I submit the following website recipe for more info.
Most recently I've attempted to use lait caille to make my own version of ice cream. My family has an ice cream machine (who knows why or how) and so I spent a day researching recipes, and appropriate substitutes for those recipes, in order to create the perfect mixture. Actual yogurt is an option here, but it's very expensive. Whipping cream and half and half are rumored to be in larger towns, but not actually in mine. Thus sweetened condensed milk, whole milk, lait caille, eggs, and flavoring syrups became initial attempt. I tried two flavors on my endeavour; chocolate and vanilla. Curiously, both ended up tasting very similar to Pink Berry (yum, right?) although not my intention.
In future, I'm thinking about searching trading out ingredients and trying recipes involving gelatin, real yogurt, whipping cream and other milk options if I can find them. As far as flavors goes, coconut milk is available, other flavor syrup types (strawberry, pistachio, orange, etc), and perhaps even smashing up some of my precious stash of Oreos. I'll also try to experiment with stove top cooking techniques before the freezing process. My host mother's challenge is to find a good recipe that can be made in bulk for parties (and because when don't the Senegalese share?) for a low cost of production. If I didn't know better I'd think she was a) testing me and my purchasing skills and b) looking to open an ice cream shop. Which to tell you the truth, both of those ideas sound awesome to me. If only I could find a bored entrepreneur with awesome worth ethics...
Occasionally with the latter option, called ngallah (spelling not guaranteed), other fun items are added to the milk, such as pineapple, raisins, or coconut shavings. Ngallah is traditionally served on Easter in Catholic Senegalese households, but as my host mother says, it's easy to prepare and that's just the type of meal she wants to make on a Sunday night before a long week of work starts. Given the amount of vitamins in both millet and lait caille, not to mention the different ethnic stores in the states, I recommend everyone try to make this dish. Therefore, I submit the following website recipe for more info.
Most recently I've attempted to use lait caille to make my own version of ice cream. My family has an ice cream machine (who knows why or how) and so I spent a day researching recipes, and appropriate substitutes for those recipes, in order to create the perfect mixture. Actual yogurt is an option here, but it's very expensive. Whipping cream and half and half are rumored to be in larger towns, but not actually in mine. Thus sweetened condensed milk, whole milk, lait caille, eggs, and flavoring syrups became initial attempt. I tried two flavors on my endeavour; chocolate and vanilla. Curiously, both ended up tasting very similar to Pink Berry (yum, right?) although not my intention.
In future, I'm thinking about searching trading out ingredients and trying recipes involving gelatin, real yogurt, whipping cream and other milk options if I can find them. As far as flavors goes, coconut milk is available, other flavor syrup types (strawberry, pistachio, orange, etc), and perhaps even smashing up some of my precious stash of Oreos. I'll also try to experiment with stove top cooking techniques before the freezing process. My host mother's challenge is to find a good recipe that can be made in bulk for parties (and because when don't the Senegalese share?) for a low cost of production. If I didn't know better I'd think she was a) testing me and my purchasing skills and b) looking to open an ice cream shop. Which to tell you the truth, both of those ideas sound awesome to me. If only I could find a bored entrepreneur with awesome worth ethics...
Sunday, January 3
New Years
New Years was great; different from all the rest, yet the same in so many ways. The holiday wasn't just the one night, so you're better off hearing about the whole experience.
I headed for Dakar on the 30th where I put in some quality time by the pool and went shopping at what can best be equated to a "mall." The place had Diesel, Guess, and a few other places connected to the largest grocery store in country (curiously named Casino). Going to Casino is much like going to Target in the states. One goes for a few specific items, perhaps some spices not available in village, and walks out with two weeks' worth of allowance on random foods that are missed but not needed (coconut yogurt, a bar of chocolate, and red bull to mix in New Years cocktails). I don't know why this happens, but it's really like when I was bored at home and would wander through Target, becoming mesmerized by it all, and walk away with things I don't really need. Come on, how many times have you bought a DVD you half-liked because it was on sale- and you went there for shampoo which is located on the other side of the store? Yeah, don't judge. In the evening we enjoyed a truly authentic Chinese dinner. We went to the type of place where you need to speak Chinese in order to get the good stuff- and it was probably some of the best I've had.
On New Year's Eve we sat around in the morning like it was a typical Sunday at home (vegging and generally doing nothing) and I got my first hair cut in country. In addition, I was finally able to do laundry with a washing machine- first time in nearly 5 months. In the evening a few of us went downtown to do some pre-party shopping. I got a much needed belt to hold my now way-too-big pants up, and a pair of earrings to dazzle up my party outfit. From there we went to a friend's house for dinner/ appetizers and cocktails. The apartment is amazing by Senegalese/American standards... and from now on I'll be calling it "84." Anyway, Christine and I borrowed the bathroom and when we were done she actually said to me "There's the Alys I recognize from the Facebook pictures." It felt great to get cleaned up... so naturally we took a lot of pictures of our eyeliner, earring, and high heal clad selves.
Just after eleven we set out on the town. We passed by a club that was strangely empty- they actually said they weren't opening until after midnight. That's how serious the Senegalese take their parties; the party doesn't start till after the holiday and goes all night! Anyway, we went to the apartment of another volunteer... and nearly a third of the volunteers in country were there! Dancing, more cocktails, champagne, and pictures are all that I really remember. Just after midnight a few of us wanted to go back to the club and check it out. Though the cover was expensive (about $30), you only live once right? However, our plans were derailed by the men in our small group. The only true inhabitant of 84 got sick and after we took a taxi back there and put him to bed, the rest of us felt too tired to continue on. We all passed out too early.
The next morning was a little fuzzy. But after watching video of my amazing dance moves and getting some food, a small crew of us went back to 84 to lie in bed and watch movies for the rest of the day. In the evening we were kindly invited to partake in the Korean New Year festivities. In Korean culture, everyone becomes a year older on New Year's Day. They make a special meal (soup I have no idea how to describe) that after finishing, one is said to have grown one year older. The soup was accompanied by a noodle dish and chicken dumpling soup that Christine had made. Desert was yogurt and fruit. We went back to the Peace Corps house after and I quickly passed out... I really needed to catch up on sleep.
On the 2nd, we had another day by the pool. This time we had beers and girl talk. In the early evening we went back to 84 where Indian food was served for dinner, and the drinking began again. This time we were celebrating a friend's birthday. We did special shots at midnight and then left for the infamous monthly ex-patriot party downtown. After more dancing, meeting new people (mostly- ok, all- men), and some debauchery we made it to bed by 5a; not that we really slept.
Next, enter day two of recovery... accompanied by a return to Mboro and the end of a long weekend of celebrating. There are a lot of inside jokes that accompany this weekend, but it just seems wrong to explain them. However, they made the whole event a million times more worthwhile than the story above depicts; from renaming the cat, to redefining Wolof verbs, to learning about George Adamson... it was all too great. Thanks to club 84.
I headed for Dakar on the 30th where I put in some quality time by the pool and went shopping at what can best be equated to a "mall." The place had Diesel, Guess, and a few other places connected to the largest grocery store in country (curiously named Casino). Going to Casino is much like going to Target in the states. One goes for a few specific items, perhaps some spices not available in village, and walks out with two weeks' worth of allowance on random foods that are missed but not needed (coconut yogurt, a bar of chocolate, and red bull to mix in New Years cocktails). I don't know why this happens, but it's really like when I was bored at home and would wander through Target, becoming mesmerized by it all, and walk away with things I don't really need. Come on, how many times have you bought a DVD you half-liked because it was on sale- and you went there for shampoo which is located on the other side of the store? Yeah, don't judge. In the evening we enjoyed a truly authentic Chinese dinner. We went to the type of place where you need to speak Chinese in order to get the good stuff- and it was probably some of the best I've had.
On New Year's Eve we sat around in the morning like it was a typical Sunday at home (vegging and generally doing nothing) and I got my first hair cut in country. In addition, I was finally able to do laundry with a washing machine- first time in nearly 5 months. In the evening a few of us went downtown to do some pre-party shopping. I got a much needed belt to hold my now way-too-big pants up, and a pair of earrings to dazzle up my party outfit. From there we went to a friend's house for dinner/ appetizers and cocktails. The apartment is amazing by Senegalese/American standards... and from now on I'll be calling it "84." Anyway, Christine and I borrowed the bathroom and when we were done she actually said to me "There's the Alys I recognize from the Facebook pictures." It felt great to get cleaned up... so naturally we took a lot of pictures of our eyeliner, earring, and high heal clad selves.
Just after eleven we set out on the town. We passed by a club that was strangely empty- they actually said they weren't opening until after midnight. That's how serious the Senegalese take their parties; the party doesn't start till after the holiday and goes all night! Anyway, we went to the apartment of another volunteer... and nearly a third of the volunteers in country were there! Dancing, more cocktails, champagne, and pictures are all that I really remember. Just after midnight a few of us wanted to go back to the club and check it out. Though the cover was expensive (about $30), you only live once right? However, our plans were derailed by the men in our small group. The only true inhabitant of 84 got sick and after we took a taxi back there and put him to bed, the rest of us felt too tired to continue on. We all passed out too early.
The next morning was a little fuzzy. But after watching video of my amazing dance moves and getting some food, a small crew of us went back to 84 to lie in bed and watch movies for the rest of the day. In the evening we were kindly invited to partake in the Korean New Year festivities. In Korean culture, everyone becomes a year older on New Year's Day. They make a special meal (soup I have no idea how to describe) that after finishing, one is said to have grown one year older. The soup was accompanied by a noodle dish and chicken dumpling soup that Christine had made. Desert was yogurt and fruit. We went back to the Peace Corps house after and I quickly passed out... I really needed to catch up on sleep.
On the 2nd, we had another day by the pool. This time we had beers and girl talk. In the early evening we went back to 84 where Indian food was served for dinner, and the drinking began again. This time we were celebrating a friend's birthday. We did special shots at midnight and then left for the infamous monthly ex-patriot party downtown. After more dancing, meeting new people (mostly- ok, all- men), and some debauchery we made it to bed by 5a; not that we really slept.
Next, enter day two of recovery... accompanied by a return to Mboro and the end of a long weekend of celebrating. There are a lot of inside jokes that accompany this weekend, but it just seems wrong to explain them. However, they made the whole event a million times more worthwhile than the story above depicts; from renaming the cat, to redefining Wolof verbs, to learning about George Adamson... it was all too great. Thanks to club 84.
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