Crops to Cows

I recently went to visit a friend in the North of Senegal and discovered that in reality I know very little about Senegal. I consider myself an expert on my community, peanuts, Jahanke culture, malaria and more; but none of these are prevalent in the North.

I knew I was out of my element on the 350 kilometer drive up when I could not communicate in Jahanke with one person. After a nap, I woke up to the landscape of a different country. At first I thought that the window was dirty but soon realized that this just means I made it to the Sahara. All of the corn stalks looked like a dull shade of green and the ground was a different shade of brown. Unlike my area with rich soil, everything was sand. My beautiful trees were replaced with torn ridden bushes and invasive Mauritanian plants. Huts that are ubiquitous in my area are turned into cement rooms with tin roofs or large mud built structures.

One of the biggest surprises for me was that the there are barely any crops. Coming from a village where everyone above the age of 18 has at least one field, I was shocked. Therefore, instead of spending all of their time planting, farming and preparing peanuts, people in the North have a lot more time on their hands. Their main time occupant is taking care of cows and praying. My village has cows but we leave them in the fields meaning I could go months without seeing one. The north is filled with people of the Pulaar ethnic group who are traditionally known as herders. And let me tell you, they love their cows.

In my friend Alecia’s compound, there are 30 grown cows and 10 babies. Every day a man is paid to take the cows out to the ‘bush’. Additionally, they herd goats and sheep which seemed silly to me until I realized that this is the only way for them to find water and food. I got the chance to milk a cow, drink fresh milk, and a fancy sour milk drink. Minus the milking a cow part I was very glad to not be part of this cow culture. Most of my meals contain peanut basis while Alecia’s contain milk. We grow our own corn while they buy imported corn from Canada. Her dad goes to the Western Union in her 'village' to get money every month from his sons who live in France, Spain and America. My family works for 5 months to grown peanuts and than spends 7 months cracking and selling them.

Another contrast is religion. In my area Jahankes are known for being very religious and the Pulaars are less strict. Often they dont fast during Ramadan and do not pray 5 times a day. All of Alecia's family fasted during Ramadan, they killed 3 sheep for Tabaski, and they plan out their days around the 5 times of prayer. My family is somewhere in between. We fast during Ramadan and pray a lot then but are less strict about praying 5 times a day. Mostly, I deduced that it is because we are busier. Our average day consists of more things to do. We pull water, instead of just turning on a spigot. We pound our corn instead of bringing it to be ground buy a machine. 

The first mosque in Alecia's village right next to her hut. Another one is being built. 

Overall it was interesting to see an new part of Senegal that I did not realize exists. This is a tiny country (the size of Oregon) but because transport is so slow it feels much bigger. Now that the count down for my time here has begun I need to see these other corners of Senegal! 

Leaders in Development Program

Most of you are probably thinking, ‘ok so Janet has fasted, learned some language, eaten some gross food, but worked?!”. Well for the most part, you are correct. Work has been slim. BUT I am happy to say that I have very successfully implemented an internship program in Tambacounda, the large city 70 km from my site.

Unlike doing this sort of thing in the US where people beg for interns and all communication occurs online, this was a long, difficult process that took over 10 trips to some of these offices, JUST to get them to accept an intern. It was tough, annoying work but good practice for my French and an interesting experience as the people who work in offices are completely different from the people I typically interact with in my village. Because of this program, I have been able to meet a man who spent the past 15 years living in Atlanta and Brooklyn, a woman from the Central Republic of Congo who is getting her PhD from Clarke University, another gentleman who travels to France three times a year on business and owns 2 homes, the list of interesting people goes on and on. It has been so refreshing to realize that intellectual intelligence does exist in Senegal, but it is something I have not been exposed when living in village.

While I was somewhat expecting to meet these types of impressive individuals at offices, I was unprepared for how intelligent the students would be, and let me say it is a pleasant surprise. These students were asking us what we thought about Syria, American global dominance, Senegalese gender relations and our lives in America. Since most of my interaction with Senegalese involves me reiterating that no, I am not married yet and no, I do not eat 'Cheeb' in America, I was both astonished and refreshed.

We began the program with an orientation for the students, allowing us to get to know each other, lay out the groundwork of the program and explain what exactly we hoped they would get out of it. It started out rocky enough. First off, we made the mistake of only informing the winners, and neglected to tell the other applicants that they need not show up. This meant that on the day of orientation over 30 students arrived, ready to start work. We had to painfully tell the remaining students to go home, one of which cried and said that they changed their whole summer for this. Opps.

One of our brightest student turned out to not be in High School at all, in fact his older brother (whose name is the same, El Hadji Abdoulaye) is the one that applied but when we called informing his father that he won, the father mistook which El Hadji we were referring too. Sooo the younger boy showed up, spoke amazing English and we decided to let him stay. And we were not disappointed.

Otherwise, the program went very well. We had a mix of offices, some of which have been wonderful and have brought the students along on causeries, baby weighings, water pump instillation, etc... They have taught the kids how to use a photocopier, a computer and how to file documents. But then there are other offices that have received very little guidance. From these kids I was expecting to hear resentful statements and lots of critics. But overall, their main complaint is that all the bosses are always on vacation. 

It is amazing how much we Americans complain about our bosses and disorganization of offices. First off, there is no such thing as a full work week here. Everyone leaves early, does not work past noon on Fridays, and take 2 hour lunch breaks. The most frustrating is that the people in charge are never in the office. Like, maybe one day a week. Pathetic. Most offices are dominated by men that are extremely sexist. The first man I met at the Ministry of Justice said to me, "Madame or Mademoiselle? Can you take me as your Senegalese husband?" And then did not cease to stare at my chest while I was explaining the program. Needless to say we did not place an intern there. 

I will not even go into detail at how difficult it is trying to work when the electricity goes off all the time, internet is shitty, and people spend half the time having to photo copy, fax, and mail every document to Dakar. Talk about tedious.

Aside from getting better insight into the work world of Senegal, the students were so wonderful to get to know. At a closing ceremony, all of the students gave a speech discussing what they learned, how to improve their offices and Senegal in the future. After they all expressed their deep gratitude for the opportunity and have kept in touch with me since.   

For all of them, this was the first time they worked in an office, interacted as a professional and gave a presentation. For several it was the first time they used a computer, photocopier and printer. It was great to give them this opportunity and I look forward to hearing what these wonderful students do in the future! 

Proverbs

Life in my village becomes boring when I have the same questions, play the same games and eat the same food every day. So I try to mix it up by having specific questions that I ask everyone each week, to learn more about the culture, gender differences and to keep my brain stimulated. Some of these themes have consisted of heaven and hell, Djinn, people that transform into animals, and proverbs! So today, I am giving you a list of some of the proverbs I learn. Some of them I decided to explain, some I just translated.

Kilaalay se moxo esingo la sumea bari a me ijuso la sumea.

Asking cools peoples legs but it does not cool the heart.

-A common occurrence in Senegal is for older people to send children on errands to the boutik to buy things like tea, salt, an onion or a pack of cigarettes. This proverb is saying that running these errands may tire your legs but it is good for your heart.

Meenimeenoo xa samo wuli

Small ant births an elephant.

-The example men used for this was that Obama’s mother did not know she was having a world leader when she had him.

Kendo boo ta fureto, fureboota kendo to.

Health comes out of a corpse, a corpse comes out of health.

Keebaa sigiring se dula doo jee, dinding looring me a jee.

Old person sitting sees a place, child standing does not see.

Atu! Basso le mu

Stop! Is the medicine

Feetoto wo le doney a xa dii kungo tooti.

Giving to a person without clothing is sweeter than a hungry person.

-When someone comes to your home without clothing, you give them clothing once and it is over. When someone comes hungry you feed them but they get hungry again and again. Therefore, it is better to have little clothing but money for food rather than have nice clothing but no money for food.

View from my back yard

Nii ma kee sisee koto, I se taxa kee woolo koto.

When you don’t put it in the chicken, you go and put it in the field.

-Basically, if you have money and you don’t buy one thing than you will use it to buy something else.

Fendo xa bung jail soma a mang bono la sila fando sii.

(This direct translation is funky so I will just explain it).

A griot comes to your home, asks for money and you do not give it. Than you put the money in your pocket, your pocket has a hole and you lose the money.

The last 3 proverbs are all money related and really emphasize an aspect of the culture that makes it very hard to relate and fully integrate in the culture. If you have money here, you are expected to spend it, either by buying others things, giving loans to family and friends that you dont except to be paid back, or purchasing items for yourself. Saving money is not culturally acceptable when other members of your family could use the funds themselves.

Which brings me to the last proverb that is translatable into every Senegalese language here:

Yiri calo be sigiring giyoto, me wo me kee bamboo ti.

A tree branch, no matter how long it sits in the water will not become an alligator.

So don’t worry mom, Im coming home because I can never become an alligator.

Another good thing about rainy season- beautiful skies 

The fun of the fast.

Last year I remember Ramadan being unpleasant, frustrating and hungry. People fought, pregnant and breast feeding mothers fasted, and the sick fasted. Kids were hit harder, women fought more and people fainted from exhaustion. I fasted for 2 days and than gave up. My other experiences with fasting on Yom Kippur was always painful; I remember being very hungry and spending the day at temple where everyone is trying to hide how bad their breath is, debating whether or not brushing your teeth is breaking the fast.

This year was different.

I fasted for...(drum roll please) TWENTY DAYS and learned the ultimate Ramadan secret- fasting can be fun.  For most of the people in my village it is more of a game than a period of religious reflection. When you look beyond the hunger, the health issues and the exhaustion, you realize that it is the one month out of the year where your boring routine is completely changed. And for these villagers who go through the same cycle, day after day, year after year since the day they were born, this tradition is warmly welcomed because it is a reason to do things differently for a little while.

Of course there are complaints, but its something to talk about other than how hot it is! It is a game of strength, bragging about how many days you have fasted for. Young boys try to prove their manliness by fasting as many days possible. Older men boast that this is the 15^th year that they will have successfully fasted for everyday. Some chose to fast for an extra week after Ramadan is over, just to solidify their strength.

For me, this year was much more pleasant because I was part of the conversation. I bragged to everyone who asked and teased kids when I surpassed them in the number of days fasted. It was refreshing participating in the tradition and they were so proud that their 'toubab' or 'white person' had joined in.

The most meaningful event was the night of Kiitimo, when everyone is supposed to go to the mosque and pray until call to prayer the next morning at 5 am. While this was not exactly how it played out, it was a very insightful evening as it was my first trip to the mosque.

The intensity of my village's religious beliefs was always something that I felt built a wall between me and them. I have felt uncomfortable disturbing people while on their prayer mat, in case I was interrupting their prayer. I felt uneasy when people asked me to pray with them. I would always decline and explain that I was going to my room to pray and mutter the shema, demonstrating my 'words from Allah'.
 

But on the evening of Kiitimo this barrier was broken as I realized that in practice, there are many similarities between the Islam that is practiced in my village and the way that I have practiced Judaism. 

The day began as a 'Senegalese Halloween'. Kids walked around with an assortment of containers to people's huts and asking for sweets. Some women worked all day pounding beans, corn and sugar into a sweet like dough. Men passed out biskets and candy. I decided to join the fun and brought out a handful of cheap mints. After being attacked by 20 children and I decided against passing out more.

After breaking fast with 'mono', a corn sugar porridge, I ventured out with young girls to the mosque, proudly carrying my mat. We were late and so we were rushing with the other stragglers along the sand paths to the mosque. Like the last guy that forgets his yamika in shul, I forgot a headscarf and there was frantic search for an extra to drape over my brow. 

I took a place next to the young girls in the back of the women's session, in the dirt outside of the mosque. I felt like I was part of the cool kids group that hangs out in the back of any church or temple I have attended. As I adjusted my mat, all the men slowly filtered inside of the mosque while the women waited and bowed to the oldest, most respected men, reiterating the male dominated nature of Senegalese society.

Eventually the praying began. I awkwardly used my peripheral vision to spy on my neighbor, making sure I was correctly following the motions. My group of girls burst into giggles watching me. Like an annoyed Bubbe at temple, a grandmother in front of us sharply turned her head and gave us an angry glance that said all. The peanut gallery next to me tried to stifle their laughter.

After a few rounds of bowing down, kneeling, yoga-esque childs pose, and back to standing, I was enjoying the cathardic motion. I had been concerned that I would be unwelcome because I could not repeat the Arabic prayers but I realized very few were making attempts at saying the words. Like me at my Bat Mitzvah, reciting the haftarah from memory and not from understanding, they have no idea what they are saying.

The praying went on for over a dozen rounds and afterwards we were able to relax. I stretched out my legs and sat up straight, trying to pay close attention to the Imam who began to say prayers and a sermon in Jaxanke. I was taking serious mental notes- make sure to fast next year, help more villagers in school so they can go to France, give money to our mosque, etc... I soon realized I was the only one in my section even paying attention. The rest of the girls were laying down, heads rested on each other's stomachs discussing what was for dinner or gossiping about the men.

Several elderly men were given the opportunity to speak and they proudly preached on the importance of fasting, praying and giving money to the mosque. The ones with a few extra coins demonstrated their generosity by showing us the money and announcing how much they were giving before handing it to the Imam.

By 10:30 pm I was quite hungry and very glad to be given the cue that the service was over. Similar to my reaction after a long morning at temple, I eagerly stood up, wished my neighbors a healthy year and swiftly walked away to be first in line for the oneg- or rather my dinner of oily rice.

El hadji, Gnima and myself on Korite, ready to go great the village

Allah mu xi sun diyala le. Allah mu san diyala le. Allah mu moxo jarra la.

May your fast be sweet.

May Allah bring you a sweet year.

May Allah heal the people.

Hair!!!

The highlight of Korite, or the celebratory day after the month of Ramadan, is the prep. The girls go all out. If their parents have money they buy new outfits, new shoes, makeup, and fancy hair ties. But more likely than not, their parents dont have the funds to purchase those extravagant accessories and so they put all their card on the most important show- hair.
For days before, little girls rush around, getting their hair done by the pros. They fight back tears as the women quickly pull these tiny little braids into masterpieces. The final touch- the burning. They take pieces of cloth and light it on fire, then slightly burn the top of the hair to make it 'tighter'. I failed at trying to convince them that it is just damaging their hair.

 

Some kids buy hair extensions and do fancy dos like this-

Others buy those cheap plastic pieces and tie them on to the ends like Gundo's hair here. This picture is taken of Gundo getting make up done and all the other girls eager watching, fighting over whose turn it is next.

And of course I could not miss out on the fun so while I was buying veggies for my family the lady insisted on doing my hair so I gave in. And she did a good job!

 

Here I am on the day, decked out in my complete with my ladies.

Time is ticking!

I survived! I made it through another hot season. There were days where I could not summon the energy to move off of my floor (bed was too hot, floor is cement and thus a little cooler) between the hours of 2-5 pm. Try living in 115 degree heat without your fancy fans or air conditioned car. Surprisingly, there are a few positives to hot season-

-shower 4 times a day and no one judges

-No one does anything or expects to do anything between the hours of 2-5pm

-excellent detox for my sweat glands

-I wore shorts knee length in my compound and no one cared

-Mangos!!!

-Hippos are back!

-Bragging/bitching rights

-And that its over!!! 

So ya, the rains have come! Hooray! While it is still damn hot, the temp has decreased some and has been replaced with humidity. Some times slightly better.

I have been at my site for over one year and am seeing things happen again, the exact way they rolled out last year. More and more I realize how much I missed last year and how much more I understand now. 

The first rains have come, signaling the men to first rush to the fields. I understand who works on what crops. I know what all of the things people build are for, and why it is necessary to create huts just for peanuts. I am aware that women with older daughters plant more than one plot of peanuts while women without older girls do not. I realize that my father, the old, crazy chief that rarely moves from his chair, still has crops of cotton, corn and peanuts because others plant it for him out of respect.

Aminata has grown so much since I arrived, she now walks and is beginning to talk!

What has affected me the most is how hungry the women are after working in the fields from 8 am til 2pm. Since December, people were not working in the fields and I had forgotten how much food these women could eat. Now that they are back in the fields, their aggression at the field bowl increases. Additionally, Ramadan is around the corner meaning that people are trying to save their money because Ramadan is expensive. Therefore we have run out of rice and are only eating corn couscous. 

With that said, Ramadan is coming as is malaria and with these two events, I have my work put out for me. I have just attended a 10 day

intensive 'Malaria Boot Camp' that is put on by Peace Corps and includes PCVs from all over Africa. During my Boot Camp, there were over 30 volunteers from 16 different countries. I was able to collect lots of ideas and information on projects I will do over the next few months, working on encouraging everyone in my community to sleep under a net. With malaria work, talking to pregnant and breastfeeding women about not fasting during Ramadan, and an internship program that I am starting in Tambacounda, I have a busy few months ahead. Before I know it, I will have 3 months left in Senegal and will be planning my next adventure!

Kid playing on the chief''s brand new moto that he received from the government for being chief... He now uses it to travel 20 meters away from the compound.

Bassari Initiation

Last weekend I had one of those experiences that some of you may think of happens all the time here and is 'typical' Africa. I went to an initiation ceremony for young boys (about 13) into manhood. The older men put on these elaborate costumes that exposed more skin than I had seen in months and the young boys marched around following them in white outfits with a bow draped over their shoulder.

Whistles were blown, flutes were played, food and drinks were passed. This is not the norm in Senegal.

Transport. (and i usually take cars like this to get to village)

To witness this, I headed to Kedougou, the region in the South East corner of Senegal that is home to the Bassari ethnic group, one of the only groups of animist practitioners in Senegal. Every year a group of Peace Corps Volunteers head down to the Bassari country to attend these initiation ceremonies along with a decent number of other white tourists and a large amount of Senegalese tourists- wealthy Dakarians who are interested in witnessing this side of their country.

First off, the Bassari are a tiny ethnic group and within Senegal they only have a strong presence in this one area of this small region. Getting to this village was already an adventure, over 30 of us squished into a car that took us 80 kilometers down a bumpy road, taking about 4 hours. We arrived with changed skin color, layered in dirt and sweat.

Upon arrival, it appeared as if we had pulled into an other random village. Few people were there, everyone was sitting under the shade taking a nap and staying out of the heat. My first thought was, I came all the way for this?!

But once 5 o'clock rolled around men emerged from the woods, making music out of plastic whistles and wooden fluts, all in sync doing a slow two step around the village. The older men were trailed by a large group of young boys who looked nervous, excited, and like they were concentrating much harder at staying with the beat. All the tourists jumped up and began to trail the congo line of dancers, eager to make sure that we did not miss out on anything. Little did we know that this exact procession continued on until 1 in the morning.

In the meantime, everyone else was greeting old friends, eating fancy meals and generously pulling us white people into their social circles to talk with us and share stories. And, unlike the 90% of Senegal that I am accustomed to, they were drinking. We walked around with an empty cup and people generously shared palm wine and honey beer with us, wanting to make sure we had a good time. And let me tell you, they through a darn good party. These people were up ragging past the dancers, who would step out of the line to take some swigs of palm wine before jumping back in. As the night went on, more people danced, more people sang and hooted and hollered. I was in my tent by 11 but could hear people laughing and partying well past 2.

Young boys waiting to become men

The next morning began at 8 with the men re-emerging from the woods, doing the same two-step but wearing more elaborate costumes with masks that covered their faces, as shown in my pictures. Many of these faceless people appeared to be suffering the consequences of the night before but they still held up their end and danced for 2 hours until they led the initiating boys and other men to the woods.

At this time I was pretty pissed to be a girl in Senegal because we are not allowed to witness the actual ceremony where each young 13 year old boy fights one of these 30 year-old masked men. This battle is the final step towards becoming a Bassari man. According to my male friends, only one young boy did throw down his opponent, which led to a scandal as that is not really supposed to occur. The remainder mainly lost badly, and someone rushes off to tell the child's mother that he has become a man and fought bravely.

After this we ate lunch and returned home. Now reflecting on it, the entire 24 hours that we spent were not all that eventful. For most of it there was just a line of men scandalously clad doing the same dance in a line. But due to the stark contrast of this ethnic group and any other village I have been to in Senegal, it was damn cool to see.

Boobs!

This is a topic that is near and dear to all of our hearts- breasts. I have been wanting to address this subject primarily due to of all the stigma that is placed around breasts in America and because of the stereotypical image of the African woman being the National Geographic, topless female with a bone through her nose and nothing but a metal necklace to cover herself. Women here are MUCH looser about showing their boobs then Americans, partially due to the fact that breasts are not sexualized like they are in the states, women do not constantly walk around topless.

With that said, I do get saggy boobs in my face all the time. Unfortunately the boobs that you see are the one that you really do not want to see. After daily witnessing breasts the size of cantaloupes that sink bellow a belly button, I am concerned for the future of my bosom.

As soon as a baby has been attached to a breast it is all free game. They can leave those boobs hanging out all the time. I tell women that in the US women often use an elaborate sheet to cover themselves when breast feeding in public. The response is always confusion, bafflement, and then an exclamation of, why?! Women are meant to be proud that their breast is full of milk, it is a rite of passage into the territory of real womanhood. Shamelessly showing off their breasts is one way of saying, I am now a woman, I have children.

Before a woman breastfeeds they are more cautious about showing their breasts. In the privacy of a hut, young women will take off their shirts and fan themselves during the hot season. I am always tempted to join in this stripping. One of my favorite Jaxanke sayings that refers to me is: ‘I sunjiyo xa goleymaa ijewo ti’. Which translates to: 'your boobs are as ‘hard’ as your butt'. Meaning, I am just as shy about my breasts as I am my buttock. Contrary to most Western instinct, in Senegal, the butt is the body part that people are most shy about. Most women avoid wearing tight skirts so as to not expose the buttock.

Along the same topic, the younger women here do usually own a bra. If you consider a one size, triangular piece of cloth with straps a brassiere. While I was in the US for vacation I decided to do a small bra collection to bring back for my Senegalese family. I started out asking my mother and grandmother if they had a few extraneous bras. It quickly grew from there. Before the end of one week, thanks to the generosity of so many of you, I ended up with several trash bags worth of bras. I could have brought back more than 2 suitcases of bras alone. You all went above and beyond, bringing me the cutest, funkiest, and supportive bras, thank you!

While I could not bring back all of the bras you all so graciously donated to me, I still had over 50 bras with me when I arrived in village after being in America. And let me tell you, the women were ecstatic. When my 3 mothers were around my hut I decided to open up my room to them as a Victoria Secret dressing room. And they went crazy. Before I knew it I had 15 half-naked ladies, trying on bras, laughing, fighting over the cute ones, and helping each other figure out how to properly wear them. I helped women find the best size after I examined their naked breast, adjusted straps, hooked and removed numerous brassieres. The larger bras they thought were hilarious and they gossiped about whose boobs were big enough to properly fit into them. 

My favorite part of this was how for the next week I had women come up to me and flash me, showing off their new bra and happily exclaiming that it fits them and their back no longer hurts! Or my sister who is so proud of her new cute pink bra with ribbons on it that she flounces around her hut in her bra just to show it off. A day after the battle for bras, one of my favorite old ladies who didn't get a bra came up to me, lifting up her shirt and flapping her deflated boob in my face (that has fed 6 children), thus demonstrating her need for a bra. I did not attempt to stifle my giggles and neither did she.

My new norm

Any guesses on what my favorite part of visiting America was? OK food was pretty awesome but only won second to getting to see so many wonderful people. From seeing Grace in Boston, to all my family in Connecticut and then the amazing reunion I got to have with Marissa, Jessica and Natasha, it was a great reminder of all the supportive, marvelous people I have back home. And the simplicity of being able to go out to dinner, grab a cup of coffee, or take trips to Trader Joes was so refreshing.

But it was almost too easy! If I want to go buy lettuce here I have to leave before 10 am (afterwards its too hot), bike to the market, fight the crowds, argue in Jaxanke over prices and then bike back, making sure the shitty plastic bag I am using does not split open. And this is on a typical,

The magic of Sintra!

good day. On a bad day I get a flat tire on my bike, and have forgotten my water bottle and my cell phone. I am then stranded, dehydrated, pissed and have to walk the 2 km back. Sure makes you appreciate a car with air conditioning!

But, as fed up as I get with how much harder it is to do everything here and how annoying it is to have kids yell 'toubab' at me every second, I missed parts of this simple life! Because everything is so hard to do, I feel accomplished when I do one task a day. Its great! In the US I was running 5-7 errands a day! (I apologize to all of you that are actually working 9 to 5 jobs!)

I claim the tower on the left!

And of course, my time in Portugal was fabulous. I walked all of Lisbon, ate every pastry I could lay my hands on, visited museums, gardens, castles, monasteries and more. The Lisbon area is a magical place that felt like a cross between medieval times, San Francisco and Morocco. The Portuguese were friendly, spoke English and extremely helpful. I met so many other fascinating travelers and wanted to stay for longer than 5 days. I cant wait for my next Euro trip!


Some volunteers say that the transition pre and post-vacation can be the hardest part of Peace Corps, but I found it to be a refreshing experience.
Dont get me wrong, my first few days back in the '1st World' were tough. I went to at least 3 grocery stores and 15 restaurants on my first day in Lisbon, never buying anything just staring, overwhelmed at the options. I constantly wanted to do things like throw trash on the ground, pick my nose, eat with my hand and collect small change. All things that confuse and maybe disgust you all but are totally normal here and have become part of my norm. Even after almost 3 weeks, I would rethink touching things with my left hand or whether I should click my tongue in agreement or use words as affirmation. All of these strange traits are small ways that we as Peace Corps volunteers adapt to the culture we are engrossed in. While it was strange leaving those new pieces of me behind and trying to readjust my new oddities when I am not in Senegal, I found it as a refreshing reminder of how much I do enjoy this country and am comfortable with my new, strange life here.

While standing in customs at the airport, I jumped at the opportunity to attempt at speaking Wolof. I was so happy when I heard a man walk onto the plane and say 'Salum Alaikum' and was thrilled to help 4 Senegalese men fill out their declaration cards while on the airplane. Yes, all 4 Senegalese men who were sitting by me on the plane could not write. They had all been working in various European countries for 2 years and were returning home after a hard journey. So, while I do get frustrated with Senegalese people, with the heat, with the shitty food, I suppose that overall my life here is pretty darn good and has become seemingly normal, at least to me. As everyone says, Peace Corps sticks with you and I am sure that 10 years down the road Ill be just as excited as I am today to see a Senegalese restaurant in NYC or meet a Senegalese taxi driver who I can greet in Wolof.

Did I mention how I ate well? :)

But do not worry, I will be back after 2 years! I miss all of you (and eating ice cream, veggies and chips) too much! So thanks to all of you for making my vacation fabulous and now I am back, ready to work and sweat!

International Day of Women

For those of you who do not know, it was recently the International Day of Women on March 8th. Now if you ask me everyday is womens day, but I guess some people need a reminder. I just learned that my Dad and Stepmom also celebrated the day in Mexico by hosting a special worship service: http://erasingborders.wordpress.com/2013/03/11/international-day-of-women/ . While I am sure that was great and meaningful, I decided to celebrate the day with a little lighter approach.

In the treasure chest of the Tamba regional house, I found an old wig and old skirts that I brought to my village. On the celebrated day I went to the elementary school and explained purpose of the day and its history. After I had the boys talk about women's work and the girls talk about men's work. It quickly became clear who does more work who has the pleasure of sitting around and drinking tea all day.

After some pantomiming of work activities I invited the courageous boys to come in front of the class to put on the wig and skirt. For a class that is accustomed to writing down what is written on the blackboard and being beaten when they speak out of turn, this was an enjoyable activity.

As typical with pictures here, most kids refused to smile, even though they would laugh uncontrollably after!

For the rest of the day I had kids streaming into my room to try on the wig and skirts and have me take pictures of them that I promised to print when I am in the states, exactly 2 weeks from today!!!

Decided to give this baby a go, pretty adorable.

Cant believe I have been here for one year. I have learned so much but have not learned to tolerate the heat! It is back to 110 daily, which is do-able when you have air conditioning to escape to but when your only escape is a hand-held fan the heat can be quite painful! With that said, cant wait for East Coast weather and to see all of you so soon!

I recently had my first visitor here in Senegal, allowing me to explore more of Senegal with a laid-back, fun, adventurous partner. Over 12 days we had a whirl wind of a trip- exploring Dakar, going to my village, Tambacounda, Thies, the Gambia river, Toubacouta (a gorgeous town next to mangrove lagoons) and Lampoul (a picturesque touristy desert spot).

Myself and Anabel (a fellow Berkeley grad who I met when we studied abroad in Ghana together and due to fate we lived next door to each other the following year)

The only downside of the trip was that I feel like I have spent enough time sitting in transportation to last a lifetime. One of the more ridiculous days involved riding on an ‘Alhum’, sept-place, taxi, bush taxi, back of a truck, snowboard and camel. Eight modes of transport in a period of 16 hours- you couldn't pay for that type of adventure in the US!

I think we really only had one low point-when the car that we were jammed in for 4 hours (dehydrated and starving) had cockroaches swarming the floor. Anabel became an expert roach killer while I tried to focus on not getting a concussion from my head hitting the roof of the car. The high point for me is a tie between our pirogue boat journey in Toubacouta where we watched over 100 birds flock home as the sun was setting and our camel ride during which we watched the sunset and the full moon rise over the sand dunes. Not too shabby.

But overall it was a well worthwhile trip (for me and I think for Anabel as well ;). Getting to show off my village to a person who knows me was a special experience. I am so of how much I have learned and changed over the past year! Just watching Anabel struggle to eat rice with her hand while I expertly licked the particles of rice and sauce from my fingers made me realize how far I have come. It is also refreshing to translate for others and remind people in my village how far my language has come- there was once a point when I too could barely spit out 5 words and did not know how to greet! But Anabel within no time Anabel was a pro, she was ecstatic to take on a new name- Oumu- and felt quite connected to her namesake whom we helped pull water at the garden and made lame attempts at pounding grain for her. I wish we could have spent more time in Soucoto as with 4 solid days there she would have had the greetings down, impressing everyone.

I have to admit tho- translating for another person for 2 weeks is exhausting, especially as I was working through speaking Jaxanke, Mandinka, Pulaar, Wolof, French, and English. My proudest moments involved haggling in Dakar making sure she got the lowest prices on souvenirs- and Id say we did pretty darn well.

Got to pet 10 month old lions at a Park Reserve! Pretty cool, their tails and paws especially felt cool!

Being a tourist here was a nice break from my day to day life- which I am eager to jump back into before I leave for my next journey, a trip to the East Coast! 

But cant wait for my next visitors to share my experiences and to explore all that Senegal has to offer! So Bismillah everyone!

Eating to live- Senegalese Village Diet

I just realized I have yet to write a blog on the thing that I think about the most- FOOOOOODD!!! obviously....So I am going to try to give you all a run down on the typical Senegalese village diet and table manners, or should I say dirt manners?

First off I will give you a summary village meals. Lunch is always plain rice with peanut sauce. The sauce is made by boiling water, then adding peanut butter to it. A special stick is used to stir this mixture which makes it boil up and become fluffier. Spices, pounded onion, pepper and occasionally dried fish (gross) or small bits of meat are added for flavor. In general this sauce, mafee, is not bad it is just becomes kinda drab when you eat it every day.

My favorite sauce

There are two dinner options for me. One is a couscous that is made either or millet or corn with a sauce served over it. My favorite is when there is couscous with a leaf sauce that is made by boiling leaves, and then adding spice and ground peanuts (right now squash is also added giving me a real vegtable!). My other dinner option is boiled corn that turns into a kind of mush and then has either a peanut or leafy sauce in the middle. When I first got here I could not stomach any of the mush but now, I have gotten used to it... Never thought I would say that.

For special events cheeb is cooked. This is rice that is cooked with oil and spices. Then a few veggies are fried up to serve on top and if you are lucky, fish is fried and put on top as well. I do not particularly like cheeb as it just means oily rice, no sauce, and in my case only a small bite of fried cassava, but other volunteers eat cheeb everyday for lunch and see a pile of veggies in the center. I only saw that many veggies for Tabaski, the biggest holiday of the year.

Something I find particularly cool is that for the first time in my life I am completely eating seasonally. For instance, I had never seen a squash here until about a month ago when there was a massive harvest in my village and now I get a bite of squash everyday. Squash is usually boiled or fried and is a delicious addition. Before squash it was okra, and before bitter tomato and before that it was... humm I forget!

Plato-y food, when the sauce is good I can handle it!

Much to my mother and grandmother's chagrin, but to my pleasure, I eat with my hands here!! Myself and 8 other women crowd around one bowl for meals, using only our right hand to scoop out rice from the portion of the bowl directly in front of us. To get the sauce you kinda pull some of the sauce from the center to the rice, roll it in your hand for a bit, then those it in your mouth, licking off the remainder of the sauce. If I did not look attractive when eating before I came to this country, there is no WAY I look anything less than hideous now.

Lastly, I want to clarify that what I eat is totally different from Anna, who is a mere 10 km away from me, and is completely different from what someone would eat 70 km away in Tamba. Every village is different and every family is different. I recently discovered that my family's food is especially poor and there are other compounds in my village that eat more fish, meat, veggies etc... Yes, I have been using this knowledge to my advantage and eating food at other homes :)

People love it when I eat at their home. The funny part is that I am always given my own bowl, as I am a special guest, and then brought in a room to eat alone. Either that or a few people will awkwardly watch me eat by myself as they wait for their bowl. I compare this to having a visitor in the states, sitting them in front of the table as the rest of the house goes and watches TV. Weird right? Gotta love culture! 

While I sure do miss American food and find myself dreaming (literally) about salad bars, multigrain bread, Mexican food, asparagas and shrimp...ok i need to stop making this list...I have found that because I often have no choice of what I am eating, I have learned how to eat to live, not live to eat, which is something that us Americans love to do.
With that said, every time I go into Tamba I shove myself with goodies and treats and delicious care packages that you all have provided me. Sooooo I have definitely not made it a rule for myself but it is an interesting thing to think about and man am I excited to not eat rice ever again!!!!!!!

My favorite baby!! Aminata, isnt she adorable! And yes, very dirty :P