A final blog is needed to conclude my Peace Corps journey. After returning to the US, my instinct is not to write about how I wrapped up final projects, conducted an inspiring camp for girls or passed along baby weighing work to counterparts; its about the children I had to say goodbye to. 

I will leave you some pictures that I frantically took during my last 7 days in village, as I realized this is the final chance I will get to photograph, cuddle and teach the cutest kids in the world. 

There is Ami, who was only 3 months old when I arrived. I carried her on my back, saw her take her first steps and say her first words. 

There is Mariama, whose mother I saw struggle to gain weight during her pregnancy after experiencing 2 miscarriages. She was born severely underweight but over the 14 months that I saw her grow she became a chubby, healthy baby who could walk into my arms. Oh, and she has the worlds cutest butt.

There is Lamini, whose attitude and spunk would put a smile on my face, even if I was dehydrated, annoyed and starving.

There is Fantan-din, whose mother was a mere child herself and who I was with when she was told she was pregnant out of wedlock.

 There is Nini, who for months would scream bloody murder when she saw me, scared of the white person. But upon my final months would instead chant my name and run up to hug my legs ever time she saw me, making me feel like the most special person in the world.

And there is my namesake, Fanta, who slept in my bed with me, who I taught to her own name, but who taught me so much more. She was my Jahanke teacher, my personal washing machine and my companion. Her emotional intelligence and work ethic could rival any 30 year old America, yet she is barely 7. 

For me, this is 'Africa'. There is no starvation, no war, and no 'underdevelopment'. There are only the biggest smiles, a love of one's family and a love of life. 

Its all the little things

I was recently afforded with the wonderful opportunity to host a dear friend from Berkeley, Jessica. Being a host is always strenuous and exhausting, but is also a refreshing reminder of the parts of Senegal that are unique and thrilling, much of which I have forgotten as they have blended in, becoming a rudimentary part of my life.

Here are a few of the little things that happened and that I had to ask of Jessica; is this typical in America as well? Generally her response was no.

-A man who had been waiting for 2 hours for a car to be filled, gave up his seat so that Jessica and I could travel with two of my friends whom we had randomly ran into.

-Hearing the piercing screams of children after they have been beaten; my instinct is to shelter them, but my sensible self knows that there is nothing I can do

-Sitting five people in one row, the car door has no latch, thus refusing to stay closed and routinely flies open

-An unfortunate driver has a flat tire on the side of the road; we stopped to exchange our extraneous good tire for his bad one 

Typical transport?

-Sitting, reading, playing cards, practicing patience, doing nothing all day long

-When eating chicken, being able to detect which part of the chicken you are eating

-We got to a Restaurant and everything on the menu was not available

-I blew my nose into my skirt, it was dirty already…

-After speaking to the fabric seller in Jahanke and learning that she too is named ‘Fanta’, we receive a large discount

-While sitting in a transport vehicle, I am handed a baby from a stranger to be looked after while she goes to the shop and to talk to people for an hour

-The world is my garbage can, why wouldn’t I throw an old paper out the window?

And something that I especially need to watch out for, is talking about people right in front of them. No one understands English anyway right? Additionally, Senegalese culture encouraged my frankness as it is typical to label a person according to their physical attributes. There is always the ‘blind man’ the ‘fat lady’ the ‘toothless man’, etc….

I sure will miss these views from cheap hotel rooms.

These are the things that make adjustment to life in America difficult post Peace Corps. It will be tough to go to a store and not want to break a large 10 dollar bill, is change superfluous in the states? Or to eat with a spoon and fork. Or to spend 15 dollars on a meal! Yikes!

So with all that said, be patient with me and try not to be too disgusted when I drop an Oreo in the dirt and pick it up to eat without thinking twice…

Dienaba's story

There are some stories that really stick with me. Like life anywhere most days now quickly slip by with nothing new for me to think of. My life in Senegal has become quite ‘normal’. But occasionally, there are stories that rise above the others, stories and people that I will think about daily when I return to the US in May.

One of these stories is Dienaba’s. Her strength and courage continues to astonish me and make me question myself. I hope you find it equally compelling.  

I first met Dienaba when I was interviewing the 8 winners of the Michelle Sylvester Scholarship at the Middle School in Dialacoto. She was similar to the rest of the girls, rather timid, spoke elementary French and was nervous to speak to me. After the completion of the program and the school year, I continued to get calls from her, at first not realizing who it was. When she continued to call merely to greet me I became suspicious. This is common here (especially from men who want to marry you), Senegalese calling incessantly, just to say hello but eventually asking for money.

Dienaba never asked for anything, she would call at least once a day, ask where I was and showed up at my door a few times. She would even sweep my room, insisting that it was dirty and she wanted to clean it. One of these times it was very early when she arrived. She was very clearly upset, and rapidly said some things in Jahanke that I did not understand and left.

Much to my dismay, I did not understand what was going on and her calls began to stop. I am embarrassed to admit I was grateful for the lessening up of contact as my suspicions that she wanted money or something from me remained.

At the start of the school year, thanks to the Michelle Sylvester Scholarship and many of your donations, I paid her school fees and in doing so the school administrator explained something to me. Dienaba’s parents had forced her into a marriage that she did not want to commit to. She continued to refuse until her only option was that she ran away. In doing so, she isolated herself, deserting the only family and community that she knew. She went to the police, to report her situation.

Everyday in Senegal, girls as young as fourteen marry men twice, three times their age. But, this is no longer socially acceptable everywhere. There are many efforts demeaning early marriage, promoting awareness for girls education and later marriage. I am proud to say that in my village, while many young girls are ‘promised’ to older men, they rarely get married until after they finish Middle School or they are at least seventeen. Additionally, there are government laws against these forced marriages. Dienaba is just one example.

With the police, she took her parents to the courts in Tambacounda. There is a specific Judicial branch, dealing with child cases, and from there she won her freedom, but also her seclusion.

Now she has no contact with her family, her brothers and sisters, her uncle that she had lived with during the school year, none of them communicate with her. She lives at the police station in Dialacoto. No longer having a home but a public, temporary living space, shared with several Wolof men and a woman who is hired there to clean. When I went to see her at her new home she was overjoyed to have a friend visit. Naively, most will not come for fear of the police arresting them. She seemed more determined than ever to continue her study, but sad that she has broken so many ties in order to fulfill this basic human right.

My reason for telling you this story is not to further the stereotypes of ‘gender struggles’ in Africa. I am not telling you to go donate money to NGOs supporting girl’s rights nor to send money to Dienaba.

Rather, I want to explain that slowly slowly, girls here are fighting back. With or without outside intervention. Here, the system put in place by the Senegalese government worked! The police stepped up, the judicial system supported her, teachers at the Middle School gave her pens and books, I paid the 14 dollars for her school fees and now, she has been taken in as his own daughter by the Chief of Police in Dialacoto. Because of help from her community, she will finish Middle School, and hopefully be one of the rare girls that continues to High School.

Dienaba is one of the lucky ones, her story may be rare now, but I have faith that come ten years it will become one among many.