What am I doing in Senegal?

The past 3 weeks at site, I am finally able to set some projects in motion because I am actually in one place and not running all over Senegal. It feels great to finally be doing some legitimate work, not just practicing language, meeting new people, and trying to assess the needs of my community free of bias: all i was excpected to do for the first couple months.At least I have a concrete answer that people can understand and respect when they ask what my job is in Senegal, not a vague description and condensed history of Peace Corps. Now I can say that I:

1. I am building latrines. I wrote to Appropriate Projects (an organization of returned PC volunteers in co-op with WaterAid) and received $500 to build 10 new latrines in the village. (Check it out!) open defecation is a huge problem here. There are only 5 latrines in a village of 500 people. Most people take care of their business out in the fields, but small children, the elder, and those with inflamed bowels cannot help make just go out behind their huts. And they don't always bother with digging a hole.
So you know all those flies that you see crawling all over the poor, starving African children's facial orifices in the 1-800-DONATENOW commercials? Well, that's kind of what it looks like in my village... the flies, not so much the starvation. But what they don't show you is where those flies are born (in poop) and what they like to snack on (poop and food). Those very flies go around spreading diseases, making people sick, and causing them to spend an obscene percentage of their money on medicines. Not to mention that diarrhea is the number one killer among children in the developing world. Or should we blame a lack of proper sanitation and an abundance of flies? Anyways, the latrines are not 100% the solution and I know that it isn't all that sustainable to build stuff from grant money, but the health of my community and my peace of mind at lunch justifies this project for me.
Please check out the project and give some if you can - I promise I am going to move away from grant projects and won't be hustling you for money the next two years. Most people here are too dependent on hand outs and have become blind to their own capabilities and the opportunities that surround them. I totally agree that projects should focus on capcity building and empower people to take control of their own lives. Still, without some basic infrastructure, the health, education, and mobility of Senegalese people is harshly limited...

2. My neighbors and I have founded a Cercle des jeunes femmes, a Girls Club, aimed at empowering young women. The club meets weekly and it is made up of 10 high school girls. I know this sounds small, but they represent nearly half the female student body. The goal of the club is really simple: to give girls an open, friendly environment to let loose and learn. Through a series of discussions, trainings, and guest speakers covering everything from health to personal finances to gardening,  we hope to introduce new ideas and skills to the girls. since we are meeting in a space provided by the mayor of Kounkane, the mairie (mayor's office) asked that we give monthly reports on our work in the community, which means we will all (Senegalese and American) do some volunteer work: painting murals and maps at schools, planting trees in public spaces, running a girls' leadership conference at the end of May, and recording informative radio programs for the local stations. Basically, a much cooler version of the Girl Scouts, minus the cookies. (Speaking of which, Girl Scout cookies are a GREAT care package idea!) We have only had the first couple meetings, but the girls are highly motivated and have come up with an inspiring list of discussion and training topics. Wednesdays at Girls club are the new high point to my week.

3. i am bringing literacy to the Fuladu! Several volunteers in the region got together a collection of Pulaar sotires and translated short stories into Pulaar. We are now in the process of getting them printed into storybooks! The idea of the project is to promote Pulaar literacy. Several women's groups are taught to read in Pulaar by aid organizations in the area, but they aren't given anything interesting to read, so they are not motivated to keep reading and they forget. Also, children go to school without knowing any French, but are expected to read, write, and learn in French; having a Pulaar reader could give them literacy in their own language first and hopefully a little confidence reading French as well. Literacy is the ability to send a text message, to record information and communicate over long distances; right now, it is mostly just men who possess this skill in the village. Literacy is empowerment of women and youth - writing it down in Pulaar levels the playing field a tad. Plus, selfishly, it has helped me improve my own language skills and given me something to talk about with my family.

4. I work with my counterpart to demonstrate improved agricultural techniques and to hold trainings to teach local farmers, gardeners, and students. In cooperation with USAID, the Peace Corps created  a Food Security Program including a number of Master Farmer demonstration sites across Senegal. Master farmers are provided funds to set up a 1 hectare demonstration plot with a well, fence, and tools. In return, thay must demonstrate certain techniques, showcase specific agricultural experiments and supply the results to Peace Corps, and hold trainings and at least one Open Field Day per year. Right now is a transition period between the cold-dry season and the hot-dry season, so we are busy setting up new beds with a variety of comparisons of companion plantings, plant spacings, mulching techniques, and tree nursery styles. The biggest problems in the garden are the break-ins by badgers, monkeys, and goats; my counter-part's overacheiver schedule; and the insects. As much as I hate to use chemical pesticides, they are an inevitability in the tropics, next to a large body of fresh water, so I'm fighting for their correct application and wearing protective clothing when the chemicals are used. I really love working in the garden; it gives my day some structure. Plus, we get to eat all the tomatoes, onions, okra, and cabbage as they've come into season!

5. Miscellaneous other (Agroforestry) activities... Pluses of being an Agroforestry volunteer include climbing trees, going for long walks in the woods, and eating lots and lots of fruit. I also get to go on seed collection missions at neighboring sites and get a warm, fuzzy feeling everytime I see a Moringa tree ripe with seed pods. (If you don't know all about Moringa, you should look into it... wikipedia!) I am teaching my moms how to read watches with hands and Roman numerals; much more classy than digital.
As for the second goal of Peace Corps (sharing American culture with my new neighbors), I had my first village pizza night last Saturday. My cousin Omar is the village bread baker and some time ago I mentioned making pizza to him and some of my brothers. They had no idea what i was talking about; they thought I meant to say a sandwich... So I brought cheese back from Dakar and we made real, delicious, hot-out-the-oven pizza! The villagers who came by looking for bread were confused by the creation, couldn't pronounce it, and mostly were just annoyed that the regular bread wasn't ready yet. But one darling old lady decided to try it and even paid me 50 cents for her own personal pizza. Victory! There is someone in my village (elderly and a woman at that!) not only willing to experience something new and different, but also ready to pay for it!

This is a hopeful month with lots of new projects to take on. Unfortunately, this post finds my in the doldrums of hot season and inexplicable illness. Although, in all honesty, if there weren't these dampers on my energy, I wouldn't have found the time to leave the projects and write this blog! Photos are coming later this week... with better internet connection!

Little America

Agroforestry summmit, All Volunteer Conference take two, and the West African International Softball Tournament brought me out of village (again) and into the bright lights of Dakar for the last week of February. Nestled int he beautiful seaside neighborhood of Mamelles, in the shadows of the Lighthouse Mamelles and the Statue of African Renaissance ( a gift from North Korea and rather Soviet kitsch), the American Embassy Press Security's family hosted six volunteers and myself. And what a treat! Food, lodging, taxis, and just about everything in Dakar feels very expensive on my monthly village allowance.
Thanks to our wonderful host family, we had a comfortable, fantastic stay in Dakar. So comfortable in fact that it felt just like America for a couple of days - Raisin Bran for breakfast, hot showers, electricity, and a washing machine! Not to mention it was President's Day and there was the softball tournament at the American club all weekend... it hardly felt like Senegal with all the American foreign service, volunteers, and ex-pats everywhere.

All dressed up and chilling with the Talibe.

For Peace Corps volunteers, this is an amazing opportunity to meet up with friends who live and work on the opposite side of the country. Needless to say, our commitment to the sport of softball is vague, secondary at best. So PC volunteers sign up for the social league and it turns into more of a competition of witty costumes and general wackiness that we cannot express in village. There were cook outs, parties every night, speaking American English, and swimming in the pool (well, I couldm't really because my costume was an Avator and covered in blue finger paint and glitter). I really forgot that I was in Africa.
As guilty as I felt when I was packing my suitcase to leave village, with my little sisters oh-ing and ah-ing the nice clothes I keep hidden from the dust and fighting to try on the only pair if "claque-claque," aka heels, that I brought to country. It was a very enjoyable week and much needed break from the constant culture shock.

On the Road

First off, my apologies for not keeping a regularly updated blog... still new at this, plus internet is hard to come by. But this is going to change because I made a New Year's resolution that it would, and it may be a month late but it change seems to be the word of the day in the headlines. (My heart goes out the people in so many Middle Eastern and African countries taking charge of their future and their governance this week.)

Brief Summary of the Past Two Months: One month ospent away from my all too new site for  All Volunteer Conference, In-Service Training and Christmas in Dakar. While the temptations of Dakar and Thies are delightful - namely ice cream, hamburgers, and other hard to find food products - they are also a touch expensive given a limited village allowance. New Years found me happily make in the village, ready to take on a slew of project ideas formulated with other volunteers in between and over snack breaks. But I was quickly swept away to the (small) city of Kolda to discussion our regional startegy as volunteers. Further armed with vague plans and ideas, I returned to the village 5 days later. The past two weeks some of those ideas are being put into motion: organizing a girls club and leadership conference in Kounkane, planting guava trees, getting the Master Farmer demonstration plot ready for tree pepiniere trainings, writing grants for douches (aka hole-in-the-ground cement slab style toilets), translating short stories into Pulaar to promote literacy, and Moringa leaf powder for growing babies. The ball is just beginning to roll on these projects and I got a few more up my sleeve, not to mention I still have half the village to get to know.

Unfortunately and fortunately, February has filled out with trainings away from site, postponing some of these projects until the end of the month. Well it is frustrating to be pulled away yet again, I am truly interested in learning how to construct peanut shellers and pumps for wells, to get more information on fruit tree diseases and raising poultry, and most importantly to trade tree seeds so I can really get started with Agroforestry projects.

All these trainings all over Senegal have meant a lot of travel, and a lot of different modes of transportation. Transportation in Senegal is organized and chaotic all at once and always colorfully decorated with ribbons and prayers to Allah. "Sept-places," converted station wagons with, as their name suggested, seven places for passengers, have strictly enforced capacity for the most part. Buses between cities also usually usually enforce the one person-one seat rule. Bigger minivans, or bush taxis or Alhams or whatever name you want to give them, however are more of a free for all; people are crammed 5 or 6 to a row with random babies on random laps and chickens below the seats, no less than 3 apprentices and other guys hanging off the back, and a top heavy cargo on top. Need I remind you that most of these vehicles have miraculously navigated the potholes, rocks, and sand so characteristic of West African roads for upwards of twenty years?

The drivers are amazing... traveling top speed with worn brakes (at best), dodging the above mentioned obstacles plus livestock and rebels in the Casamance, repairing inevitable flat tires in record time, they some how beat the odds 9 times out of 10 and get their passengers to their destination. Every trip is an adventure spent sweating up against and engaging your neighbor in small talk. Oddly enough, it seems that every trip I find myself equally felling asleep and grasping onto something- anything- bracing myself for the worst when the driver swerves a bit too fast, the back tire explodes and we go carening of the road, or the faulty brakes burn rubber before bringing us to a halting stop. Now that I have probably terrified my mother, I must reiterate my confidence in the skills of these drivers, who have fearlessly guided me and my fellow passengers out of every sticky situation so far, knock on wood and cross your fingers too, just to be sure.

On today's journey to Tambacounda, en route to the pump and sheller technology training in Kedegou, I found my mind wandering to possible escape routes out of the Alham/bush taxis and sept-place I took. The first bush taxi was going remarkably fast and really swerving around potholes, so the application of such an emergency evacuation plan seemed plausible. Luckily, the vehicle was largely empty, which would illiminate the need for crawling over people; unluckily, the window I was seated next to did not open. Best chance would be the back door, meaning a climb over the seat bakc, which I would be capabable of as long as I did not sustain any injuries to the head. Feeling largely confident with this plan, I settled down to gaze lazily out the window and let my mind wander in a half-sleep stupor.

This relatively enjoyable ride ended when the driver decided he didn't have enough passengers and pulled over to kick us out, so we could board the minivan just ahead of us and he could turn back and look for more profit. The next bush taxi was overcrowded and top heavy, but slower. I deduced that a roll over after a pothole/cattle swerve maneuver would be the most likely scenario calling for an escape plan. Seated in the back cabin, I had easy access to the back door. However, it could mean a fight through the crowd to go out the door. And if the apprentices and random dudes hanging off the back didn't leap from the bumper to save themselves, they could block the doors and entrap the rest of us inside. Really, it would all depend on which way the car would tip.

Finally in Velingara, we nabbed a sept-place to Tamba. My seat number landed me a place in the backseat next to another on openning window. My escape options were the middle seat door and/or window or kicking open the trunk. Waiting for the car to fill, the trunk filled open, leaving the middle seat door as the only option. Sept-places have a set number of people as I've mentioned, so it all would hang on the hang on the motivation and agility of the people in the middle seat, one of whom was my Peace Corps neighbor... Until the diva, ceeb (Senegalese style-fried rice) mamas insisted she take a back seat because they were too corpulent to squeeze in the back. The argument continued aggressively for a while and we finally caved to their demands in the interest of time. Given the physical nature and personalities that our traveling companions had displayed, I resigned myself to accepting a painful non-escape in the event of an emergency, cracked open a book, doozed off, and left my life in the hands of the driver and Allah. And here I am, safe at last, and with internet! in Tambacounda.

Greetings to friends and family; hope you all had happy holiday and new year celebrations! Special shout outs the my parents, my aunt and uncle, and cousins for the awesome Christmas packages I found at the post office today - I cannot even begin to describe how happy a letter, card, or package can make a volunteer far from home. Thanks for all the love and support!

First Weeks in Site

My residence for the next two years is the lovely village of Goundaga, in Kolda, the southern region of Senegal. I live in a mud hut with a thatched roof and gorgeous backyard including a guava tree, a couple papaya tree, and tree nursery left by the awesome volunteer that proceeded me. My hut is one of seven in my family's compound plus two cinder block buildings and a kitchen hut. My family is huge, but I think I finally know most of their names: I've a host dad, and his brother, and three moms between them, then all their children plus a couple that they've "adopted." All in all there are about 30 people living in the compound, though 5 of my siblings are moving into the nearby large village/town for high school. I love my family; they have been nothing but kind and open so far. And my neighbors have been extremely welcoming and helpful in teaching me Pulaar. Goundaga is a pretty small village: around 450 people and most everyone is related so how or other. We have a mosque and elementary school, though the school's recently had two of its three rooms condemned by the inspector and badly needs its roof repaired. My counterpart, Demba Balde, and I are looking into ways to cover the cost of repairs as well as find funds to build bathrooms and a well for the school asap. ( More information to come on this project soon!)  

Demba and I at the demo plot

My days in the village are pretty structured, so I lose track of time a lot; there are no weeks in the village; there is always work to be done if you want to eat, or drink water, or have clean clothes... A typical day in the village for me starts around 6:30, when the sun comes up and my moms start pounding millet/corn/rice and pulling water at the well. I wake up and pull my own water that I will need for the day. Most of the water goes to the tree nursery and garden in my backyard - it's easy to conserve water when you have to pull it yourself. When my little brothers and sister see my door open, someone always runs to greet me, then beg for Flintstone vitamins that the previous volunteer gave them. (Hint hint, great care package idea!) Then I head out to the demo plot with Demba and my brothers to water the garden and build more garden beds; we have close to a quarter acre planted my now and it looks beautiful!

We get back around 10 and eat some type of porridge for breakfast, depending on what my moms pounded that morning. Between 11am and 4pm it is far to hot to get much of anything accomplished without completely exhausting yourself. I will sit and chat with my family in the shade, or help my sisters cook lunch. Lunchtime is 2pm, followed By siesta, when I try to read some of my various Peace Corps manuals and readings before falling asleep on my floor. Unless, my neighbors Omar 2011 and Omar 2012 are baking bread in their mud brick oven; then I go "help" and get first dibs on fresh, hot bread. Then it is back to the demo plot for evening water; sometimes we go visit a rice paddy or peanut field where my parents, aunts, and uncles are harvesting before heading home. The peanut field is always better because it means a snack! Even better when we have a lighter and can light some peanut plants on fire and have roasted peanuts.

Back home sweaty and caked in dirt, I play with my little brothers and sisters, then retreat to take a bucket bath outside under the setting sun. Then, I hang out with my siblings and neighbors in front of my older brothers hut, chatting in Pulaar while we make tea and listen to the radio. I eat dinner with my dad in my hut and we talk about our plans for the next day and what projects we can do in the community. After dinner I usually keep to myself and watch the stars (amazing far far away from electricity), or write, or read. Sometimes, if I'm not exhausted, I'll go back out and talk with the guests and neighbors that come by to greet the compound in the evening. Either way, I'm usually asleep early because it's so dark and my brain cannot function in Pulaar after about 9pm.

Papaya Jack-o-Lattern

The typical day is of course punctuated with the little special moments that are the matter from which our memories take shape. Some of my outstanding memories this past month have been carving jack-o-latterns from papayas for Halloween (creating an instant dance party among my younger siblings -- they sing and their own musical accompaniment), teaching one of my moms and brothers how to make sauerkraut and watching the family devour a bucket full 4 days later, teaching my siblings random yoga poses, and rescuing a kitten from certain death by drowning from two rambunctious 7 year olds.

Unfortunately there is also the sadder memory of my sister's death and funeral: she's been real sick for a while so I never got a chance to know her, but it was still heartbreaking to watch my family and the community mourn her, people I have come to love. Just as I was going to sleep, I heard wailing-screaming out in the compound that a chorus of sobs and shouts as the women of the village poured into our compound and announced her passing. The men followed to pay there respects. It was all sort of eery in the half-moon light and confused, I walked through the dark until I met my brother's wife, crying. She explained what had happened between sobs as a held her up, because she was literally shaking with sobs. The next day was the funeral, which was a repeat of the previous night all morning with people and relatives coming to pay their respects from surrounding villages.

When my brothers finally carried the body from my mom's hut to bring her to the cemetery (only men can attend the burial), most of the women started wailing, some of my sisters throwing themselves on the ground and beating the earth in grief. It was both a sad and awkward experience for me because I felt my family's grief, but I didn't know how to comfort them or how to react. A couple hours later the neighborhood women served lunch to all the guests; they had been over all morning cooking couscous in giant cauldrons, stirring with spoons the size of themselves.

Tabaski, or Eid al-Adha, was just two days later. Our celebration was toned down because the family was still in mourning and many of our resources had been used during the funeral. For those of you that don't know, Tabaski is the West African name for the Muslim holiday that commemorates Abraham's almost sacrifice of his own son to Allah (God), before Allah intervenes and replaces his son with a ram. So every head of the household buys at least one ram (or goat in our case) and slaughters it. Then the women cook up the meat and dishes are passed back and forth between neighbors and family members throughout the next two days. Everyone gets all dressed up in new clothes and gets their hair done, kind of like Korite (end of Ramadan). Tabaski is a huge deal in the village, where we never eat meat and only really eat fish. Kind of like Thanksgiving for Americans in a way...

Which is exactly how I described Thanksgiving to my host family, except we eat turkey instead of sheep, this being the precursor to the Great Turkey Hunt. I had seen a turkey in a neighboring village during Volunteer visit during training. I asked my dad which village the turkey lived in and set out to Sare Yarubel with my closest neighbor and best friend in country, Sam, to find the legendary beast.

Hiraade/Herman the Turkey

We biked nearly an hour through the backwoods of Kolda, stopping to greet the villages along the way. When we finally got to the turkey's compound, his "mother," a tiny Pulaar woman with a great sense of humor, greet us and started bargaining with us over the turkey - which she couldn't believe we had come all this way to eat. Or not bargain, because she knew we were tired and had to have the turkey whatever the cost. Her son helped us tie the HUGE (free-range!) turkey to the back of my bike, using a broken bucket and somebody's old pants, and we headed back on our way.

Unfortunately, because of the poor condition of the paths between the village, the turkey was able to escape - twice. But his feet were tied and he could get far so we tied him back down a continued to Sare Abdou, where a fellow volunteer's father helped us secure him on the bike rack better. With the sun setting, I rode into my village, all the children chasing me to get a better look at the beast. They wanted to know its name (maybe they thought I was adopting it, like the cat), so I told them "Hiraade," or "Dinner."Once it was untie however, they kept their distance. The turkey spent the night tied up in my backyard on a hunger strike.
I heard rustling during the night but thought nothing of it. The next morning, I went out back to brush my teeth and there was the turkey - free and tail feathers spread and menacing. I figured I could just let it run around the backyard for a couple hours until my boss came with the Peace Corps car to catch up with me about my projects and, hopefully, drive Hiraade to Kolda.

While I was drawing water for the garden, he escaped out the front during and into the compound, heading for the kitchen. My siblings and I tried to chase him away, but he just ran into the neighbor's compound, starting a panic among the goats. The men in the compound helped me chase him back towards my hut, but they were too scared to try and catch the "giant chicken." So I grabbed its tail feathers, then caught its wings so it couldn't fight me, and finally tied his feet together. Never ever thought I would be catching Thanksgiving dinner... Two hours later, my APCD came and took it to Kolda, where it has been renamed Herman and awaits its fate tomorrow. The funny part about this whole story is Sam is a vegetarian and I don't eat all that much meat... yet we are the mighty mighty turkey captors of the Kolda region.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

Officially a Volunteer : Swearing in

The last week of home stay flew by into whirlwind of celebrations to wrap up training, making us trainees officially Peace Corps Volunteers!
To thank our homestay families for all of their patience and help as we struggled to learn a new language and adopt Senegalese customs, we held a luncheon at the Thies training center. It was a little bit awkward because are training group was so large that we could only invite one family member each. So my "mom", and namesake, Habi Balde came for the afternoon. For all the trying moments that we had together during homestay, it was actually really nice to see her, all dressed up. Best part of the luncheon: lunch. Probably chicken, vegetables, and rice sound very simple to all you back at home, but it's expensive here and that is a treat. After lunch and tea, there was music and dancing; I actually got my "mom" to get up and dance Gwana (the national hit dance) in public with me. She loves to dance and we'd always dance at home, but never ever when anyway was home, so this was specially. It was really sad to say goodbye in the end because Habi started crying and honestly I don't know when I will be able to visit them again, but hopefully I will.

Two days later was swearing in at the US Ambassadors House. I was so ready for this one, minus the pre-speech butterflies in my stomach. I own a pair of coral pink Converses and I thought it would be symbolic to pair the shoes with a Senegalese outfit. The outfit was a process (finding the right material, designing the pattern, explaining to the tailor in broken Wolof-French what it was I wanted) but well worth it. Everyone looked gorgeous in their Senegalese outfits as we boarded the buses for Dakar. We had gendarme escort us into the city: sirens, lights, wrong side of the road and all. ( A little bit over the top and embarrassing but it was kind of fun too.) The ceremony itself was televised and there is a Peace Corps video of it somewhere(youtube?). I had the honor of giving the Pulaar language thank you/congratulations speech to an audience of the Ambassador, government officials, PC & JICA directors, and of course my fellow volunteers. I was all nervous because my Pulaar knowledge is very limited. But   everyone else thought it sounded great and I had a sweet outfit...

My Peace Corps Stage

The swearing in ceremony was concluded with delicious  foods, cold drinks, and photos in the Ambassador's garden. Then we went over to the American Club, aka swimming pool and grilled CHEESE and ICE CREAM! All the indulgences of America for a day.

River crossing to get to Kolda

Unfortunately, since Kolda (the region that I am serving in) is so far removed from Dakar, team Kolda had to be ready to leave the next morning, by 6. In a stupor from too much excitement and no sleep we left before the sun was up and began the confusing voyage to Kolda. Normally, we are not supposed to go through the Gambia to get to Kolda, but there was a miscommunication somewhere along the lines and we navigated our way cross the borders and ferry across the Gambia river and made it to Kolda record time with all of our belongings in tact. Kolda was one big shopping trip with interludes at the hotel pool. (We stayed at the Peace Corps regional house but free swim at the hotel if you buy a drink is too tempting to resist when it is over 100 and humid every afternoon.)

Velingara Hotel had no power...

The final leg of the trip was spent in a hotel in Velingara. Peace Corps introduced us to the local authorities and put me and my fellow Kounkane area volunteers up in a sweet hotel (aka working toilets, showers, and ac) for one night. Unfortunately, this was the day after one of the generators at the local power plant broke, so there was neither electricity nor running water at this lovely establishment.

Braids!

Finally finally I installed October 20th  in Goundaga. I was greeted by the entire village singing, dancing and drumming in my new home. A man on a faulty loudspeaker announced to the town my arrival and gave me my new name: Ramatulaye Balde. Exhaustion took over, and after some dancing, chicken(!) for dinner, and thanking my family I was able to sleep like a baby (seriously, asleep by 8:30).

Chickens, Chili and more...

Korite marked the end of Ramadan. Everyone in my family spent the week leading up to it getting ready. My host dad and I went fabric shopping and then to the tailor together. I spent most of my allowance on a fantastically embroidered matching wrap skirt, shirt, and head scarf.

Dark blue eyebrows for Ramadan

Throughout the rest of the week, perfumes, make up, new curtains, and a mirror also showed up at the house, which my host "mom" happily showed off. She even tried to pull out my eyebrows and paint them back navy blue with her new eye pencil... not a good look! My mom and cousin spent an entire night getting their weave done and went back for touch ups in the morning. Finally the night arrived when we could see the silver of the new moon to mark the new month. (Islamic calendar is lunar.) My cousins and "mom" were so excited about the feast day, they started jumping and singing; happy times had by all.

Korite itself was actually much less exciting. I spent the morning helping around the house: cleaning everything,  catching and slaughtering two chickens with my cousin, cleaning the chickens and chopping potatoes and onions for lunch. Needless to say, I was not wearing my beautiful new outfit. Lunch cooked for hours and wasn't ready until almost 4... kind of like Thanksgiving in the States, but with neighbors involved. Everyone goes house to house and crashes each others lunches, which were all pretty much the same. Only the men dress up during the day to go to mosque.
At 5pm, my "mom" decided that we were done with house work for the day and she, my female cousin, and I could finally shower and dress up. The two of them spent a good hour putting on make up and taking it all off again. We were not ready to go show off to the rest of the neighborhood until 7, nearly sunset when it's dark and no one can see your gorgeous new complet anyway.

All dressed up for Korite

Most underwhelming part, when we did go visiting, we only walked down the block to my uncle's house, where we spend a good portion of most days anyway. But everyone was really fancy and we took a ton of photos. I got special permission to go and greet the families of other Peace Corps trainees in the neighborhood, but only briefly because my "mom" is overprotective and hates me being out of the house after sunset. When I got home the new clothes were already put away... just don't quite get it.

After Ramadan, the food at my homestay house become rather meager: rice and leaf sauce everyday, and maybe a fish or two (split nine-ways). The big meal is lunch and we set aside leftovers for dinner, usually not served until 9 or 10pm. On a bad day, dinner is not reheated and my "mom" has already eaten a good portion of the leftovers.

Cooking for our host families

So I decided to intervene and introduce my family to American cuisine, namely Chili & French Toast. I made a giant pot of chili with two other trainees for dinner one night. It was an adventure to get all the ingredients and it was met with mixed reviews by my family and neighbors. (The corn we added never fully cooked through even though we left the pot boiling for over an hour; we didn't think this would be a problem since corn roasted over coals is a common though rather crunchy Senegalese snack.) However, that was the first night I have felt genuinely and contently full in a while, so the Americans and a couple Senegalese went to sleep happy.
French Toast was much easier and well received. My host father even went out to buy more ingredients so that I could teach him how to make it and he could have more to share with my uncle down the street. French Toast will definitely be making an early appearance at my permanent site.

Which brings me to the end of this post: I now know and have visited the village where I will be working for the next two years! I am going to Goundaga! For those of you who will actually take time to look this up, it is a small village (only 400 people) located near Kounkane in the Kolda region of Senegal, formerly part of the Casamance. And it is beautiful! I have a cozy hut with a couple papaya and a guava tree in the backyard; and a bunch of little brothers and sisters running under the mango trees in the compound. My host and counterpart, Demba Balde, seems very sweet and intelligent, and I look forward to working with him.
Goundaga is on river, which means fresh fish and swimming! While Goundaga does not have any running water, electricity, or cellphone reception (yet), it also happily lacks the garbage and disease-infested puddles that plague the towns and cities of Senegal. But once I am settled in, I will find ways to communicate and update the blog from the nearest town, Kounkane. Goundaga is about 7km from Kounkane, mostly on narrow bush paths that work nicely for biking - and I now have my Peace Corps issued bike. And there are tons of colorful birds in the fields and forest along the bush paths. Sadly, I've seen some of my little brothers and sisters catching some of these beautiful birds with the other village kids, tying string to the birds' legs, and then "playing" (read plucking off their feathers and swinging around) until they die. Maybe these kids are jaded by all the beauty that surrounds them, maybe it's just cultural differences, or both. Anyhow, everything about Goundaga looks like it is going to be a fantastic experience and I will have friendly Peace Volunteers in nearby villages and towns to collaborate with.

View of the river near Goundaga

Two more weeks of training! Cannot wait for install!

Rainy Season

Beach in Mbour

Life is good in Senegal, especially when it is rainy season and there is a breeze to make the heat and flies a lot more manageable. I goosebumps on Saturday! which if you know me, you know that doesnt take much.. 80 degrees? A couple of trainees decided to meet up by the beach (because that is what Mbour, my training site, is known for) and a giant storm just happened to descend upon us as we were enjoying a lunch that did not include rice. Still, we were determined to go to the beach, so we ended up soaking wet with the wind blowing off the Atlantic, it was actually a bit chilly.
Fortunately the water is real warm, like bath water. You just have to ignore the bits of trash floating about, not any worse than the Long Island Sound.

Getting home however was a nightmare. My neighborhood is not close to the beach; it is really close to anything of interest in Mbour for that matter, or at least not that I know of. Its hard to get a taxi to my neighborhood, worse when it is raining, still worse when its almost sundown and everyone wants to be home to break the fast. The driver we did find was great though, did not even charge us the Toubab price.
(Toubab is what the call white and/or Western oriented people hear; not sure if it is supposed to be offensive or not, but it sure is annoying when a group of 50 kids see you walking from 2 blocks and just chant Toubab Toubab until you have passed them and gone another 2 blocks.)

Liberte (my hood in Mbour) when the skies clear.

We didnt make it quite home though; all the roads were flooded or just washed completely out. So we had to get out and walk, a fine idea until someone decided to remind us of the health lecture we had about all the parasites that could be in the standing water. And the fact the flood waters were full with whatever came up from everyones holes that they use as the toilet in that section of town. At first we avoided all puddles at all cost, but the sun was quickly setting and we were just getting further from where we needed to be. So we took a deep breath and walked quickly through the puddles back home. After greeting everyone on the block and my family, I bolted for our own bathroom/shower hole to scrub myself clean.

It was only the next morning I learned that our septic/cistern/toilet thing had also flooded our entire compound, sadly washing away our cactus, the only plant after my dad gave up on our mango sapling last week. (The chickens got to it...)