Peace Corps: Jessica's Pursuit

115 km, 3 hours flat.

2013-04-27T04:31:00.002-07:00

I may have made the most efficient trip into town ever. I hope my return trip doesn't counterbalance it.

I slipped out by the light if the full moon at 6 a.m. and only startled one person, my Babba, who spotted me with the flashlight as I was locking up. A familiar bush path, a herd of roaming cows, and two new blisters later, I ended the trip to the road with a run. With my retuned (hardly finesse) senses, I heard a car clunking down the road a little faster than I was moving. I got by the regulars with a quick hello, signaled the car with a hiss and jumped into the open backdoor like a boss. Gratifying win.

If only I had a picture of my situation for the next 25 km. The full car offered an unoccupied oil-bucket between inward-facing benches as a seat, which punctuated me with 11 pairs of knees and three chickens.

I got my nature walk in and then played a balancing game on the kOLDa road all before 8!

I didn't mark my luck until I got the sixth seat of seven in the next and final car. Just enough of a window for an egg sandwich. 115 km in 3 hours flat, I think we have a new record.

2 points Homa.

Who opened the oven... Wind.

2013-04-25T03:50:00.002-07:00

Hello world,

Mood music: Sunrise by Norah Jones

It's bedtime, so tucked into my mosquito net I am. I just want to review some of the highlights of the week.

1) Thursday has been deemed my village tour day. I'm central to 9 villages of interest in a 5 km radius. To keep work pinned to a timeline and people somewhat accountable for their work interests, I more or less make rounds to see them all. It's no small task with everyone insisting to hang out until the next meal. I think they appreciate my "quick" stops judging by the thank you gifts I've been receiving. After playful banter, anyone at a garden or field will surely offer leaves or okra for sauce, seasonally ripe mangoes and cashews, and anything I show interest in (mint). I've also received sacks of the staple corn and rice, alive chickens, and hunted bush bird. Sometimes it's easier to accept such things. I need veggies on days when we only have plain rice at home; I crave the fruit when my water bottle isn't enough.

During one of these days, I hung out for tea and a surprise breakfast while we talked about future village developments. Typical village breakfast is nothing to write home about, but the bowl they set out was not regular white rice. After a year and a half, I finally discovered the low sugar Guinean rice. It has a better taste and texture and is more nutritional. Year and a half.

There are so many grain alternatives available at competitive prices, but for reasons I can't understand, plain white rice seems to be preferred. The monotony, the bland diet is what drives me to poor choices.

Latest: eating spoonfuls of Gatorade powder. Red and delicious.

2) We joined forces in my dear friend, Sarah's village to put on one last health event before her departure. We (wo)manned 4 stations: diarrhea and simple ORS, family planning and birth control, malaria and homemade repellant, and first aid.

Why was there a sound system at the school at 9am?! The morning was noisy since the teachers agreed to toss in a last minute World Vision AIDS event. Whenever a situation with the chance if confrontation arises, it's ignored as long as possible. Under the bed it goes.They are incredibly peaceful people, but at the cost of simple problem solving. After the initial annoyance, we continued mostly as planned since the other representatives were fashionably late. At the diarrhea station I got to practice bathroom humor in Pulaar with the ~75 kids that came through. That will cheer you up.

The giddiness nearly dropped from that air. Sarah has put in 2 years, so was also packing up and saying bitter sweet goodbyes. She had a bucket of giveaways that we couldn't take enough of under her peer pressure. I'll think of you every time I use a Qtip.?

The Goodbye Cycle is for another blog.

Safe travels my love monkey.

To bring a little balance

2013-04-09T14:46:00.001-07:00

I love when preconceptions fall short. I love stretching a foot out beyond the warmed sheets. I love stopping in my tracks to contemplate nature. I love my toes buried deep in sand and my hands coated with the earthy smell of soil. I love both the fondness of a familiar place and the excitement of exploring somewhere new. I love the deep, filling breath before a sigh. I love when I'm brave enough to be vulnerable. I love when people close their eyes and smile to let the sun dance on their full face. I love when those eyes realize they're loved. I love sleepy mumbles and fluffy morning cheeks. I love awkward silences that don't need to be explained. I fall in love with people when they're beautiful disasters. I fall in love with their honesty and their quirks and their foolish impulses.

a Rant not gone to waste.

2013-03-28T09:32:00.001-07:00

It's been a while since I've taken the time to really crank out a complete blog-thought, complaint, or... Joke.? I split my most recent vacation time between South Carolina and Texas, so my southern drawl and country twang is recharged and liable to slip on out. I'd like to talk about a few things that are down right annoying ;).

I don't think I have many pet peeves, but the few I claim are justified (even if only in my mind). To what degree or range of irritation does something have to reach to earn the badge of pet peevery? The bothersome buzz must be annoying enough to generate a physical response (I.e. wide or rolling eyes, grunting or growling, puckered lips, tightened chest, etc.), preventable by surrounding knucklehead-friends, and overlooked by most people.
I can't stand when people leave the faucet running the entire 2 minutes as they brush their teeth. Yes, it takes that long or should and I don't care who pays the bill. I hate unnecessary packaging material that fills up my trash can. I hate running small loads through the washers, dish or laundry. I also don't like when the milk jug gets crusty but I don't think that's relevant. In short, being wasteful is my nail-scratching, deeply-rooted pet peeve... Because I can't just say stupid people.
The majority of these nuisances live in developed countries and identify themselves as contributing community members, yet they have the audacity to call the less fortunate people of developing countries lazy, unwilling to work, and even backwards. Are they the backwards ones?
Those people work their tails off everyday to provide their families and even neighbors with the appropriate amount of resources- food and water. The field crops are a product of their blood, sweat, and more sweat (they don't show much emotion). They eat what they need and dont know what obesity is. They would gladly take the 1,400 calories wasted per American per day (in 2009) [4]. They walk to a well to pull buckets of water for bathing, drinking, washing, and cooking daily. If you were pulling water in front of everyone and then carrying it back, maybe you would rethink that long, steamy shower session. I guarantee you the household water usage is still less by a family 5 folds larger than the typical American family of four that uses up to 400 gallons a day (EPA). Im not spending all day at the well for that.

You've got me on the trash. A modern waste management system is slow to come together with littering as the norm, leaving city streets lined in trash. They recognize the growing problem, however, and retaliate by collecting the debris from homes, streets , and shop fronts to burn weekly. Trash day Wednesday! Dont forget to dump your bucket out back. Maybe you didn't get me as good as I let on. Nobody likes the smell of burning junk, the chance of a wildfire, or adding more carcinogenic compounds to the air, but its that or watch it pile up. Dont get too cozy. America’s biggest export is trash — the scrap paper and metal we throw away. The Chinese buy it, make products out of it, sell them back to us at enormous profit, and we turn it into trash again. America, the country that once made things for the world, is now China’s trash compactor.- from the LA Times, speaking on Edward Humes’ new book, Garbology. The average American discards about 4.5 pounds of trash a day [2]. The total volume of solid waste produced in the U.S. each year is equal to the weight of more than 5,600 Nimitz Class air craft carriers, 247,000 space shuttles, or 2.3 million Boeing 747 jumbo jets [3]. Albeit, recycling is on the rise (and finally catching on in the south) but we have no room for our own trash, much less to talk about others'.

Bring more sustainable habits into your life and to the attention of others. You can calculate your ecological footprint and DO something about it. Below are some of the easiest ways you can reduce your impact. Even small actions.

WaterSense, a partnership program sponsored by the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency, seeks to help families and businesses reduce water use in a BIG way with a few simple steps, like upgrading to more efficient products. For more info, visit www.epa.gov/watersense!

And for God's sake, turn off the faucet while you brush your teeth!

[1] Sorensen, M. (2010, Mar 1). A Lot to Digest. Waste Age. (http://wasteage.com/Recycling_And_Processing/food-waste-management-guidelines-201003)
[2] U.S. Environmental Protection Agency. (2009, November). Municipal Solid Waste Generation, Recycling, and Disposal in the United States Detailed Tables and Figures for 2008. Office of Resource Conservation and Recovery. http://www.epa.gov/epawaste/nonhaz/municipal/pubs/msw2008data.pdf)
[3] R.W. Beck, Inc. (2001). “Size of the United States Solid Waste Industry.” [4] U.S. Environmental Protection Agency. (2010, March 1). Statistics on the Management of Used and End-of-Life Electronics. (http://www.epa.gov/epawaste/conserve/materials/ecycling/manage.htm)

First World Problems... you guys are killin me.

2013-03-20T12:02:00.002-07:00

On my way out of Dakar, volunteers that recently visited the states shared a "First World Problems" video along with other current memes to catch me up on the notable events and maybe ease the shock during my visit home. Although the video should have been humorous, I could hardly watch it. Im not saying that Im not guilty of making undeserving complaints, but not to this degree.

First World Problems, White Whines, or if you want to be correct, Developed World Problems are not problems. My Peace Corps service in Senegal has broadened my worldly perspective and understanding of cultures at different stages of development. No textbook, teacher, or video had a chance of making a lasting mark beyond the initial, yet genuine, interest, which only the experience itself could do. Now I ~~see~~ live with people in less fortunate situations (if that does it justice) that have to take leaps and bounds everyday instead of just surviving the long Starbucks line and unnecessary McDonald's calories. Get out of your comfort zone, care about something bigger, help someone out... In return, you might find the self-satisfying feeling that no prized electronic device can offer. (thats a topic for another day).

video summary:
Your phone charger wont reach your bed?
These kids dont have electricity and probably share a bed/a floor mat with a few other kids.
Your house is too big... for one wireless router?
They live in rickety buildings or huts that might have doors.
You left your clothes in the washer machine too long?
They wash in the creek or pull well water and wash by hand.

FeBrewHairy.

2013-02-20T07:50:00.003-08:00

Ten days in Dakar is too long for a village kid. I said it. My bag is packed, I just finished the perishables-- travelling supplied ample justification, and Im ready for the 13+ hours back to site. Ive had my fill of city hustle and the abrasiveness of the Wolof language; I miss the kind people in village, made with hours of love and an open fire food, and the reassurance of overseeing work being done.
In the last week, however, Ive made up for a load of lounging time. After three days of medical checkups that covered ever infection and every ailment Ive reported over the last 18 months, we retreated to Ngor Island, a sliver of land a dollar canoe ride off the Dakar shore. We actually stayed in the red house in the photo for the equivalent of 30$ a night. It was easy to get to, provided exactly what I needed for a couple quite and relaxing days, and the restaurant cooked plates of fish that made me feel like a real person. If that doesn't make sense, I dont care.

I emerged from the seaside getaway for a little fun with other people because apparently being an old lady is only okay to some extent. I have no prospect of being a cat lady, I dont care for them much. So, back in the city we kicked off WAIST weekend. We dressed up to our appropriate themes and the games began! My team of superheroes was seriously lacking power for home-run hits (no offense to the ladies), but we still played... even after the mercy rule set in.
We didnt slow down for two days of softball, one night of bowling, and quite a few family dinners. Im happy to say no volunteers were seriously injured during this weekend of noosing (FUN in PC Senegal lingo).
I gotta roll out for now, until next time!

Dakar week

2013-02-11T14:46:00.003-08:00

I'm not as excited about this trip as previous getaways to Dakar. Its still very much a weird bubble of foreigners speaking a handful of languages, real supermarkets and apartment buildings, street vendors of all sorts, swarms of taxis and hustling drivers, electricity and temperature controlled water on demand... It's just not as new and shiny.

Maybe I don't trust myself at arms length with these ideas that basically make up 1/3 of my dreams. I'm fully aware of my tendency to binge (action verb) and I don't think I can afford that temporary pleasure and guilt. I'll be in the Dakar area for a whopping week for a range of Peace Corps plans. I'm wrapping up my MIDservice med appointments now: Tb results TBD, teeth clean, heart ticking, mind there, spinal & ear canals reportedly small, bugs not too many. Have I really been here for 17 months?

As long as I don't get ran over or poisoned by fine cuisine in the big city, I'll be returning to the Thies training center for the all volunteer conference. I'm not gonna lie, from the perspective of a fresh, bright-eyed volunteer, last year's conference did not leave me bubbling over with inspiration. I've moved to the next column now that I've had a little work and a little more experiences. Even if I don't take anything away, at least I can share something of use. After these 2 days back at summer camp the 200 volunteers will shift back to Dakar for a weekend to makeup for all lost weekends.
W.A.I.S.T.

We're joining the U.S. Embassy, students from local schools, and plenty of volunteers from other countries.in the West Africa Invitational Softball Tournament. Peace Corps teams tend to take the noncompetitive route; this year we will only be playing each other due to the lack of competition among other things. Each PC region forms a team and picks a theme - we don't miss any costume opportunities. My dear Kolda Kalabandits will swoop in as SUPERheroes and villains, Kedougou will be our geriatrics, Tamba settled with high school cliches (a step up from their "softball" theme last year), and so on.

It's gonna be a long, anything but ordinary week that my village will hear 3% about.

Miiice.

2013-02-03T08:50:00.000-08:00

My house has mice. After a sleepless week of squeaking and scurrying, nibbling holes and and stealing peanuts, and most importantly twilight plundering, something had to be done. I threw one deceivingly cute mouse over my fence at 3am-- only to realize he'd be back in no time. I did what any desperate volunteer would do- I bought poison for the price of a loaf of bread and mixed it into a hardy serving of peanut butter.
I'm sure it wouldn't have taken much more than a taste of the chemical concoction but my greedy mice cleaned the plate. Three days later, I'm paying for my peaceful sleep with a stench worse than autoclave cell culture waste. I've found three, but the smell is still permeating from my straw roofing. How fast do you think ants can carry off a mouse?

Speaking of the downside of straw roofing, I just watched one burst into flames in the adjacent compound. There is a little controversy concerning the fire's ignition. Was it ash on the wind, kids-play, or someone passing by? I saw it across the way from my back yard. Everyone filled the compound quickly to remove the thatch-fuel and stop the fire with buckets of water straight from the well. The excitement only stretched across a few minutes and left the hut in ruins.

My hut currently has a small construction zone in front. My brothers are building an outside sitting area/cement slab. Maybe I should teach them to build castles! I feel like it will soon annoy me as it attracts rambling kids in the afternoon and chatty men at night. The benefit might be a cool place to sit, stretch, and read, but in what degree of peace I'm not sure. Its okay, my "leave me alone" vocabulary is well-practiced.

Food Frustrations

2013-01-29T05:08:00.003-08:00

My preparations for Peace Corps included reading “Im glad that didn’t happen to me” blogs, sharing my anxiety with volunteers currently serving in Africa via emailed questions, and of course shopping to fill my luggage with everything I thought I’d need for 2 years. I got a few laughs from the blogs, some of which I wouldn’t dare show my apprehensive family, and I even got some good advice from chatting with faraway volunteers, but I still wish I only packed a fifth of what the Peace Corps guidelines recommended. My girlish love of clothes probably didn’t help the case—2 suitcases actually. During the summer before my departure, I was easily excitable over outdoorsy attire and utility pockets.

I took spring cleaning to a new level and finished it off by locking all my old quirky Jessica things up in storage (thankfully my Dad had space in his). Before I knew it, I was walking through Dulles International Airport as a shiny, new volunteer in the making with a nifty backpack, a boyish haircut, and loose, comfy cargo pants.

Sigh. I was probably most fit before coming to Senegal. In many of those blogs, I read about PC weight trends with real nonchalance-- guys trim down and girls get a little fluffy. As many probably do, I reassured myself that I wouldn’t succumb to the typical trends. Several months and 15 pounds later, I finally understood the frustrations of the freshman fifteen. Nearly a year and a half into service now, I suspect this weight isn’t going to leave until it sees America.

Those comfy cargo pants that once lay around my hips so ominously now cling tightly to my thighs. The pair of lazy-day jeans I brought along only zip after an inch-by-inch wiggle dance that leaves too much strain on the button for me to actually wear them. I shamefully admit that occasionally I try them on, hoping to reveal a prior form. Three pairs of pants are on the sidelines, but like any hopeful girl they will sit in my dark trunk as a reminder. Im quite thankful that I went for a conservative, baggy collection otherwise everything I brought would have been useless. What is interesting is that I’m hardly spending any money on food.

The culture in Senegal is tightly woven around hospitality and the food. Regardless of which household or village Im in, people want to make me feel welcomed, share whatever bit of food they can, and as many grandmothers would say, put a little more meat on my bones. For example, when I visit other families and villages for any purpose, they insist that I stay for the next meal (even if its 5 hours away), stay for a couple cups of hot tea, or take a sack of the seasonal fruit for the road. This can be exciting when people are eating something delicious, in my perspective that would be kosam (sour milk/yogurt), but discerning genuine from obligatory invitations is beyond me.

I don’t think I would worry about my womanly figure if I was gorging myself in gourmet meals. Season to season, we eat out way through the staple crops in the storage hut, which is primarily white rice for my family. As we go from harvesting with an ample supply of grain and peanuts to starving season, the variety of meals dwindles from maybe five to one sad bowl of charity rice. It’s those repeated meals of nutrient-lacking white rice that nearly bring me to tears, leave an unsatisfying rock in my tummy, and maintain the width of my hips.

I wish I was kidding or exaggerating; I didn’t eat rice before Senegal and this has only left me loathing it. The understanding that Senegalese culture centers on family and food, one of the few expressions of appreciation and love, might be the last reason that I don’t try supplementing all mealtimes. I’m not going to be the foreign prude and I’m done going in circles. I’m making the most out of sharing meals with my family by buying whatever veggies I can get my hands on during trips into town. Living in- or even visiting- a foreign country will remind you of the love for your own country and its simple comforts.

Latrines and English!

2013-01-13T07:02:00.002-08:00

Two months ago Appropriate Projects approved a $500 grant in support of the construction of nearly 20 latrines in and around my village in the Kolda Region. I have had a firm stance against free handouts, but the people came to me with health concerns and a willingness to help. The effort spent digging ~3 meters into the stubborn earth followed by construction of latrine platforms seemed like a fair trade for cement and metal materials.
The project provides about 20 family compounds, nearly 800 people with essential means to sanitary latrines... or as a few of them have said, they wont have to run out to the snakey forest in the middle of the night to relieve themselves.
The project closed with 3 fewer latrines than projected due to miscalculations and material readjustments during construction. Doing math with a Senegalese man may be one of the most frustrating obstacles I faced, equally matched with trying to get receipts from everyone.
The project took on a slow start due to harvesting commitments of field crops, several funerals, and the ongoing difficulty gauging the truth in progress updates. The work pace increased (and by that I mean started) with my presence in most cases, so as the project progressed I oversaw more of the work. Another motivational tactic was taking before and after photos of the pits and the final product. With that I must admit to my new technologically challenged way. I have photos on my camera that I cant get out. Ill work it out (Inshallah) but no promises as to when.
In the next stage, the local health volunteers and prominent members of the 6 villages and I plan to have health trainings to first off commend the people for their community contribution and to discuss important benefits as they see fit. Im satisfied with the success of the project and look forward to the next wave of crazy requests theyll send my way.
During my tours of the villages, I offered to teach English to kids that have started studying it in school, help women with their upcoming dry season gardens and new ideas, and even look into a well-digging project pitched by a very convincing man in Sare Kallilou, a nearby village. I was blunt with people, saying that I am just sitting and waiting for them to share how I can help. With this I expected more odd requests than usual. People ask me to give them everything insight on my person, to take them or their baby to America, and to marry them/their son. Ive resolved to saying Ill give things to them upon my departure, Ill steal their (now crying) babies, and I only accept to marry toddlers and one very interesting old woman that insists I curtsy to show my respect.
Piles of kids show up and fill my floor mat when we both have free time to practice English. Once reminded of my rules, which are very different from the school house, they are so excited for the attention. The no-gos: They repeatedly snap their fingers instead of raining their hands. no. They whisper the answers and hit each other on the back of the head upon silence. no. They cannot just sit and insist on getting up (a kid thing). still no. As long as they're nice to each other, we chat until the cows come home (hehe, but literally) or we're all tired. I love it. (Again, I have photos, but my camera is not cooperating)

Joyeux Noël et Bonne Année!

2013-01-02T06:24:00.002-08:00

My holiday break carried me down 345 km of twisting and turning, well-worn and poorly maintained road back to Kedougou. It was a painless trip that I made in record time. Yes, I use the chrono function on my handy watch for everything. For the first time, I even got to sit in the somewhat more comfortable front seat of the 7place/car, which is usually reserved for fragile old men.
It's a lonely road lacking the structure of reflective lines and mile markers. The simplicity doesn't distract from the orange clay landscape of towering (or recently burned to the ground) grasses, grandfather trees, and the occasional troop of baboons or monkeys. I prefer my daze tied to nature rather than our tar and tin attempts to civilize it. The ecology of Kedougou is quite different from my Casamance region. It is the furthest inland region and the differences can't even be from from the car. The clay clings to every traveler's stained heels and bristly hair, the thorny trees are a little more rugged and will gladly offer scratch to take home, and the remaining wildlife is just abundant enough to offer an exciting glimpse.

I got into town just in time for Christmas festivities. *Wooh* After tag teaming for Skype time home with a few other volunteers, we nestled right in and shared the holiday with all the things we can't do in village. First things first, we knowingly binge ate pork stew from market fresh ingredients, desserts from much appreciated home-sent packages, a classy Christmas brunch that lasted all day, and lastly appropriate beverages.

More family time was spent popping corn (without a microwave!), projecting movies outside at night, and exchanging the oddest collection of While Elephant gifts imaginable. Mine was hot dog hand puppet that I couldnt pass up at the thrift section of the market. Oh I can't say enough how comforting the little things are when everything is turned upside down. I don't get weekends to sleep in and do a lazy load of laundry. I don't even get cozy nights at a home separate from my work site. I'm working at all hours and representing PC in all my actions. With just a peek into this, maybe you can understand how wonderful it is to escape just far enough to be your nearly forgotten self, or at least part of it.

Ive gotta dash back to site because the guilt is working on me and the day is creeping by, but an update on the best Camping weekend is soon to come... includes: biking, a crocodile, waterfall swimming, open flame cooking, food shortage, and a bush fire.

Project Planning

2012-12-01T13:14:00.002-08:00

Dollar Amount of Project: $500.00. Dollar Amount Needed: $0.00

Our community latrine project has now been fully funded through the generosity the Hack & Slash, who have designated Water Charity as a beneficiary of this year'sHack and Slash Christmas Special Live Onstage and in Technicolor!, held in Baltimore, MD. This is an important public health project for Sare Meta and the surrounding villages. It has been well planned, has widespread community support, and will serve as a model for future development.

Project Summary:

Location:
6 villages in the Kolda region of Senegal: Sare Meta*, Sare Pathe, Sare Labbel, Sare Kallilou, Sare Konkoyel, Sare Samba
Community:
My humble home of Sare Meta is a small, centrally located village of 315 residents, a large number of those children, with 5 neighboring villages (listed above) in small, branching clusters.

During interviews at each village, hygiene and sanitation issues were the most pressing health concerns, specifically proper latrine availability. The area has a limited amount of quality latrines, most existing latrines were poorly constructed with mud and found objects, and 24 household are currently without any facility. Residents living in huts without any latrines admit to relieving themselves in the bush, forests, and even right behind their homes.
The Plan:Across the 6 villages, we plan to build 22 latrines in family compounds that are completely without. The catch? The 500$ grant through Appropriate Projects water charity funds will provide for the cement and metal supports with the understanding that the families supply all labor, including digging the 2 meter deep pits, retrieving materials (via donkey cart), and building the iron-reinforced platform with extra wood supports. sounds like a deal.
The idea behind the sustainable latrine design is that the family will be able to relocate the platform to a new pit once the first fills. No worries, several villagers are familiar with this design and all for it.

Estimated Impact:

895 people will benefit. score.

Peace Corps Volunteer Directing Project:
yours truly

403 Days of Senegal

2012-11-04T14:25:00.003-08:00

Its been one year since my swear-in as a volunteer. I now would like to present myself as an upperclassman Agfo volunteer, which does not embody all of the characteristics that I put on the all knowing volunteers before me. I assumed they had it all together, somehow mastered the language, and had all their trees in a row. Now that I am in their dusty shoes- quite literally since Ally gifted just gifted me her chacos at the end of her service, I realize that there is still a degree of chaos and uncertainty, I still speak a very broken Pulaar, and work is still as difficult as ever. The thing is this is all okay and normal.
The difference that I have found in this stretch is the basic understanding of how a lot of things work. Im comfortable and its that simple. I understand my work along with the tremendous amount of energy required to accomplish anything and Im happy to reach out to this land that Im more often then not fond of.

Summary: I am happy.

A spot of tea...blisters

2012-10-27T09:55:00.002-07:00

A fine African day was in the making, it was already 85* IN my hut at 8 a.m., and my oh so trusty bike was on the bench with a flat tire. Everything was pointing towards a low key hut day but I already told a neighboring village I would come by to hang out. Since I have to pass this village on the way to town, I stop by just long enough to greet people and maybe chat about my latest work. Instead of patching my tire, I decided to walk. I grabbed the necessities, sunblock, bandanna, sunglasses, and water, for my daily battle with the sun and was on my way.

I bounced between a few compounds to say hello before settling in with Haabi Sabaly in Amoudou's household. She told me yesterday that she would be staying home to wash laundry and make lunch instead of working the fields. I was welcomed with a shady seat, several commands to sit, and breakfast porridge. I sent a boy to buy tea an sugar, we like to call this "small boying it."
I falsely assumed someone would takeover cooking the tea if I bought it. After drinking God knows how many hot shots of attaya, I finally made my first round! Even though I kept asking the people around me for a little direction, they weren't very helpful.
1. Get box of tea, sack if sugar, and hot coals
2. Heat teapot & then add tea
3. Once boiling, add 1 shot of sugar
4.burn fingers by removing teapot to cool
5. Burn fingers more by pouring tea back and forth btwn glasses to cool (& to make foam)
6. serve down the ranks
Repeat 3x
It somehow took me twice as long to finish the 3 rounds than the old men. This is one skill I don't want to lose feeling in my fingers obtaining. Poor blistered fingers.
I handed the teapot of used leaves over to the kids. Sometimes they chew on the leaves and suck he remaining sugar out. This time they decided to make two more rounds of weak tea for themselves.
It was pretty adorable.

Menu: "eSpaghett"

2012-10-22T07:21:00.001-07:00

I'm so full and this time its of food that I cooked. When I got home yesterday I asked who would be cooking because she would be cooking with me! The ladies rotate chores, so it was Aminata's turn, as I was hoping. She understands me a little more, gets frustrated with me faster, and deserves a little break for the extra work that I cause her. I thought I would be cooking dinner, but Aminata called me as soon as soon as I drive my shovel into the ground. Lunch it is! I was quite the spectacle. I carried my fully stocked food bucket and gas tank out to the sitting area to start in a semi-comfortable, smoke free area. I knew they were lingering to asses my slicing and dicing skills. I like to think I passed with flying colors, but they still watched me dice the entire 2 kilo sack of onions.
Thank goodness for my prep work as a server. I cooked the pile of onions and garlic with generous, Paula Dean scoops of margarine on my little gas burner. The chants of my capabilities tarted with the first onion and continued as people passed by. We shifted to their smokey cooking hut to finish the sauce and 2 kilos of pasta over the open flame. I cooked the oodles of noodles in a cauldron, I kid you not, and a deep pot of sauce from tomato concentrate. I thought the can opener would get more praise, but they only whispered about it's clean cut, much different than the work of their dull knife. I almost wish something crazy happened but verifying was easy peasy and lunch was ready by 12:30, an hour or two earlier than usual.
Aminata dishes out the pasta, bread, and sauce into 6 large bowls. I watched hoping it was enough to feed the 16 people of my family. Pasta is my favorite (next to pb&js) and I would probably eat it in any form right now, but it really was "pretty and nice" like everyone kept saying. I traded my spoon in or a fork and shared a bowl with tijane and my little stinker Jennabo.

Circumcision Ceremony

2012-10-19T07:47:00.001-07:00

Its tradition to 'give alms' with the seasons first cut of "marro farrow," field rice, so several bowls of rice brought an array of people from other compounds over to share breakfast. It just happens to fall on lumo/market day, which guaranteed a timely meal before everyone's departure for the weekly market. With the holiday only a week out, I gave Tijane my 15 mille (about 30$) Tabaski contribution to go towards our sheep (to be slaughtered).

I told my family that the Diaobe market was not the place for me because bandits, thieves, and anyone with the last name Mballo (corny local joke) are on the prowl for easy targets. It got a good laugh. Instead, I joined my sister Aminata in Sare Kallilou, just a 20 minute walk past our new school house and the farrow, for the traditional circumcision ceremony. A storm came late last night, leaving the lowlands flooded and the tall grass battered across the narrow path. My eyes could only leave the path when Aminata paused with her flip flop stuck in the mud. One nice thing about a regular well-beaten path is the freedom to let your eyes wander in every direction.

We were welcomed by another rice breakfast, but this time with a peanut sauce much tastier than my familys. People gathered rather quickly. Women came out in their flowing 'completes' and a few of them even had coins, shells, candy and bells added into their braids. They say it doesnt hurt to sleep on, but I dont believe them.

The ceremony started with a pair of drummers and a familiar cadence fading as they walked out of the village to meet the legion of recently circumcised boys in the woods. And then came the opportunity for my questions. The boys, all around 8 years old, were circumcised a month ago and have since only been in the company of each other and their fathers. During the day they ask for money on the roadside, are served meals by the men instead of they nenee/moms, and only return to the village to sleep.
Today, 6 boys were washed and dressed in new clothes and then paraded back into village with all of the men, drummers, and a finishline of welcoming women. They started a dance circle at the Jarga/Chief's hut and then moved through the village. The boys sat in a row, still draped in pagne/skirts and head wraps, with palms welcoming small shiny gifts. American change is going to feel like play money next to these weighted coins, all more robust than the quarter. I paid my repects and did my dance that everyone seems to love, though the reason is unclear.
People slowly broke for their houses as the parade marched on. The women started lunch preparations, fetched fuel wood, pounded rice until free from the sheath, and battled flies while mincing a bowl of beef, now tinted gray with a pungent that curled my lip. All afternoon was spent in the shade of a small mango tree with attaya and grilled feed-corn. Oily rice is quite a treat and a must at ceremonies, but just another reason I dont like them much.
One last note must be added on this topic. The "Kankouran," a costumed man believed to ward off evil spirits that threaten the boys, appears in my Casamance region annually as part of the ceremony. As seen, he is dressed in deep red tree bark from head to toe and carries a machete in each hand, a scary site and an annoyance to main road travelers. Its just another part of the tradition to celebrate the boys' passage into manhood.

Things to take along

2012-10-14T05:33:00.000-07:00

Sometimes this place takes me back 50 year to a simple time with everything from field work and home births to reusing and recycling found objects until too lifeless to rig a toy together. I can appreciate or at least understand most lifestyle choices and there are even a few I'd like to take home.

Do you know how many people could bathe in that nice bath tub of hot water? A family- and I don't mean the american family of four. I think I could cut back on those steamy sessions. An outdoor shower also sounds like a great idea, even if it's function is shifted to post-yard work and pool rinsings. Bathing beneath the stars takes my breath for a subtle smile- until I realize I'm battling mosquitoes without the basic defense of clothing.

Do you know how delicious veggies are when they're not harvested early and piled in shipping crates? Veggies fresh from the earth may not have the ideal marketed shape or color, but I guarantee the flavor fuller. Maybe I'll soon have a backyard garden or even a small veggie patch. I won't go as far as providing my own milk or bread but gardening is too easy and relaxing to pass by. I'm going to have so many experiments.

When was the last time you rode a bicycle? Granted I've always lived in the sticks a significant distance from anything, but there is no reason nit to ride a bike around town. I can make time for a bike exercise to the grocery store and of course through parks. Perhaps I can even bike to the gym and freshen up before work (assuming one day I'll have a big girl job). After bush paths and the limited road suggestions, not rules, of Senegal, I think I could handle a reflective vest and bike lane in America.
Ill leave things on the up & up for now. I look forward to this list growing, even in unexpected directions.

Bed Net Care & Repair!

2012-10-03T09:30:00.001-07:00

2 Week Recap:

Villages attended: 8
Participants: 189
Nets Repaired/Washed: 343
Total number of people now sleeping under effective mosquito nets: 956

Over the last couple weeks, we have had a line up of mosquito net trainings thanks to the planning and patience of miss Sarah Kuech. Villages across our dear region of Kolda have been able to host trainings through nearby volunteers. It difficult to get people out of the fields, both corn and soccer fields, but we have had a respectable turnout so far.

How the event runs:

1: go through a questionnair with every participant
2: look for holes & repair nets
3: wash and then hang nets to dry
4: repeat through the crowd of children and women
5: have a malaria discussion led by the local health worker

The events somehow take an amazing amount of effort and will leave everyone involved yawning with the closing, but are immediately rewarding. We get to talk through problems to the best of our local language ability, which often leads to our Pulaar being translated into a different and more correct form of Pulaar. We are often prompted to get up for a foot-stomping dance and are asked to take meals with families. By the end of the day, come rain and the African strength shine, we hop back on the bikes and hit the dusty, pothole filled roads.

late night writing

2012-10-01T04:40:00.004-07:00

My mommy held my hand across the street and now Ive crossed the ocean and a world of ideas.
While separation, dramatically comparable to death or loss, always manages to slip back in and surprise me, it has also made room for a... consciousness. My life is flowing, flexible, and free, though its still hard not to cling to the greener grass around stability. Yes, Ive been shaken, but Im wrapped in a growing solitude and full of life even on the most trying days, hours. Ill keep on crossing borders, enjoying each experience, and welcoming the unfamiliar.

Baby days

2012-09-24T12:09:00.001-07:00

I had no idea that my neighbor was 9 mos along until her baby-hump tummy hurt the other night. Its bad luck and nearly taboo to talk about unborn children. My brother in the hut on the opposite side of hers told me about the delivery complications of her first tiny tot. They took her to the closest hospital, 2 hours away on a lucky day, only to find that they had to backtrack to the regional hospital 110km to the west. I have no idea how they found transportation, came up with the fare, and covered all of that ground before she went into labor, but hes now 2 and playing hide-and-seek at every opportunity.

After a speedy village delivery by Gods grace, a 3 kilo little girl increased the population count of Sare Meta. Tiny feet to tiny toes with teeny tiny nails. Nails! She is beautiful with a thick sea of hair and a song of sleepy peeps. I admit that I am a girl with hormones guiding my actions, so I nearly cried when I first saw her lost lost in the blanket bundle... (nearly because that degree of emotion is not publicly displayed).

This weekend was her "dennabo"/naming ceremony. The family is responsible for throwing the celebration complete with cheb/oily rice, a goat, and music! I dont know why it took the women three times longer to cook when its still just rice, but at least they got a social day in the cooking hut. stretched across my compound 12 kids crowded one bowl of cheb, old men circled on a floor mat with playing cards, a possee of boys took over my sitting area with a radio, and women cycled between the cooking hut and "Boomba"/womens' hut.

I officially have a namesake, perhaps bringing the name "Homa" up to the 2nd least popular in the country. She was washed and her head traditionally shaved, families gave their blessings and a "fabaday"/ceremony gift, and I was commanded to dance all day for my namesake and happiness.
Dance!

PC Vest!

2012-09-17T09:31:00.000-07:00

Early on in village I asked how to make the delicious yogurt-like Kosam, but regret immediately fell in with the answers simplicity.
Set the bowl of fresh milk in your nice, warm room overnight. Voila.
Alrighty. Well, Ive finally earned my kosam badge! Ive colonized, I mean, made my own during the hours of my slumber from powder milk and a scoop of set aside sour goodness. My PC vest should fill out quite well with the things Ive learned and come to appreciate.
Sour milk=delicious. who knew. Secondly, I'd like to reward myself the Garage Badge. I have earned one of the nightmare stories of paused transit at the Tamba garage. An early morning usually kicks off a smooth travel day, but it made no difference last weekend. I arrived at 8 telling a neighboring volunteer that i usually wait an hour for the car to fill. So the first hour passed with small talk and the second set in with slight irritation. We had 3 out of 7 passengers. The three hour mark pushed me and my antsy button to ask when we would leave if the car did not fill. Four hours later, my patience returned with the refusal of a refund, a pb and banana sandwich, and 5 little boys eager to go to France. Five hours in, the ticket desk was probably as happy as we were that the car was finally full. It took me ten hours to travel 115 km/80 miles. Cause this is Africa.

ONE Year & Compulsively Counting

2012-08-31T11:50:00.002-07:00

If you think in terms of a year, plant a seed; if in terms of ten years, plant trees; if in terms of 100 years, teach the people.- Confucius

This is my brain in Peace Corps…. My nonsensical thoughts are more difficult for outsiders to follow these days, apologies. But Im happy to say Im above the melodramatic clouds of the 9 month mark and the stakes have finally fallen to a normal level.
When I first arrived to Senegal, every older volunteer repeated two things: “You just have to figure things out for yourself” and “You’ll finally feel like competent volunteers at the one year mark,” neither of which seemed like comforting advice. Sure, recommendations and solid answers are passed around for field techniques and health tips, but it was difficult to take this hardly reassuring advice. Since Peace Corps Volunteers are a rather independent and skeptical group, blind advice isn’t received without cynicism. After the 365 day loop, Im happy to say its true.Why did it take so long?sigh.a note on Year one:
After reaching the other side of the Atlantic, we got the best language crash course shuffled with constant moving and living out of backpacks for 2 months. Our bodies more or less transformed behind the bowls of rice and food borne illnesses. Our hands caliced from doing our share of field work and pulling water out of the ground. Our brains acquired a timed shift to overload from the constant processing of our new communities, connections, processes, CULTURE, and how we can possibly assimilate.
Exponential change.

Once the seemingly endless trainings (that should have left me more prepared and confident) were completed, I had to reassess the needs of the people because I didn't see the same “problems” as my community. Early on, Peace Corps required a community assessment but most of my once brilliant ideas fell short. Without a work contact list to build from, I made my way across 7 villages to find serious work partners that would hopefully make my knowledge applicable at some point. I found my shining counterparts with the help of a few ag trainings, which weeded out the mounds of people that just told me what I wanted to hear. I hate that in any context. To be fair, trust is a twoway street and they are all getting to know me over tea and lunch, through countless greetings and small gifts, in every part of the daily “routine.” Now that we are working and I can form a loose schedule, time does more than drag by and my compulsive tendencies are somewhat relaxed. I have steady sights on sustainability, but if hopes fall short, I will clench tight to the idea that someones life has been impacted to some immeasurable degree.

To all you newbies,Relax. Drink tea. Chat. Have an identity crisis. Im another volunteer saying that the beginning may seem boring (and lonely) at times, but just wait until the one year mark! All of your time will tie neatly together, your thoughts may align just right, and maybe youll finally be able to give back.

Thanks for listening

English Caaamp!

2012-08-30T10:43:00.003-07:00

Monday fun-day we started English ACCESS Camp with 70 teenagers and a set of Senegalese teachers. I knew just about as much about the camp when I rolled out of bed that morning as I did with the first call for camp counselors. An outlined schedule of ideas laced with luck that we would surely need was passed on to the six of us. Everyday we planned to go through icebreakers and activities to help the kids practice English in a fun and hopefully painless way. Our abilities to adjust and think on our toes were essentials for camp success.
The typical occurrences of the morning included starting late, but that annoyance faded beneath all of the English greetings buzzing in the air. We split the students into 6 groups by counting off, which is was not a simple task if measured by the number of times "7" was claimed and the Senegalese teachers shouted in disapproval. Respect and patience are not virtues of the French school systems. My positive reinforcement was shot with surprised looks or even confusion all day.

We pushed through slow beginnings with a naming and flag making activity. The "Amazing Students" all chose an American name for themselves, only one of which was after a pop star, Rihannah. Other groups included Barak, Lil Wayne, Princess Leah, Beyonce, (a rejected Hitler!), and Ciara, but no Jessica.
During the Q&A session I was asked why new names were given and could only say it was the same reason that PC Volunteers took new local names. One of my quiet girls said this was her favorite session because its important to learn about other cultures. They make my heart smile more than my eyebrows scold.
Notable questions:
- Why is America more developed?
- Why does the president say god bless America instead of God bless the world?- Why do Americans want to go to Mars?

We scratched the schedule and put together games like balltossing with sentences, a version of never have I ever, sports like baseball and ultimate frisbee, the human knot, vocabulary races... Yes, it is as nerdy as I lead on. We even arranged an Olympics day with an egg race, sack race, cookie face (eat the cookie on your forehead without using hands), and more. The most awkward session was teaching a song by our one and only Michael Jackson. We took turns reading and explaining the lyrics to Thriller! as we tried to straighten out "technical difficulties."
The kids have pushed my creativity and the possibility of a career in education. One day left, we'll see what it brings!

Korite/Eid in Village

2012-08-22T10:21:00.000-07:00

We sat in the dark waiting for the scratchy radio to reveal whether or not we could welcome the end of Ramadan, but the dark sky remained committed to its cloudiness. All we needed was to confirm that "the moon died." Fasting means that I have the bedtime of a child, so I swallowed the staticy suspense and settled in behind my mosquito net. (so what is want 9 yet). In several of my morning greetings my (hesitates) village people told me that it was a close call, but not yet time for the party because a sliver of moon was still hanging high.
I squeezed out of my foam-topped bamboo nest into an air that carried cries of young girls in trouble for undoing their "tidi"/tight braids during the night. Everyone has been getting ready for the celebration from beady braids and flashy flip flops to sacks of oil and saturate the rice.

Holidays bring pressure to fit in to the classy and presentable aspects of the culture. As a part of the Koritay/Eid makeover, I was braided and rebraided as my "little sister," Nalli, got use to my disagreeable hair. Yes, after nine months in vil, they have finally reorganized my blonde locks into neat rows like the corn in my backyard. I then wrapped myself in tailored fabric that my ankles fought with as I walked, or nearly shuffled. The vibrant stains of color and stamped patterns draped over every lean shoulder was comparable to the awe of birds exploding from an unexpecting tree. No matter my charade, I'm still that outsider.
With a patroned rice breakfast and the late morning approaching, it was time for us and all of the surrounding villages to gather at the only central mosque. It was a weathered white-trimmed-blue (square) building topped with rusting zinc. Mango trees shaded the surrounding prayer yard and a sturdy log-picketed fence safeguarded the grounds.
I kept thinking of my first mosque visit with my sweet Hailat family, you would have to scroll down the list of differences. My headscarf has been traded for braids and the drone of a drum roll is behind a nasal, African call to prayer, but we're still here giving thanks to God for our many blessings all the same.
The drum signal grew as the imam entered the prayer grounds, now puzzled with basals and prayer mats. Men segregated to the front and curious kids sprinkled all the way back to the womens area. I was up to my elbows and knees in a crowd that nearly sparkled with fresh pressed clothes, rows and rows of beaded braids, maybe a spot of costume glitter and bright eyes under penciled eyebrows.
I'm often a child in this community (in my speech and curiosity) and it seemed more apparent as I sat nailed in the middle of a prayer wave. A beautiful picture, maybe. After opening prayer, my fellow littluns dusted the spot of dirt off their foreheads and caused a ruckus as they scattered, but it wasn't close to time to pack up. The imam was accompanied by four assisting men holding an umbrella, a handheld fan, the microphone, and his written speech/ prayers. I'll bite my tongue for this celebratory day. The blessings an wishes for the new year poured on as each village took their turn.

Weeding, Seeding, no Eating!

2012-08-13T05:58:00.003-07:00

No cats, dogs, or men, but it has been raining like no other. My field work and line-drying laundry has been disturbed by rolling rain clouds with only the immediate warning of the preceding winds more often than I wish. The rain has refilled my freshly punched tree holes, dampened my nearly crisp not-so-tidy whities, and even welcomed some aromatic mildew into my hut. <3 .

The rain has even made this stripped land enticing to an array of plants that keep winning the little battles of my backyard.
“Have you been weeding?” is one of the seasonal questions that has been added into the lineup of greetings. I usually say no and explain my treetastic work, but I may just cave under the apparent disapproval of incompetence and how often Im asked. “Backbreaking” perfectly describes this weeding technique as everyone (men included, nudge nudge) spends the daylight hours crisscrossing okra, cotton, and peanut fields bent at the waist with a hand held hoe, “jola.” Try that out for 15 minutes. Not only are they working themselves to a uncomfortably thin and chiseled form, but most people are more or less fasting for Ramadan. Send a crew of Americans here and we’ll start a new Biggest Loser, Africa (life)style.
Its interesting to see how tightly the greetings are tied to the seasons and culture. Ramadan has reinstilled a friendly air of blessings, the field work has brought concerns of aches and fatigue, the wet season rains reminders of health, and in the slightest absence of the African heat welcomes questions of the cold. For the most part, I am in peace only. "Jam Tan."

Confession: Sorry mom, I took one of my fastest bucket baths yet with a chilly chorus of rain. The babies run and play-bathe ( and occasionally faceplant) in the rain and although I don’t fit either qualifier, I figured it couldn’t hurt.