ONE Year & Compulsively Counting

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!

      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

     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!

      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.

Moringa train train train-ing

     After a normal dose of confusion at the garage, we managed to arrange a car for the five of us to make the long swing north around The Gambia for Spencers moringa training. After an 8 hour car ride and 2 additional hours in a cramped "bush taxi," we made it to our destination village by dusk.

I can guarantee that this isolated but quite established village of 4000 has never housed this many Toubobs. We were greeted by Spencers family and a generous bean dinner. Swarms of kids bounced between us repeating the same questions, each time as excited as the last. We are 10 names they will not soon forget.

     Monday morning was anything but prompt. After a bread and cafe breakfast, Admins arrival, and repositioning under a comforting cashew tree, we kicked the meeting off with prayers. Because the bulk of the presentation was in a different local language, Wolof, I twiddled my thumbs hoping that my counterpart was paying attention and my mere attendance was enough. There was threat of rain but we didn't get a mist stronger than the cool off and rest stations at theme parks. 

     The first day was not exactly as I expected, a repeated reminder that I should drop any preconceptions of Peace Corps related events. We discussed contracts that would enable villagers to sell Moringa leaves to designated buyers at a set price. My counterpart interests in the training lied with hopes to better extend the importance of Moringa within our village, which was thankfully touched on during the second day. 

     During the training, another small, toddler sized obstacle was running free between everyone, repeating the one word he knows, and apparently only testing the tolerance of volunteers, foreigners. I later learned that "yaay!" (rhymes with lie) means mom and with that it slid down 2 steps on my annoyance ladder.

Gambia Cashew Training

visiting one of the farmer's orchards

   Only 6 days prior to the departure for a 4-day training in our neighboring/internal country, the Gambia, was the invitation extended to the nearby agroforestry (agfo) volunteers. This is quite typical of the system, but it makes me wonder how long events sit on the PC plate before someone realizes that the rest of the country may need to be notified. The 11 of us with sparked interests and blurred expectations met in Kolda city to get passports (oh man!), visas, travel logistics, and all the other ducks in a row. I had a hiccup of a problem with my passport in safekeeping 225km away and a disagreeable printer at hand, but once the effort threshold was reached, I got a scanned copy (that would probably work). It was news to our older volunteer that he was going at all, but his name bolded on the Title line of our Visa persuaded him to throw a backpack together. Foreshadowing?

This is Peace Corps, so a degree of chaos and a margin of wiggle room is expected for the smallest tasks. 

  Our luck was exchanged with the second group the next day when our car arrived 30 minutes early, we found chicken sandwiches for lunch, money exchange was painless, and we arrived at our 'lodge' in the afternoon. This must sound silly, but these are the things that can and often do cause frustration that I have learned to appreciate. On the other end, the second group met us by dinner (8pm) after being hassled at the border, overpaying fees, and waiting at the ferry. The lodge was not the all inclusive resort (with AC, wifi, and a pool) that we cooked up in our heads, but the food served made up for our misconceptions. 

The training:     Peace Corps Gambia and now Senegal are collaborating with the NGO International Relief and Development  whose "mission is to reduce the suffering of the world’s most vulnerable groups and provide the tools and resources needed to increase their self-sufficiency."

Notice the 2 attaya/shot style glasses and the tea kettle
hanging from the cashew tree that we gathered
under for our meeting with the farmers.

During our training, we were able to learn about IRD's project objectives to improve food security through ag trainings with cashew farmers. IRD offers a well-organized manual in various languages to provide farmers with the resources and knowledge to successfully conduct meetings, improve marketing arrangements, and sensitize community members to the economical and nutritional value of cashew. 

IRD invited 25 PC volunteers along with local partners to attend trainings during June 2012. Although I didnt exactly know what to expect, I was pleased with the organization of the training, user-friendly materials, and clear objectives of the program. I have high hopes for this partnership and can say that we're all excited to extend the skills to our own farmers and villages. 

Although Jake looks like an aggressive tree hugger,he was actually pruning some of the branches with a saw.

weighing the cashew seed

The farmer cuts a deal with people that are
willing to scrounge around beneath the tree
canopy to collect the fallen cashew nuts for
a few days and on the last day they get to
keep their findings.

The delicious cashew apple is a very soft,
juicy fruit encased in a thin skin... so messy but worth it

"Unofficial Peace Corps Anthem"

Dear... home, 
I just wanted to share some of the things that keeps us occupied and even amused when we spend precious time with other volunteers or come across an internet connection strong enough to support anything beyond basic functions.
Without further a due, I would like to share this video that is nearly too accurate. Be happy that you can laugh or just think that its incredibly strange... We do a lot more than just Poop in a hole .
Peace,
"Homa Diao"