Mtoxo mu Fatumata, err, le ti.

Week one of CBT (community based training) is over, and we all survived. Well, except for one girl who already skedaddled back to the USA. It’s been an intense experience. From the moment they booted us out of the minibus into the arms of our new Senegalese families (usually 20 or more arms; families here are biiiiig), we were no longer in the oasis-like comfort of the training center, or “Amerigal.”

I got lucky with my family, I think. It’s relatively small – a mom, two sisters, and four brothers. In comparison, the guy sitting next to me right now has a father, three moms, a brother, and something like ten other sisters in the household. My family is well off, and the older sister (22) was friends with another volunteer at some point, so she knows how strange us toubabs (strangers) can be. They are all very patient with me as well, repeating phrases such as “I need to go to my room to take my anti-malarial medication now” in Jaxanke until I pronounce it correctly. They speak French as well, which means most of the communication from my end falls into the “Fraxanke” category. Oh, and my name here is Fatumata Cissokho. I’m named after the older sister, which is fine by me cause she’s pretty sassy.

I had a slightly traumatic dining experience the very first night. The food was pasta, some sort of sauce, and chunks of meat. Since I was a guest, they were all throwing the good parts (meat) into my section of the bowl. I go for one of the ambiguous chunks, and this is my thought process as the food gets closer to my face: “Hmm, this looks ok, I’ll take it..  uh oh, doesn’t look so good up close…oh no, oh no, it’s too late now, can’t put it back, we’re going innnnnnn…” I spent the next five to ten minutes chewing, trying not to upchuck into the communal bowl/embarrass Peace Corps/Senegal, and trying not to think about which part of which organ of which animal I had in my mouth. I decided on enormous cow, stomach lining. I was on guard after that, but the rest of my meals have been pretty good. Fish bones have been the most unpleasant item I’ve found in my mouth since then. After a couple days of using a spoon, they told me I have to learn to eat with my hands because eeeeveryone in the Jaxanke region eats with their hands. Two nights later, they give me the spoon back and tell me I’ll have to buy one myself when I get to my village. Senegal: 1, Anne: 0. Another aspect of the Senegalese dining experience: they will try to force you to eat, as it brings them honor if their guest gets fat. The dialogue at the end of meals goes something like this:

Family : Eat! Eat! Eat!

Me: I’m full.

Family : You don’t want to get fat? EAT EAT EAT YOU MUST EAT! (shoving food at me)

Me: I’M FULL I’M FULL I’M FULL! (in Jaxanke, Mfaata Mfaata Mfaata!)

In other news, I have my own room with a door that locks, which is a Peace Corps requirement for homestays. I have a mosquito net and a lightbulb that works whenever the electricity isn’t cut off, which happens multiple times per day. Mbour, the town that me and about 6 to 10 other trainees are in, is a tourist town on the coast, but you wouldn’t know it from the quartiers we see daily. Imagine lots and lots of sand, trash, fish guts, goats, sheep, and kids running around with apparently nothing better to do than scream “Toubab!” at you. Cute with the 3-year olds, super annoying with the 15- year olds.

Other things of note…

- Found a goat leg in the middle of the road. Just a single goat leg. How does this even happen?

- Roadkill rats the size of cats

- Horse and donkey carts sharing the roads with decrepit cars and buses

- I realized, 4 days in, that my family has both a roof and a goat family living on it

- Cold soft drinks = something appropriate to get overly excited about on hot days.

- A pelican chilling in a doorway. Lost? A pet? Who knows. It was alive, we checked

- I received three full outfits from my family. I think it means they like me. Two are made of material that resembles outdoor tablecloths, which was convenient when I was attempting to eat with my hands.

- Confusion among PCTs: “I can’t tell if it’s his third wife, or visiting cousin”

- Hand vs. spoon, toilet paper vs. water: pros and cons

- Bucket showers are heaven after a couple hours in the garden

- Getting to said garden requires ten minutes of pushing through groups of elementary school children

- 3 hour long, super intense language courses after which we can’t think straight until we take a nap

Anyway, after our first 6 nights there, we headed back to the training center. The day before, texts were circulating among the trainees, all of which read something like “Sooooo ready for a beer.” Upon arriving in Thies, the general consensus was “drink before shower” which resulted in us buying out them out of every beer they had.

Heading back to the village on Wednesday, for 13 nights this time. The bar might want to get a bigger fridge in the meanwhile.

Oh, and my mailing address for the next two months, if you so desire:

Anne Schier, PCT

Centre de Formation Corps de la Paix

B.P. 299

Thies, Senegal

West Africa

Remember to send it by air, as land packages/letters have been known to take months, occasionally years. Mail here is a big deal, and I would be excited to receive anything :) If you figure out some way to send me thai food, I'll love you forever.