News and a new name

Hello. Kor tanante!  

I got my permanent site! The name of the village is Missirah Bira. It has 1500 residents, not counting the ones with four legs. It’s about 50 kilometers south of Tambacounda, halfway between Dialokoto and Missirah, if you’re looking at a very detailed map. It has no electricity, running water, or cell phone reception (noooo!) It is off the main road, 5 or 20 kilometers down a dirt path, depending on how far you’ve already biked, how hot the sun is, how much water you remembered to bring, and if your bike is working properly. Since my first visit to my site was after a (25 kilometer, very very hot, not enough, back wheel shaky) ride, I was kind of in a daze while meeting and greeting my future coworkers/friends/nemeses. More on that later.

I have an allergy to mango skin! Yes, it figures that I have escaped the common curse of stomach ailments and viral fevers that have plagued my staging group so far, only to be struck down by a fruit. My lips started swelling last Saturday, and it slowly got worse. When I woke up at the training center Monday morning, I didn’t even recognize myself in the mirror. When I showed my roommates, I got horrified “OH MY GOD!”s. It was truly disfiguring, not to mention embarrassing. I hid in my room that morning, and called the PCMO (Peace Corps Medical Officer). She told me to “stop hiding immediately and find a car to Dakar!” It was a miserable ride, even though I was in an air-conditioned Peace Corps vehicle. The Senegalese guard that was driving me kept glancing back and asking “Tu es malade?” NO, I just look like plastic surgery gone horribly wrong ALL THE TIME.  Watch the road, you nearly hit that goat, you jerk.

Anyway, the medical staff in Dakar was on it, and they got me an appointment with a dermatologist that very afternoon. It took two seconds for the guy to look at my lips and diagnose it as a contact dermatitis, or allergy, or whatever. Turns out those four mangoes my family gave me a couple days before were the culprit. The good news is that I can still eat mangoes – just as long as I don’t touch the skin, and put the fruit directly into my mouth without touching my lips. Alrighty. The other good news is that the “health hut” is more like “health heaven” – air conditioned, clean, big rooms, western toilet and shower, full library, amazing kitchen, and a western-style grocery store just 10 minutes away.  “This,” one of the PCMOs told me, “is not Africa. “ The second day, I spent half an hour wandering the aisles in stupefied amazement before finally selecting French bread and cheese as my lunch. It was possibly worth the temporary disfigurement. There were a couple other Volunteers there as well, and they took me around the neighborhood, ending with a beer on a hotel balcony overlooking the Atlantic and the Ile de Ngor. Pas mal.

Because of this whole deal, I arrived in Tamba for my volunteer visit a day late. I stayed with an older Volunteer who is mid-service, about 30k away from my future site. The entire four or five days that I was living with him, I oscillated between thoughts of “Oh my god, what have I gotten myself into?” and excitement. I have faith that the latter will win out in the end. Spence, aka Babanding Tangian (or something like that…) is an Jaxanke-spitting, hard working, hilarious guy and lives in a village of 700 people and approximately a million goats, sheep, donkeys, cows, chickens, and horses. All these animals just go wherever they like in the village, even sometimes into houses, prompting the owner of the hut to jump up from his seat under the nearest tree and shoo them out. The cows especially are in the habit of plodding sedately around, glaring balefully at you as you swerve on your bike to avoid them and their enormous horns (these aren’t your sissy American cows, these are AFROcows) after they step into your path.

We spend a lot of time watering his garden, greeting people, avoiding farm animals, biking, and laying on the floor of his hut during the hottest part of the day.

The Tamba region is very hot. It must have been 115 or 120 every day, and was 105 degrees inside his hut until at least 10 at night, which made sleeping difficult. At around 4 in the morning it cools down to a more comfortable temperature, and starts heating up again as soon as the sun rises. Luckily, this is hot season. Rainy season is cooler, although mosquitoes and various skin infections thrive, and apparently during December and January it’s very nice. I hear that people adapt to the hot weather well and take lots of midday naps. The weather in Senegal in general, except coastal regions, is pretty rough, so I shouldn’t complain. Although I might in future posts. Just a warning.

Anyway – my site visit was nice, even if I was on the edge of heat exhaustion during. My hut is still under construction, but I’m already planning color schemes and murals, and trying to decide if I can fit a full size bed inside. (Don’t tell my amazingly artistic mother yet, but I’m planning on roping her into helping me design some decorative and/or educational murals for my village). My host family gave me a name within two minutes of meeting me: Fanta Savane, incidentally naming me both after one of my favorite delicious African escapes AND after the wife of my LCF. Strangely fitting, and awkward. So now I have two full Senegalese names to keep track of. I like Fanta better than Fatumata, personally. I saw the school and health post, both areas in which I will be working, and met the directors of both. My counterpart is very understanding about how difficult it is to learn a new language and integrate into a new community, which will help, especially since I am starting out in a brand-new, never-had-a-Volunteer-before site (many Volunteers replace other Volunteers, so their villages are accustomed to a white person living among them)

Ok, this is long. Sorry. Today was kind of cool – we had a presentation by a woman who works with the US Global Health Initiative and reports directly to Hillary Clinton, and some of her supporting staff. Tomorrow is “Dakar Day,” our first foray into the capital (except I’ve already been, ha ha suckas!)

One more thing – if you haven’t sent me a letter or package yet, or won’t in the next couple days, don’t send it to the address I previously posted. I’ll be moving into the bush soon, and will have a different address. I’ll get that one ASAP. 

Last but not least, I miss you all. I really do. I miss America. I miss driving and coffee shops and brunch and temperate weather and my dog. But I’m also in a good mood going forward, excited to rock the last month of training and develop ideas for projects once I get settled in my village. Life here so far is a series of ups and downs, but so far, the ups have definitely won out, and I think the ratio will continue to shift in my favor in the coming months.

There's a gecko in my mosquito net.

If you are a naturally timid person, Peace Corps will either make you want to jump into a well, or it will bitch slap the shyness right out of you.

After three weeks in my homestay, I have reached a certain level of comfort with my family and in my community. I greet people in the street (aka dirty sandbox between houses), give the “death stare” to any person over the age of 13 who calls me “toubab,” and joke with my host siblings. While eating, I’ll give them a taste of their own medicine: “You need to eat more. Eat! Eat! Eat!” They get a kick out of it. The other day, my 6-year old host brother and I played a quick but furious game of hot potato with a piece of cow intestine. He would throw it into my section of the bowl; I would throw it back. This continued until he threw it at my host mom, who ate it with gusto. However, I still hear two things at the end of every day: “You didn’t eat today” (not true), and “You like to sleep a lot” (very true).

I still feel extremely lucky in my living situation. Many friends have disturbing stories of their own homestays, a few of which are simply too disgusting to put on here.

We're all back at the Training Center for a couple days, which is a relief. Also a relief: I just finished my first oral exam in Jaxanke. (Fun fact: I couldn't even find this language on Wikipedia. Try googling it) It's a little intimidating speaking with the microphone on the recorder staring you in the face, and I'm pretty sure I now have five new facial expressions that mean "???" because I don't yet know how to say "I don't know what you're saying; can you please repeat that?" BUT - it's over. 

Next on everyone's mind is site assignments. Yes, in 24 hours we will learn where we will be spending the next two years. Exciting times. The plan is to blindfold all 46 of us, position us on a huge Senegal map that they've got on the ground somewhere in the compound, then have us all take off our blindfolds at the same moment. The person you are nose-to-nose with will be your closest neighbor. If you are five feet from everyone else, it means hours of travel to see another American face. I'll try to do another quick update before we go back to village with my site name, which is hopefully google-able. What I do know: I will be in the southeast somewhere, and it will be hot. Very hot. Good news: I am unlikely to be stationed in the region where, apparently, "things go to die." (The volunteers there have made a shirt that says as much)

Wish me luck.