Stuff, stuff, stuff

Hey y’all. (I actually do say y’all here, due to the abundance of Southerners. Sorry. It’s science.)

To start off this month’s blog, here are a couple common village insults and why they do not work on me:

“You eat so many beans! Beans only! So many, all the time!”

“Yes, they’re delicious on sandwiches.”

“You don’t grow corn/peanuts/rice, but you eat it!”

“…Yep.”

Here’s a quick update on the Tamba Run for Education, which took place in early March: IT WAS AWESOME! Thank you so, so much to all of you who donated!  We’re trying to get a list of donors from Washington so we can send out thank-yous, but there’s a lot of red tape involved – so if you’d like a personalized thank-you from yours truly, please reveal yourself, you wonderful, wonderful person. There were about 150 runners, including PCVs, students, firemen and gendarmes, and many random Tamba sports enthusiasts. A professional runner, Djiby Sow, came with his personal photographer and was amazingly nice (and fast, duh). Expats came all the way from Dakar to run, as did a cavalcade of PC/Senegal staff in their fancy buses and cars, ready to help manage, chauffeur, and ensure nobody succumbed to dehydration. Even Tamba’s portly prefet d’education ran the 5k! It was great. Many PCVs were involved in all aspects of organizing the race, from hand-made race numbers to hydration stations to prizes to tent/speaker rental. I have to say that watching some of these students finish the race, especially the girls – who had probably never had this sort of opportunity before - was one of my favorite moments of my service so far. Annnnd, in addition to spreading awareness through the marathon, we also managed to raise nearly 4,000 bucks for girls’ education – not bad for the first time!

First time, I say, because we wholly expect this to be a yearly thing.  We’re already planning the next race, which will take place on December 9^th, 2012 – and it will be even better than last time. It’s never too late to start training/saving up money for your trip to Senegal, people!

A quick and dirty update on other projects that I don’t feel like writing about: LatrinesMasonTrainingGirls’LeadershipCampSchoolGardenMoringa. BAM.

So, I was looking through my journal the other day, and I found an entry from last June – right after I installed – that I want to share. It definitely affected me at the time, and still does (because now I know the aftermath), but illustrates some of the problems with healthcare here, especially for women. It’s a little gross, so don’t read it if you can’t handle amateur descriptions of injuries. You’ve been warned, wimp.

“June 6^th

I guess this is going on 3 weeks now – 2 weeks and 5 days?

It’s hard to say if much has changed. I still have moments when all I want to do is give up and go home. I figure that will last the entirety of my service (note to past self: so far, yes). I think the 3 nights I spent in Tamba did me good, though. It’s comforting knowing I can go back there to escape village for a while.

A weird thing happened today. Kind of disturbing. A man who works at the health post – not a doctor or nurse – as far as I can tell, he just does bandages – told me to come with him to see this woman’s wound. He said he has just been dressing it every day, and she hasn’t been to the hospital. When I got there, the woman limped in – though there was nothing wrong with her food or leg – and sat down. She looked young. She hiked her shirt up and her pagne down, and the guy took off the bandage. I couldn’t believe it. In the lower left side of her abdomen there was a gaping hole. It looked like somebody had opened her up for surgery, changed their mind, and left it like that. The wound must have been 6 inches long, and over an inch wide. When the bandage came off, the room immediately filled with the smell of rotting flesh. I could see right into her belly, but the flesh was grey and obviously very infected, rotting. It looked torn, like the infection had eaten holes further into her. It was horrifying, and combined with the smell, I thought I was going to puke. I backed out of the room.

As it turns out, the woman had a small sore or boil in that area some time ago. One person said two months, another said last year. She had hid it from everyone, including her husband. Over time, the small problem had turned into this monstrosity – something that would surely need surgery and lots of drugs to heal. She had gone to the doctor, who wrote her an order to go to the hospital in Tamba, but she didn’t go. She continued to do all the work a Senegalese woman does, suffering God knows how much, and didn’t tell her husband.

Finally, the day I saw it, we called the husband in. And yes, he had no idea. This woman had this huge, open, infected, rotting wound in her belly, and no action had been taken.

Was she afraid to tell her husband, the one who makes all the final decisions for the family, because she didn’t want him to get angry? It costs money to go to Tamba. Treating the original problem would have been simple and cheap, but now treatment will cost them a fortune. And she had let herself suffer for all this time. I could hardly believe the stupidity of the situation, but that’s an American view. This is one of the first real illustrations I’ve had here of women and healthcare, and the problems there.

She went to Tamba, or at least her husband said she would. I never heard her speak a single word.”

A couple months ago, I remembered this incident and asked my host dad what had happened. So here’s the story: Her husband did not take her to the hospital. He made her try traditional medicine for a long time. When that failed to work (surprise!) he finally took her to Tamba – but by that time it was too late. She was sent back to her parents’ village, where she died soon after.

I have some new questions: Did the husband really not have a clue? Is it possible to live with someone and not realize that they’re rotting inside? Did he just ignore it? Was he just really reluctant to spend money to take her for treatment? Sure, I don’t know the whole story here. Maybe I’m being too cynical. But after living here for a year, and hearing numerous stories like this, usually with the same ending, it’s hard not to be. Laziness, superstition, false information, and ignorance lead to so many easily preventable deaths. Sure points to the importance of health education in village. But deep-held beliefs, such as trust in traditional medicine and distrust of modern medicine (and unwillingness to spend money) are not easily shaken.

On a much brighter note – I will (inchallah) be in America in a month! I’ve been thinking about little else for quite a while. I keep making lists, usually about what kind of food I want to eat there. It’s a great way to pass the time in village. My last list was 46 items long; I counted. I’ll spare you the entirety of the list, but here are a few highlights: Sushi. BBQ tri-tip and roasted red peppers. Latte. Salad. Summer squash soup. Chili. Panini. BURRITO. Thai food. Pho, Etc, etc.

Here’s another list I made in village:

Future Blog Post Titles

“The peanut in Senegal: Its many faces; also, get used to it”

“Sheep or human?: The art of differentiating screams in the night”

“Arguments for ‘The Water Method’”

“SPAM and its growing role in PCV food culture”

“Social customs surrounding care packages”
“The vague reassurance of wearing a bike helmet on public transportation”

“Pigs: everywhere, and yet no bacon”

“’I have good catch’: PCVs’ worrying loss of their native language”

“We’re expected to integrate, but aren’t meant to hit children?!: Guilty thoughts I may or may not have had”

“Signs it’s time to leave village (see above)”

“Toddlers, knives, and fire: village parenting techniques”

“Dirt: all over, all the time” (also: resignation)

Til next time.

Becky's guest post

So I’ve sat down many times and attempted to write this guest entry, and writer’s block has struck me each time. Part of it is fear of sounding boring, as I lack the entertaining and witty writing style that Anne seems to naturally possess. (note from Anne: she’s being modest and is a great writer!) Another part of it is a fear of not doing justice to my experience in Senegal, or to the people there. And, perhaps, another part is nostalgia, for each time I try to write about an experience there I want to recall every intricate detail, and I hardly think Anne’s audience (you) would appreciate me going into elaborate detail about my mosquito bites and the crazy olfactory experience I had in Senegal. So, I have decided, at last, to write about my top 10 experiences or memories from my time with Anne in Senegal. This is by no means a list of must-sees or must-dos, but instead is a list of what stands out to me the most from my time visiting my friend of more than 20 years in the country that has been and will be her home for at least another 15 months or so. As a quick background before list, I am a second year law student in the States, and this was my first trip to Africa. I have known Anne for almost 22 years, and couldn’t resist the opportunity to visit her while she was in Senegal. (note from Anne: Becky is awesome)

10. People find out your marital status at lightning speed: One of the first questions asked of me upon entering Senegal (besides “Do you want some money? It’s good. Black market.”) was “Are you married?” followed quickly with some variation of “Do you want/need a husband?” At first I was taken aback, but after a while I just expected it to come up in any conversation with a Senegalese person. Answer it as you like, it doesn’t really matter. The only reason that this stands out to me is that within 3 minutes of talking to someone in Senegal, they would know my marital status, while it took me a month or two before I realized one of my friends in law school was married and had been for 5 years. I’m not sure if that says more about law school interactions and my attention to detail or more about Senegal, but there you have it.

9. You better be quick at simple math: Our primary form of transportation in Senegal was in taxis. If you can’t calculate the exchange rate quickly in your head, you’ll probably end up getting ripped off (a) because you’re a tourist and (b) because you couldn’t figure out that you had been ripped off until it was too late. People make fun of law school students for being bad at math, and as a whole, it’s true, we suck at math. My time in Senegal reawakened that part of my brain that hasn’t been accessed in a while, and it took me longer than I’d like to admit to get used to doing quick arithmetic in my head. You’ll probably still get charged more because you’re a tourist, but if you can catch the disparity upfront you’re more likely to be able to negotiate them down to a lower price.

8. High school French will only get you so far: I’d like to say that I was pretty fluent in French. In fact, I was commended for my impeccable accent and pronunciation. However, after not having spoken French for at least 4 years, and not studying it for over 6, I found myself wondering if I actually remembered any French at all. Part of it was actually forgetting my French, but another part was the fact that African French is quite different from French French. The pronunciation is different, the syntax can be different, and inflection as well. Overall, I could get my point across, but I did get made fun of (good-heartedly) for my pronunciation. Getting my point across in Senegal became an exercise in my garbled French (or Franglish if I was really struggling), hand gestures, and some attempts at charades that generally seemed to garner more laughs than understanding.

7. Patience certainly is a virtue: I live in New Orleans, where things happen at their own pace, but Senegal certainly took this to a whole new level. All I can say is, go with the flow, and you’ll be fine. Things will get done (usually) and worrying about it isn’t going to get you anywhere. Sit back, grab a good book and a Fanta, and enjoy the ride. Patience came in handy many times during our trip. If you get impatient, you won’t enjoy yourself, and you’ll just be grumpy. No one likes a grumpy person. Patience got me through a transportation strike and a sept-place ride from hell (including 2 flat tires, 4 tire changes, and a grumpy driver). If patience is not a virtue that you possess, Senegal will either break you completely or force you to develop that much needed skill. It’s worth it. J

6. You will leave Senegal with at least one new name: Before going to Anne’s village, she told me that I would be given a Senegalese name, and she mentioned that it would be probably one of four names that are quite common (Mariama, and I 3 others, which I can’t remember right now). However, when we were stuck in her regional city of Tamba during the transportation strike, I was named by a Pulaar woman selling fabric at the market. She named me Adamatoulai, after herself and her daughter. Adamatoulai is the feminine version of Adama, which is Senegal’s version of Adam (as in Adam and Eve). Once in Anne’s village, I was named Mariama Savanne, after one of Anne’s host moms (and one of the four names Anne said I would likely be given). Incidentally, Mariama recently gave birth, and her child was named after Anne’s American mom, which is super sweet. I like both my new names, and they’re a special thing I brought home with me that I didn’t have to worry about fitting in my carry on luggage.

5. Stop complaining about stupid things: Seriously. Your soy latte doesn’t have enough foam? Get over it. Stop complaining. It doesn’t matter! Unless you have been to a developing country, it can be easy to get caught up in the minute details of American life, like coffee shops and parking spots and designer jeans. Heck, even if you have been to a developing country it can still be easy to get caught up in these kinds of things. But really, these things don’t matter, these things won’t make you happy, and complaining about this stuff make you sound rather silly. In Senegal, you’ll see people with nothing (granted, you’ll also see people driving Range Rovers there) who are happy, and who aren’t worried about what their butt looks like in their new $200 jeans.

4. Quiet does not really exist in Senegal: The quietest place in Senegal was our hotel room for the first couple days, and there you could still hear people yelling down on the streets or hoof steps on the pavement. I slept like a baby there compared to elsewhere in Senegal. I can’t tell if my restless sleep in Senegal was due to jet-lag or to the noise, but I’d wager a bet it was a noise. When I would point out the blood-curdling screech coming from somewhere near the Tamba house, Anne would just say “What noise?” I guess the constant cacophony of sounds is something you get used to, but I had a hard time blocking out the noise of what sounded like a goat meeting a very unhappy (and prolonged) end. Even in Anne’s village, which has no roads, electricity, or running water, there was always something going on. In every place we visited, the call to prayer would sound regularly, and in Tamba it seemed to be a competitive sport to see how long (and how atonally) someone could yell on for.  

3. Come hungry, leave happy (unless you order Chinese food): Senegalese food is delicious. You have to try Thieb, a national specialty, and you must try Yassa (poulet if you can). I wasn’t the biggest fan of Thieb, except from one place in Tamba, but Yassa was delicious and I will be hounding Anne for a recipe. Also, if you are the guest of a Senegalese family, they will feed you until you pop. I have never been offered so much food in my life, and I found myself in several food-induced stupors post-mealtime in Senegal. Hamburgers in Senegal, while bearing only a slight resemblance to American hamburgers, are delicious and possibly worse for you than any burger I have ever encountered in America (but I’m sure there’s a heart-attack hamburger somewhere in Texas). Same goes for Fatayias, which contain similar ingredients to burgers, but with pastry instead of a bun. Delicious but super unhealthy. Unfortunately, the worst meal I had in Senegal was also my last. Anne and I ordered some Chinese food in Dakar before my 1:00AM flight, and what I got looked like gumbo but tasted nothing like it. It was disappointing, but overall, my culinary experience in Senegal was very good. I even brought back some peanuts with me, which were meant to be gifts for people, but they never made it out of my house. J

2. Wax fabric is the only souvenir you need to bring home: Senegalese fabric is gorgeous. It is vibrant, creative, and even quite strange (dismembered fingers featured in quite a few designs). Go to the markets, buy yourself several yards of fabric, and you’ll be a happy camper. You can get pagnes or pretty much anything you can think of made for you, or you can just take the fabric back home with you. I wish I had checked bags with me on my trip, because I easily could have taken a whole suitcase of fabric back home with me. I want to decorate my house with the fabric, put it on the walls, and make pillows and sheets and bathrobes made out of it. It is just gorgeous and colorful and unlike anything you can find in America. If you do manage to find something like it in American, it will probably be many times more expensive. I wish I had brought back more fabric with me, but I was limited to a carry-on bag, so I think I did pretty well for myself.

1. Good friends are awesome: I have been friends with Anne for pretty much my entire life. We’ve lived apart for quite some time, but whenever I see her it is like no time has passed at all. A friendship like this is something to cherish, and if it means visiting them in some strange country, do it. I would visit Anne anywhere on Earth. I would go to the Arctic just to hang out with her, and I’m not such a big fan of being cold. If you have a friend who is living in some distant country, go visit them! It’s a great chance to see your friend and it could likely be a once in a lifetime opportunity to see a country where you actually have someone who knows the ropes a little bit. Granted, I would have been perfectly happy just hanging out with Anne in Senegal, but I also got to see a good deal of the country, which for me was just the icing on the cake of getting to see my best friend. If you have a friend in the Peace Corps, I would jump at the opportunity to go visit them. You’ll get to meet other volunteers (and all the volunteers I met were awesome) and you’ll get to see your friend’s life in that country, which no matter how hard you try you cannot even begin to imagine without having been there. Plus, it’s nice for you PCV friend to have someone back home who knows exactly what she means when she says _______.

So, there you have it. This list is by no means exhaustive. It doesn’t even mention our experience buying and transporting chickens to Anne’s village, or the crazy smells we encountered, or the dirt and trash, or the children, or the mindboggling transportation system, but it’s the best I can do for now. Law school steals far too much of my attention, and has currently inflicted me with some kind of shoulder ailment that makes typing uncomfortable, but I am happy to write this instead of reading the 200 pages I am supposed to. I haven’t ruled out writing another guest post, but I think Anne will have the final say in that matter. J

            

Happy Anniversary!

March 9 marks one year in Senegal.

 I’ve been thinking a lot recently about what I’ve learned and accomplished here in the last year – easy to do, with such an anniversary approaching, and with so much idle time in village to think. So here’s the culmination of that – I guess a sort of “State of my Service” address.

I remember staging, at a Holiday Inn in DC, all of us dressed in “business casual” clothes, sitting at round tables in a conference room. We sized up our new companions, soon to be close friends, and formed first opinions. We went over the rules of Peace Corps and performed short skits to illustrate them. We drew up, on butcher paper, our most pressing worries – bugs, disease, the heat, language barriers, homesickness. We signed papers and were shuttled around for mass injections, and we split into groups for the all-important “last dinner in America!” I remember eating lasagna and drinking a cold beer – I think a Sam Adams.  A lot of people were nervous about leaving, but I’d had a figurative foot out the door since I turned in my application – the previous 8 months had just been me idling on the runway, waiting for the green light. In retrospect, I should have valued my own country more during that period – been a bit more mindful each time I drove my car, or drank a latte, or took a hot shower, or ate dinner with my family.  Eric told me to appreciate the present. But I was too impatient.

Pre-Service Training wasn’t too bad. All 46 of us were going through the same adjustments at the same time, from the moment we stepped off the plane into the humidity of pre-dawn Dakar. We could stumble through boring training sessions, cultural faux pas, local language exams, and harassment in the streets, and talk about it over beers in the evening. We were in the same place. We complained, but were assured by more experienced PCVs that life would improve dramatically after Swear-In.

There are a few memories from the past year that haven’t faded. One of these (as it probably is for most PCVs) is the moment the Peace Corps car drove away and left me in my village. I was standing in my new hut, surrounded by my luggage. My mattress was rolled up in a corner. The two Peace Corps staff members that had installed me shook my hand, wished me good luck, and ducked out. Rachel, the next Volunteer to be installed, hugged me and followed them back outside.  I heard the engine start up, then fade away. I stood there in the hut for a while, just kind of staring at the door, then walked out into my back yard. I peered over the nearest fence, and saw a horse ambling by not five feet away from me. Cows grazed in the background. That’s when it really hit me: I live here now. I live in a village. In Africa. Who does that, really? To be honest, I experience that “I live in Africa?!” moment every few weeks, triggered by something as normal as biking into village or walking down to the boutique to buy bread.  It’s pretty amazing, if I do say so myself, and is worth being reminded of.  But anyway. Ahem.

I wish somebody had warned me that the first few weeks, and even months, in village would be the hardest of my service. This seems to be the case with most people, as I found out later. All I’d heard before, though, was how great life after install was. So when I found myself having a really hard time, I felt like something was wrong with me – that Peace Corps was not, after all, something I could succeed in. And that, of course, made me feel even worse.  Language learning was difficult, I didn’t like the food, I thought I was being pressured to do more than I felt comfortable doing, and I was just sitting around, not allowed and not capable of doing any real work. I was a useless toubab dropped off in this village for their entertainment. And let’s not forget the heat: being installed in the middle of hot season meant that most days found me lying miserably in my hut, sweating through my clothing and my three-inch foam mattress, fanning my face and hoping for a sudden civil war (or something along those lines) so that I could go home. I remember wanting so badly to call my parents, but then knowing that as soon as my mom picked up the phone, I would immediately start bawling. Which is not something I felt very proud of.

It did get better, though. Obviously; I’m still here. And this is something I’ll be sure to tell the next stage before they install: don’t tear yourself down. It will really, really suck at times. It may even suck for months on end. But 5 months in, or 6, or 7, you’ll start to get it. Senegal will become your home, not just some assignment. The things that frustrated you so much in the beginning – the harassment, being the center of attention everywhere you go, the lack of electricity or water or toilet paper or vegetables – those things will just fade into the background, still there, still frustrating at times, but a fact of life. And the things that you overlooked in the beginning while you were so focused on the bad stuff, those things will start to make an impression on you. The generosity of people here, the street food culture, the amazing colors and designs in every outfit, the eagerness of children who just want to say hello and shake your hand, their delight when they find you can speak their own language. Sure, there are teachers in Senegal who don’t care about the students… but that just makes it even better when you meet one who does, and who wants to work with you. Sure, you may get yelled at by five people on the way to the store, but you forget about that when you meet one who wants to practice English with you. It’s the little triumphs that start to add up.  I would also add – and this is something that I have more recently realized – your service is your own. You will have friends that are able to integrate seamlessly into village life, speak their language fluently, and work tirelessly in the fields. That wasn’t, and will never be, me. I’m ok with that now.  I no longer compare myself to my peers. My service is what I make of it, and if I am satisfied with what I am doing, then it’s all good. Everyone deals with this experience differently, and I would argue that just staying here at all is quite an achievement.

 So, what exactly have I accomplished in the past 12 months? I’ve done some “real” work, yes. But my biggest successes have not been the grants I’ve written, or trainings I’ve attended, but what I have learned about how to exist in Senegal. Not just survive, but how to make this country my home, and how to preserve my spirits and sanity. In lieu of a long list of random facts like “proper appreciation of leaf sauce” and “merciless bargaining skills,” I’ll just refer back to the last paragraph. Tolerance, patience, and a dry sense of humor: those are my West African survival tools. Those, and a set of realizations. The realization that work here does not come easily, that the things we take for granted in America are often absent, and a failed project is not a failure but a lesson. The realization that although there are aspects of life here that are depressing and disturbing, obsessing over them helps no one. We must register the bad, embrace the good, and do the best we can with what we have. I was never one of those (possibly mythical) “I’m-going-to-save-the-world” Peace Corps types, but I still needed to realize my own limitations, and accept them, and give myself credit for all I’ve managed to do so far. That includes the simple act of not quitting. The projects that I’m working on now, and those in the past that I’m proud to have participated in, are just icing on the cake.

So, there you are, a bit of a brain dump. I’m not sure I succeeded in organizing my thoughts very clearly, but that’s what I’ve got right now. I’m planning on doing another post soon, highlighting projects I’m involved in at the moment and doubtless including a few more shameless pleas for monetary support, so there’s something to look forward to!

Happy Anniversary, Senegal! Here’s to the next 14 months of life lessons and bean sandwiches.

Election Approaches, Sh*t Goes Down

For those of you who aren’t intently following the goings-on in this wonderful country, google it, or read this:

http://www.news24.com/Africa/News/Senegal-riots-intensify-before-election-20120220

Basically, since late January, when Senegal’s highest court ruled that Abdoulaye Wade was eligible to run for a third term, anti-Wade protests and riots have been happening in Dakar and other regional capitals. This is actually pretty serious stuff. People have died, tear gas and rock throwing is widespread (as well as tire burning; apparently tire burning is a very popular pastime here), and we are pretty much under travel lockdown. We’re being kept up to date by regular and weirdly funny texts from our Safety and Security Coordinator, such as this one: “Opsition plan to b in Plce de l’independence in Dkr 2day again.Should b more violent than yestday.Avoid area & suroundings.Prsdt Wade in Tamba. VGILANCE!”

I don’t feel unsafe at all here. At least in Tamba, there isn’t really much going on, and village is probably the safest place one could be in case of a government overthrow. Which is extremely unlikely. Most people here I’ve talked to seem sure that nothing will happen – many Senegalese take their cues from various religious leaders, so if they preach peace, peace will likely reign (although the recent teargas-in-a-mosque incident might not help). Also, Senegal is one of West Africa’s most stable and long-lasting democracies. But things can always change. So, best case scenario: nothing happens, the election is peaceful, only a couple tires are burned, etc. Worst case scenario: Senegal devolves into unrest and violence, we’re evacuated and I’m back in the US a year early. What’s most likely to happen, probably, is something in between those two extremes. We’ll see. February 26! Mark your calendars.

On a different, and much more awesome note, my mom now has an African baby named after her! My newest host sister was born on Feb 4, and in the tradition of Muslim births, we waited until the baptism to name her, one week later. The morning of the baptism, my host dad knocks on the door of my hut and asks me if I dreamed of any names last night. Recognizing what a great opportunity this is to name a baby Sushi, but also feeling too guilty to do so, I say no. He goes off to pray with the men for a while, then comes back. Here’s how the conversation went:

“Have you thought of a name yet?”

“No…”

“What’s your mom’s name?”

“My American mom? Aileen”

“Eee kleen?”

“No, Aiiileeeeenn”

“Ok.”

(fast forward half an hour, in which time he is conferring in private with the other men of the family, all suited up in their fancy robes)

“Ok, we have decided. The baby is named after your mom. Aiiileeeeen.”

Quite an honor. In this culture, they name babies after family members – so this means that not only do they consider me a family member, but my mom as well (who they know only through photos). Very cool. Also, for the rest of the day, baby Aileen was referred to as “your mom,” as in “Your mom is pretty! Your mom is small! Your mom just woke up! Your mom is African! Hahaha!”

Needless to say, I’ll be bringing stuff back for Aileen after I go home in May. I’m going to make sure this baby has the best that Baby Gap can offer. She’ll be the envy of every baby in Bira. And for those of you who say “But Anne, aren’t you supposed to only do sustainable work? Haven’t you worked hard all year to integrate? Won’t giving your family stuff be sending the wrong message?”  - I don’t care. The baby is named AILEEN, for god’s sake. I have an obligation. She’s worth it. 

Holidays, etc.

Happy Thanksgiving, Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year! I guess it really has been that long since I’ve updated the ol’ blog… but I have some good excuses, which I will now present to you. First up:

This year, instead of doing an American Thanksgiving with my friends at Tamba house, I decided to do “Village Thanksgiving” – which, I’ll be honest, was mostly motivated by “village guilt,” an affliction suffered by most (if not all) Volunteers at some point. I’d been spending a lot of time out of village, working on grants and perfecting my crouton-onion-egg-MSG soup (a delicious invention). So, in order to make myself feel better and also to bring a bit more American culture to Bira (PC Goal #2!), I bought 5 kilos of onions, a kilo of carrots, 3 kilos of potatoes, 3 kilos of rice, and 3 kilos of vermicelli. Back in village, I bought 3 chickens – figured they equaled one turkey – plopped the whole mess in front of my family and said, “Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. It’s like American Tabaski. Please cook all this food.” I even tried to explain the meaning of Thanksgiving – but in Jaxanke, it ended up being something like “So you say ‘thank you’ to Allah for…things…that you like.” “Like vermicelli?” “Uh, yes.”

 The preparation took five hours and was really fun. The whole family was out in the yard, talking, joking, butchering chickens with dull knives, and laughing at me as I tried to dice onions sans cutting board. And it was delicious. True understanding of Thanksgiving aside, my family certainly appreciated the feast, whose likes are seen in village only twice yearly.  You can be sure that they’ve marked “Fete Amerik – when Fanta brings us food” on their mental calendars for next year.

Christmas was spent in Benin, visiting my friend Eric. Since this was my second visit, we decided to dispense with the touristy agenda and just chill – we spent almost the whole time in Parakou, where Eric is now PCVL – Peace Corps Volunteer Leader. Parakou was easy to hang out in for long periods of time. Here’s why: food. Mind-blowing food choices. Also, the Parakou regional house (or work station, in Benin speak) is amazing, and so is Eric’s house.  Needless to say, ten days passed quickly and we bussed down to Cotonou for Christmas day, where we spent the afternoon eating turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, side dishes which were less important to me than turkey, gravy, and mashed potatoes, and dessert at the house of the PC Benin Training Director, who is American. I’ll ignore the food I was able to procure in Benin for long enough to say that it was also very interesting, after nine months of service in Senegal, to compare the two countries – their culture as well as the PC programs. But I’m too lazy to make a list right now. Later, I promise. I left Benin on the 27^th, arriving back in Dakar only one day before…

Becky! Yes, my best friend from America decided that 22 years of friendship means that if one of you lives in a distant, weird country, the other one is morally obligated to visit – or, really, she was just being awesome, as usual, and bought the ticket. We spent a couple days in Dakar in a nice hotel, a Christmas gift from my parents. It was amazing - beautiful construction and rooms, with a rooftop restaurant and bar overlooking the ocean. Traditionally, our New Year’s Eves are pretty low-key, and this one was no exception. We had a picnic in bed while watching some zany French NYE comedy special, then went up to the roof to watch fireworks at midnight. Let me tell you, it was unlike any fireworks show I’ve seen, but it may be my favorite. Since fireworks were being sold everywhere in the street, everyone and their blind old grandmother was snatching them up and setting them off with a passion.  For days, poppers that sounded like gunshots echoed through the city every couple seconds. The second the sun set on the 31^st, the real fireworks started going off sporadically. As we stood on the roof at midnight, we had a 360 degree view of the city, and the amateur but extremely enthusiastic fireworks displays being fired off from every neighborhood, seemingly every street, some of them directly over our heads (and worryingly low). It was a magical cacophony of noise – fireworks exploding city-wide, kids yelling, adults cheering, taxis honking, and every Dakarois dog with a voice barking manically in the streets. Very, very cool.

By now, Becky has seen Dakar, Tamba, and my village. She has survived taxi rides, charette rides, sept place rides, alhum rides, and bike rides. She has survived strange food and pit toilets. She’s a trooper. We’re heading up North again tomorrow with a couple other Volunteers (and one visiting sister) to camp in the little desert of Lampoul and ride camels before Becky heads back home. I’ve made her promise to do a guest blog post about her trip. I think it will be interesting to hear about Senegal from someone with a fresh perspective… as I once had (cue long-suffering sigh) (cue your eye-roll). 

In other news: In the beginning of December I volunteered at an eye clinic run by “Right to Sight and Health,” an organization that sends American eye doctors and nurses to third world countries to do free eye surgeries and train host country doctors at the same time. This one was located in Bakel, in the northern-ish part of the country, and focused on cataract surgeries. I worked for a week in the OR, loved it, and started researching careers in the medical field as soon as I got back to Tamba. My parents have been telling me to look into it for years, but I was never really interested – funny how one week can change your mind.

Also, check out my Appropriate Projects grant! (slight changes have been made since):  http://appropriateprojects.com/node/920

And also the video some of Team Tamba made about the marathon: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ia8xgXyXBo4

‘Til next time – and Happy New Year! 

Yeah! Yeah!

This month, I am prouder than ever to be part of the PC/Senegal/Tambacounda family. Here's why: we're planning a marathon. And not just for "shits and giggles," as my beloved high school rowing coach used to say; we actually aim to do something great for Senegal's girls. The name may not be witty, or an alliteration, but it gets the point across:

(courtesy of Mika, graphic artist extraordinaire)

The idea came from one of my neighbors, Amanda, but our entire region has jumped to help. We're all very excited. I have been set to work writing various explanatory and fundraising emails to PCVs, PC admin, RPCVs, expats, companies, etc. And, of course, you are all cordially invited - to help us fundraise, or to come pound the pavement. What better excuse to visit a country that you, honestly, never really wanted to visit? Here's some incentive: adorable Senegalese babies (definitely), Senegalese food (the good kind), mild verbal abuse (makes you stronger), monkeys (yep), good beer (not really), me (duh), lions (I wish), helping empower Senegalese girls (yeahhh!), getting to boast about your Senegalese marathon experience (we will also have shorter distances, so no excuses). If you do want to make a donation, run (!), or have any questions, feel free to email me - aschier87@gmail.com

For a more thorough explanation, here's a shortish article I wrote for PC/Senegal's website.

Dear PCVs, RPCVs, friends, family, and noble internet passers-by,

Greetings from Tambacounda, Senegal! We are a group of Peace Corps Volunteers with jobs ranging from urban agriculture and preventative health education to small enterprise development. No matter what sector we are assigned to, however, we all want to work in one common area: girls' education and empowerment.

In Senegal, especially in rural areas (where we primarily live and work), girls are often taken out of school at a young age to work in the fields, or marry. They have little say over their futures or the future of their daughters, and the sustainable development work that Peace Corps strives toward is possible only if the women of Senegal can make their voices heard. The best way to empower women is through education, and that is why we are so excited about this opportunity.

Work centering on girls’ education has been a Peace Corps initiative since… well, since the beginning of Peace Corps. However, this time we are planning something different - the first ever Peace Corps-related marathon, to take place in early March. The race will be run in the spirit of continuing girls' education, with emphasis on informing and changing local attitudes and, hopefully, inspiring girls to think of themselves as capable of continuing their studies, having a career, and balancing that with family.

We have been overwhelmed so far with the positive response from our fellow PCVs – not only are they committing themselves to going the distance on foot, they are also asking how they can help us in our awareness and fundraising efforts. However, we need all the help we can get! Even if you aren’t living in Senegal at the moment, and can’t picture yourself flying over to West Africa to run with us, there are ways you can help out from the air-conditioned comfort of your own home, take-out Mexican food and a chai latte close at hand (my current Amerik daydream; don’t judge).

To meet the goals we’ve set for ourselves, to really achieve something special with this marathon, we need donations. PCVs, RPCVs, family, friends, American or Senegalese companies, school clubs, famous celebrities, the guy who goes through your trash every morning – you get the picture. Anyone can lend a hand. Marathon T-shirts are being designed, and will be available for purchase – we’ll let you know when and how. Fundraised money will be used in a couple big areas. One is our Michelle Sylvester Scholarships, in which we reward high-achieving but economically disadvantaged girls with funds to pay for school and supplies, something their families cannot always afford. Another are Peace Corps Senegal’s country-wide girls’ leadership camps, in which girls are able to talk to and learn from successful Senegalese women, think outside the “village box,” and develop their own personal identities, life skills, and self-confidence. Funds will also be used for other GAD (Gender and Development) activities.

This is going to be a game-changer, people. We have high hopes of not only facilitating a successful event this year, but of even making it an annual affair. Girls’ education and empowerment, of all things, deserves a yearly reminder. Join us in making this possible!

Also, find us on facebook! Or, here, I’ll make it easy for you: http://www.facebook.com/senegalrunforeducation

And now, Tamba’s own Amanda Lyon will explain how to make donations:

As of right now, we will be doing everything through the country fund.  Friends and family, American businesses, Senegalese companies, and so on, can donate at:

 https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=donate.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=685-CFD

From there they click on Donate, which prompts them to fill in their credit card information.  On that page there is a comment section where we would like all donors to comment, "Marathon for Education," so that we will know what funds actually belong to us...whoopee!  PS:  TAX DEDUCTIBLE.

If you have a Senegalese Company or anyone else that cannot donate online or via credit card, they can write Peace Corps Senegal a check.  If you are in this situation contact me because PC is not sure how they want the check addressed thus far.

For comments, questions, concerns, etc. – email us at senegalrunforeducation1@gmail.com

Sincerely,

Team Tamba and the rest of PC/Senegal

Still alive!

Ok. It’s been a while since my last post (as always) and a lot has happened. Actually, that’s a lie. We’re on Africa time. However, enough has happened to merit a blog update.

In mid-September, 8 fellow Tamba Volunteers and I embarked on a 4-day “tourney”. The purpose of this one was to educate villagers about the causes of diarrhea, how to prevent it, and how to treat it. Due to a lack of basic knowledge about proper hygiene and sanitation, diarrhea is extremely common, especially among children. And although it is easily treated, parents often wait so long to take their sick child to the health hut - many times because they cannot or do not want to pay the small fee – that by the time the child IS seen by a health worker, it’s too late. This is actually one of the biggest health-related problems I’ve seen, and it frustrates me beyond belief.

Anyway – three teams of three (each team speaking a different local language, depending on the village) performed educational skits and demonstrations. Using a flavored drink powder, we were able to demonstrate how germs are spread, and the importance of using soap while washing your hands. Once damp, the powder (representing germs) stained a village volunteer’s hand. Shaking hands with others showed how it was passed easily from person to person. And afterwards, the only way to get it off was with soap – water alone didn’t cut it. After that, we showed them how to make ORS – Oral Rehydration Solution – by mixing certain quantities of sugar and salt with clean water, and explained how to use it. Simple, cheap, and enormously effective.

Side note: Every PCV is supplied with ORS in their med kit, and we have a large supply here at the regional house. Great for intestinal distress, also good for quick rehydration after a wild night. It’s said that if your ORS tastes like candy, you know you’re in trouble.

Over the four days, we visited 12 villages, five of which were Jaxanke speaking, including my own. It was a great experience. It gave me some new vocab, more confidence speaking the language, and it allowed me to see friends’ sites, which was really fun. It was also exhausting. The best part, though, has been catching my villagers reciting lines from the skits to each other, or the ORS recipe, or how important soap is – even weeks after the tourney. Talk about a warm, fuzzy feeling. I can’t wait to do another one – we’re thinking family planning would be a good topic (but really, the possibilities are endless – nutrition, malaria, the American boy band phenomenon, etc).

I also just finished a proposal to fund a latrine project in my village. Quite a few people in Bira don’t have access to a pit toilet, which means they’re doing their thing outside, near living and cooking areas. No good, for obvious reasons (see above). So we’re planning on constructing ten new latrines around the outskirts of the community, where most of these bush-poopers (sorry, latrine-deprived) people live. Hopefully this plan goes off without a hitch. That’s too much to hope for, maybe, but this project is meant to gauge the enthusiasm of my community, and single out people who may be good work partners in the future.

Quick story about my dog, whom I haven’t mentioned before: In August, I really wanted a puppy. I bought one off some kids, spur of the moment, in the street for the equivalent of two dollars. I named him Tigo, which means “peanut” in Jaxanke. Tigo was adorable, but quite a handful. When I took him back to Bira, I led him around on a leash for a couple days so he could get his bearings, then set him free. He immediately ran into my host family’s backyard and ate a baby chicken. This is not good, especially in a place where every baby chicken represents possible future food and money. I was mortified. A couple days later, he ate another baby chicken – this time it had pretty much wandered into his vicious, adorable puppy face while Tigo was tied up. Two strikes.  I had to keep him on-leash and under surveillance at all times, which was stressful for both of us, I’m sure. So many other Volunteers have dogs that wander the village happily, managing to avoid killing anything. My only explanation was that since Tigo lived his first 8 weeks in Tamba, perhaps away from small animals, he never learned to leave them alone, as village dogs do. Anyway, after casting about wildly for another solution, my friend Pheobe (my savior) offered to take him. She works with a Master Farmer in a field right outside Tamba. Tigo would have 1,000 square meters of space to roam, and people working there almost all the time to keep him company. And best of all, if any small animals wandered into the field – a demonstration farm, basically – they’d be pests and, therefore, fair game. I’m not sure if Tigo is actually still honing his hunting techniques, but I do know that he is fat, happy, and I had to pull a mango fly larvae out of his tail. You can look it up. Keep in mind that this also afflicts PCVs. Constant vigilance!

Some exciting news: my amazing friend Becky is going to visit me for two weeks right after Christmas! I’m very excited to A) see her, and B) show someone around this country that is now, somehow, my home. Honestly, there are some people to whom I would hesitate to recommend an African trip, but after many travels with her I know she can handle it easily. Maybe there should be a warning on airlines’ websites…

Side effects of prolonged exposure to West Africa may include: excessive use of Imodium, refusal to pay more than 40 cents for a baguette, increased rate of arguing with vendors and taxi drivers, increased incidence of sass (related), redefined definition of ‘shopping,’ ‘heat,’ ‘public transportation,’ and ‘balanced meal,’ sudden desire to spend all your money on fabric, admiration of fake hair and complex cornrows, speaking African French, thinking that African French is what French actually sounds like, decrease in vegetarianism, increase in tolerance for strange meats, increased chance of wearing jelly sandals, intimate knowledge of both tropical afflictions and donkeys’ social habits, thinking SPAM, canned cheese, and fish mash are delicious, strong opinions on international development and NGO work, disdain for money-tossing tourists, indignation when people assume you’re a tourist, increased incidence of hiding money on your person, thinking all of the above is normal, increase of cross-cultural understanding, and of course a huge increase in BADASSNESS.

Til next time!