Vacation in Dakar
If you will notice, I have changed the format a bit on this site. Most notable is the advent of links to my photos on snapfish; the idea is that anyone who wishes to sign up for a snapfish account can view my photos without having to receive the email invitation. (There are two new albums, and new photos in the IST and Wilanene; Jan-Feb06 albums.) Let me know if my brilliant plan works. I'm also a fan of the PC glossary. As with most institutions, PC is a little acronym happy. I will now feel free to use any of these acronyms and terms assuming that you will be able to scroll down and read the definition.
The reason that I have been working on my blog: free internet access at the Peace Corps office in Dakar.
The reason that I am in Dakar: Kidney infection.
Days spent in the med hut in Dakar from said infection: 7
Number of books read while in Dakar: 2 (The Red Tent, Me and Emma), plus 2 recent(!) New Yorkers passed on to me by fellow Team Kaffrine member, Evan.
Dakar is a great bustling city. There are times when I have felt like I could be in any number of western cities. Similar to Accra, I think you could probably get just about anything you wanted if you looked hard enough. There's a clean, reliable bus system (no route map in existence, but once you know where they go, you're set). There's even a really delicious icecream shop where for about $2, I had 3 scoops of chocolate, pistachio, and caramel. While eating and chatting, I faced away from the door and could have sworn I was in a little shop in New England. There are many excellent restaurants, clubs and other venues one would find in a city. You can expect to pay about what you would in the states, but a limited PCV stipend keeps most of us from having too much fun here.
It's very surreal to be in a place where Senegalese live in a manner that would be considered very rich by western standards. Trying to fathom that my current village life of subsistence farming and the 24 hour superstores of my home in the states exist in the same world seems easier because they are separated by oceans (and 2 years for me). However, taking public transport for half a day and ending up in Dakar blows my mind. I'm working with a community that is comparable to 1800's western America. I am slapped in the face with the gap that exists. In America growing up, I was always told I could do anything I put my mind to - I'm certainly not as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed about the world of possibilities as I was at 7, but I still plan to fulfill my childhood dream of becoming a scientist. Most of my villagers are lucky to have the schooling to write their own name and read a few lines in their local language.
Inchallah (Allah willing), I will return to my village early next week to begin working on tree nurseries. In the limited time that I have been able to spend at site post IST, I put in a bed of sisal and replanted my garden. With my millet stalk fence falling down, a war with the compound chickens was inevitable. They love to scratch and lay in the moist, loose dirt; I'm not a fan. I put up a fence about 2.5 feet tall of empty onion sacks hoping to slow them down. Now, I am aware that as members of the avian class, chickens do possess the ability of flight. However, I underestimated a scrawny chicken's will power to cool off when temperatures top 110F. This one hen kept on breaking through my millet fence and hopping over my onion sack fence to destroy my neat little rows of sisal. When Keba heard what was my English profanity followed by squawking and a quick exiting of hens from my front yard, he came over laughing. "Oh," he said, "they just jump over this little fence, that's all." I had to clench my teeth and say to myself, "Well, if you would fix the millet fence like you keep on saying you're going to do..." In the end, most of the sisal is going to be planted around his garden, so I decided to join in on the laughter. That was a week ago; I'm preparing myself to return to dried up and ripped out beds. I've learned to not take things so seriously; if something does work according to plan, I do a little dance. And so life as a PCV continues...
The reason that I have been working on my blog: free internet access at the Peace Corps office in Dakar.
The reason that I am in Dakar: Kidney infection.
Days spent in the med hut in Dakar from said infection: 7
Number of books read while in Dakar: 2 (The Red Tent, Me and Emma), plus 2 recent(!) New Yorkers passed on to me by fellow Team Kaffrine member, Evan.
Dakar is a great bustling city. There are times when I have felt like I could be in any number of western cities. Similar to Accra, I think you could probably get just about anything you wanted if you looked hard enough. There's a clean, reliable bus system (no route map in existence, but once you know where they go, you're set). There's even a really delicious icecream shop where for about $2, I had 3 scoops of chocolate, pistachio, and caramel. While eating and chatting, I faced away from the door and could have sworn I was in a little shop in New England. There are many excellent restaurants, clubs and other venues one would find in a city. You can expect to pay about what you would in the states, but a limited PCV stipend keeps most of us from having too much fun here.
It's very surreal to be in a place where Senegalese live in a manner that would be considered very rich by western standards. Trying to fathom that my current village life of subsistence farming and the 24 hour superstores of my home in the states exist in the same world seems easier because they are separated by oceans (and 2 years for me). However, taking public transport for half a day and ending up in Dakar blows my mind. I'm working with a community that is comparable to 1800's western America. I am slapped in the face with the gap that exists. In America growing up, I was always told I could do anything I put my mind to - I'm certainly not as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed about the world of possibilities as I was at 7, but I still plan to fulfill my childhood dream of becoming a scientist. Most of my villagers are lucky to have the schooling to write their own name and read a few lines in their local language.
Inchallah (Allah willing), I will return to my village early next week to begin working on tree nurseries. In the limited time that I have been able to spend at site post IST, I put in a bed of sisal and replanted my garden. With my millet stalk fence falling down, a war with the compound chickens was inevitable. They love to scratch and lay in the moist, loose dirt; I'm not a fan. I put up a fence about 2.5 feet tall of empty onion sacks hoping to slow them down. Now, I am aware that as members of the avian class, chickens do possess the ability of flight. However, I underestimated a scrawny chicken's will power to cool off when temperatures top 110F. This one hen kept on breaking through my millet fence and hopping over my onion sack fence to destroy my neat little rows of sisal. When Keba heard what was my English profanity followed by squawking and a quick exiting of hens from my front yard, he came over laughing. "Oh," he said, "they just jump over this little fence, that's all." I had to clench my teeth and say to myself, "Well, if you would fix the millet fence like you keep on saying you're going to do..." In the end, most of the sisal is going to be planted around his garden, so I decided to join in on the laughter. That was a week ago; I'm preparing myself to return to dried up and ripped out beds. I've learned to not take things so seriously; if something does work according to plan, I do a little dance. And so life as a PCV continues...
posted by Arianne at 4:33 PM
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