Chicken for your troubles?

Now that I am back at site, I have more work than I can keep track of. My main project as an agroforestry volunteer at this time is helping everyone get their tree nurseries made, seeded, and with protection from the plague of the crickets. The Wolofs call them socent and never say the name without an exclamation explaining exactly what vile little creatures they can be. They have not only eaten the leaves off of every plant and tree outside of Neem who's leaves serve as a natural pesticide, but they have moved on to consuming the bark.

I am working with over 40 farmers in 9 different villages. One good thing about the area I live in is that people here are excited to work with trees because they can see the dramatic difference from a highly forested area 20 years ago to a distinct lack of ground cover now. My village counterpart Khady Wilane and I walked on the paths together to villages for the initial visit. She made me wear a nice dress. I met all of the farmers that the previous volunteer worked with plus many more. It went something like this: walk up to the village, pick up gang of children that will follow us throughout our tour, meet the chief, walk to a given farmer's compound, meet the family, see the garden/field, see how the crickets have eaten absolutely everything, talk about what trees they want to plant and what agfo technologies they are interested in using (live fence, windbreak, etc.), joke about who's last name is better, visit next farmer or village, repeat.

Now that I know the villages and farmers, I have been making regular visits to hand out more sacks and seeds as I get them. The bicycle is a beautiful thing. Yesterday evening, I rode out to nearby Thilanene to visit Marame Drame, president of the women's group, highly motivated. She had all of her sacks filled and waiting for seeds. We walked out and looked at her large garden area enclosed by widely-spaced-tall thorn trees and thorny branches along the ground. The earth is barren as typical this time of year. We wandered less than 50 yards away to look at the ditch dug for the faucet that's being installed in her village. She exclaimed that it was not far and asked if I could help her get a faucet installed in her garden. She is very determined and also wants my help with bringing latrines to her village; there are none at this point. Her other major request was a machine to help pound the millet. Most of these are programs that NGOs are extending to villages in my area right now; I told her that I would talk to them about going to her village. Back at her garden, we talked about possible ways to fill in the gaps in her live fence and protect the fruit trees she wants to plant with her women's group.

On my way out, she led me back to her compound, left me in her hut assuring me that she would return. I sit there with the group of kids repeatedly asking my name using one of the few French phrases that they knew. I don't understand it, the game never got old. It wasn't before long that about 20 of them were summoned in a chicken chase. Chickens are a high commodity and only eaten on very special occasions. In my mind, I thought that she was going to invite me to a special dinner. It was getting late; I didn't want to ride back in the dark and was prepared to say thanks, but another time. The next thing I know, she's standing in front of me with a white hen, legs tied, hanging upside down from her hand. "I would invite you to dinner," Marame explains out of breath, "but I know you will just say thanks, another time, so you can take the chicken with you." I tried to get her to change her mind because chickens are fairly expensive. "You take it home and kill it, you have a good dinner, you understand?" There really wasn't any option, so away I rode into the bush. Rice sack on my back, chicken on my handlebars, and children running after me to send me in peace.