within

Dinner with the Mbengues

2011-03-06T21:35:00.002Z

June 16, 2006

Last night, I approached the dinner bowl like any other night. I had taken my moonlit bucket bath and was reading a much-loved Smithsonian magazine that my mom had sent me in my hut when my 12-year-old host brother Baaba Maal knocked on my tin door. "Fatou?" he called. "Naam," I replied signifying that I recognized my name was being called. "Come eat dinner," he answered quickly and abruptly. "Okay, I’m coming." This is a routine that we are very used to; I grabbed my spoon and flashlight and headed out into the compound. Just beyond my hut, I recognized the dark figures of my host family members gathered around the one large bowl that contained dinner. One spot was open and had a little stool waiting for me to take my place.

I sit down with my knees jutting to my left; my host dad Keba lifts the lid to reveal plain millet couscous under the glow of my flashlight. Generally speaking, there are few surprises when it comes to the food – my host family is fairly poor which means that unless I specifically buy vegetables and other ingredients to make "fish and rice," we are eating some form of peanut sauce. For lunch it’s over rice, for dinner: millet couscous. Thus, the plain millet wasn’t surprising, but the lack of a peanut-sauce ladle was. Then the surprise is revealed. Keba had made the very rare purchase of a chunk of spinal column earlier that day in the big town of Kaffrine. Boiled bits of oddly shaped meat and juicy water that it was boiled in toppled over the edge of a second, smaller bowl. The connected vertebrae came last, landing with a declarative sploosh in the middle of it all. Keba turns to me with a shit-eating grin, "Oh, really, meat!" Choking back my sudden need to vomit, I make a valiant attempt to smile and ask, "what is this?" "Meat!" He repeats enthusiastically. "Yes, but what kind of meat?" "Meat of a lamb" "Okay!" I answer through clenched teeth knowing how proud he is.

I debated saying that my doctor in Dakar told me I could no longer eat meat, but the feast was immediately descended upon by all family members with several pieces tossed specially in my part of the bowl. I quickly grabbed two spoonfuls of millet before the juicy entrails could slide entirely over the bowl. My little brothers were alternately sucking bits off of individual vertebrae when I paused to make it seem like I was at the dinner bowl for longer. I looked across at my 10-year-old brother. He was squatting typical Senegalese style with his bottom just off the sand – a big smile on his face as he stuck his right hand back in the bowl for another bite. All four fingers went into his mouth when I realized that his shorts had finally ripped entirely through the crotch; it’s doubtful that the boy has worn underwear in his entire life – he certainly wasn’t wearing any at that dinner.

Stifling the both amused and troubled look on my face, I stood up and left the bowl saying thank you, I was full. Everyone: "What!? – no, come eat!" "I’m full, and my belly has issues right now," I persisted. After sitting down on the family mat, my host mom and dad reiterate what they tell me at nearly every meal, "Ah, Fatou, when you go back to America, you are going to be so small – your parents will ask where you are!" I joke back saying that my parents will think that I am the size of two people – which is more likely based on my high-carb, low veg diet.

Everyone laughs. They accept the feeble sick excuse from their fair-skinned sister. I must certainly be crazy for giving up meat, but in the end, it means more for them.

What would life be for naught the trials and tribulations that enrich it?

2006-12-16T22:01:00.000Z

I haven’t updated in a while… to say the least. Well, after much prompting, I have decided to continue with at least a few more entries to let you all know what’s going on.

First, I was eventually medically evacuated from Senegal because I needed to receive an MRI/lumbar puncture. I have much more respect now for small children that face lumbar punctures (otherwise known as LP’s or spinal taps) on a regular basis – the procedure itself isn’t so bad, but oh, the pain afterwards. This was all done at Oregon’s fine medical university OHSU.
Second, the symptoms I was exhibiting made it a bit tricky to pin down a diagnosis. Once you are med evac’d from your country of service as a PCV, you and your doctors are given 45 days to complete diagnosis and treatment. Bottom line, the time ran out and I was medically separated from the Peace Corps. I’m much better now, but still have to go in for a second MRI to make sure everything’s okay.

In the meantime, I was quite sad to have my tenure in Wilanene truncated.

I had a really great group of folks to work with both in the local
community and in the PC community.

I miss my friends terribly and hope
to visit them again soon.

Life is good. Before my medical hold status was even up, I was invited to work with the Tualatin River Watershed Council (TRWC) writing grants, preparing professional presentations and doing fieldwork and outreach to help restore and improve streams and riparian corridors in and around Portland, OR. I also decided to continue on my academic career path by applying to PhD programs around the country. I should know more about where I’m going in a few months, but I am very excited about all the places I applied because there are great folks to work with at each of them (Arizona State, Stanford, Princeton, Tufts, Indiana State).

1) For all of my friends that I may or may not have lost contact with over the last few years; email me if you are near Portland! As it turns out, the coffee and beer taste even better after a year in the bush.

2) I will write more in the future, but until then, if anyone in blogland has questions about how the medical evacuation/medical hold status works for PCVs – I’d be happy to talk with you about my experience.

3) I will leave you with a photo of a TRWC workday at Moonshadow Park right behind where I live now – isn’t Portland pretty? This is an unwanted pipe we all carried out together with the help of the trusty radio flyer for the last leg. Standing to my right is my brother - soon to be a father! That makes me Aunt Arianne, scary. (If you are reading this from Portland blogland and would like to get involved in some of our projects, please email me or check out the website www.trwc.org)

Check it out!

2006-09-06T21:03:00.000Z

www.developmentingardening.org

2006-08-11T11:49:00.000Z

Hi All – just checking in. These past few months have found me traveling back and forth to Dakar much more than I would care for and facing ongoing medical issues that have attempted to squelch my spirits on a near daily basis. Med stories in this country can be quite entertaining, so once we find definite answers and solutions I think I will be able to laugh openly at all of the situations I've found myself in and write a synopsis you might even slap your knee while reading. Until then, thank you for all of your support and encouragement.
All the best

Season of the till

2006-07-18T19:02:00.000Z

Seasons in Senegal are marked closely by the activities associated with them.

We went from the 'oh $#it, the rains are coming, better finish building those mud huts that have been sitting around for months' season to the 'crop planting' season that starts with the consistent rains.

The first step for planting was to burn the remaining dry grasses and spread the ash in strips on the field. I asked if this was done to help improve the soil quality; not really, I was told – it’s more like sweeping my counterpart offered cheerfully.

The second step is to hook up a rudimentary till to your choice of cattle, horses, or donkeys and create nice rows of tilled earth in your field. Of course the choice depends more on what you have available. My village fam proudly owns two cows which appeared in the compound one day a few weeks back (they’re kept in a pasture in another village the rest of the year I am told). Horses work faster and have more power, but they require special feed. Cattle can eat just about anything (those ruminant ‘4 stomached’ machines are good for something) and can pull a till for many long hours before tiring. The tills also leave funny marks across the paths in between fields. The combination of torn up pathways and a burst of sudden extreme greenness has (embarrassingly enough) left me completely lost on paths that I travel regularly.

Fruit and children’s games also follow strictly with the seasons. There’s really no such thing as eating a fruit out of season in my village (although imported fruit can be purchased in larger cities). It seems like every few weeks some crazy berry or fruit that was a staple is now gone and I walk upon groups of women everywhere peeling a fluorescent green new fruit. Do you know what this is? – they tease me. This must be that one fruit you were trying to describe to me months ago (fruit of the demb tree)… and the cycle continues. The young boys can now be seen playing in pairs. One carries a large forked stick (a till), the other the rope attached to the stick. Together, they make fanciful designs in the sand outside my compound. “So are you a cow or a horse,” I question. My inquisitions are met with shy giggles and a quiet answer, “a horse.”

And thus, life in the village continues. Trees in the pepinieres (tree nurseries) are just getting big enough to start a little outplanting. Soon enough, I have visions of little trees that will grow up to make live fences lining more fields and gardens. Of course in my visions, there are no goats or insects feasting upon the trees, farmers are extremely motivated and have plenty of time to water and care for their trees, and my Wolof is amazingly fluent – almost to the point where those fun hour-long charade games are no longer necessary.

A fruit by any other name...

2006-07-13T21:53:00.000Z

Originally from the West Indies and northern South America; called corasol in French-speaking Africa, prickly custard apple or soursop by the English, and a myriad of other original local names including talapo fotofoto (Niuean) and sasalapa (Samoan).

At one time, I might have professed the peach or the mango as my favorite fruit - that was of course before I discovered this beautiful succulent fruit while wandering the crowded markets of Dakar. I have heard reports of scattered trees in southern Senegal and will definitely be bringing back seeds to attempt a few trees in my village (I'll have to return a few years from now to enjoy the fruit). In the meantime, I am able to make myself sick by eating several fresh corasols nearly everyday I visit the big city - about $1.10/kilo. Additionally, there is even a corasol-flavored icecream offered at the newest and best icecream parlor in Senegal. So you may have your java-chip-whipped-cream-on-top Starbucks Frappuccinos and electric fans this summer, but the PCVs of Senegal have 15 cent/kilo juicy mangos and corasol fruit.

For more exciting information on the Annona muricata tree visit Pacific Island Ecosystems at Risk (PIER) or Purdue's Horticulture resource library.

Baaba Maal in Portland

2006-06-25T09:54:00.000Z

When I first arrived in my village, I was never seen without my little notebook. Names of people, phrases that seemed incomprehensible, and tidbits of days in a village went into this book like pieces of a greater puzzle in hopes that I would someday see a finished picture. I've come to accept that I never will, but that's a story for another day.

The first page of said notebook contains the names of village family members and approximate ages. The first were my two brothers Margie and Bomb - well, Maame Aadji and Bobul I quickly found out. "No, 'Bomb' is the name of the animal that cracks you up every time it speaks (donkey)" For the record who knew that donkeys created chain reactions of hee-hawing like it was their last hour to live across the village - most notably at 5am EVERY MORNING.

The third brother I met was Baw-Bal. It took me a good month to figure out that that was actually his nickname and that it was in fact Baaba Maal. Wait, isn't that... Yes, the famous Senegalese singer. Most babies start out by calling for their life support: Mom or Dad. Apparently, my brother came out singing like Baaba Maal.

Whilst talking to some of my favorite people on the phone yesterday (aunt and uncle in Portland, OR), I was informed that my brother's namesake: Senegal's very own Baaba Maal will be performing at the Portland Zoo this Wednesday (June 28th for you Oregon folks). "Have you heard of him?" my aunt asked innocently - "Once or twice..." I look forward to hearing how the concert goes - And no, I'm not jealous at all thinking about my friends enjoying eachother's company and his music while sitting on a blanket on actual grass eating sugar-coated fried dough, soft serve icecream, a big piece of cheesy pizza, and drinking a cool fountain soda with chipped ice. Nope, not one bit. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a date with a large bowl of millet and peanut sauce - and Baaba Maal.

Dinner with the Mbengues

2006-06-16T19:59:00.001Z

Last night, I approached the dinner bowl like any other night. I had taken my moonlit bucket bath and was reading a much-loved Smithsonian magazine that my mom had sent me in my hut when my 12-year-old host brother Bobul knocked on my tin door. "Fatou?" he called. "Naam," I replied signifying that I recognized my name was being called. "Come eat dinner," he answered quickly and abruptly. "Okay, I’m coming." This is a routine that we are very used to; I grabbed my spoon and flashlight and headed out into the compound. Just beyond my hut, I recognized the dark figures of my host family members gathered around the one large bowl that contained dinner. One spot was open and had a little stool waiting for me to take my place.

I sit down with my knees jutting to my left; my host dad Keba lifts the lid to reveal plain millet couscous under the glow of my flashlight. Generally speaking, there are few surprises when it comes to the food – my host family is fairly poor which means that unless I specifically buy vegetables and other ingredients to make "fish and rice," we are eating some form of peanut sauce. For lunch it’s over rice, for dinner: millet couscous. Thus, the plain millet wasn’t surprising, but the lack of a peanut-sauce ladle was. Then the surprise is revealed. Keba had made the very rare purchase of a chunk of spinal column earlier that day in the big town of Kaffrine. Boiled bits of oddly shaped meat and juicy water that it was boiled in toppled over the edge of a second, smaller bowl. The connected vertebrae came last, landing with a declarative sploosh in the middle of it all. Keba turns to me with a shit-eating grin, "Oh, really, meat!" Choking back my sudden need to vomit, I make a valiant attempt to smile and ask, "what is this?" "Meat!" He repeats enthusiastically. "Yes, but what kind of meat?" "Meat of a lamb" "Okay!" I answer through clenched teeth knowing how proud he is.

I debated saying that my doctor in Dakar told me I could no longer eat meat, but the feast was immediately descended upon by all family members with several pieces tossed specially in my part of the bowl. I quickly grabbed two spoonfuls of millet before the juicy entrails could slide entirely over the bowl. My little brothers were alternately sucking bits off of individual vertebrae when I paused to make it seem like I was at the dinner bowl for longer. I looked across at my 10-year-old brother. He was squatting typical Senegalese style with his bottom just off the sand – a big smile on his face as he stuck his right hand back in the bowl for another bite. All four fingers went into his mouth when I realized that his shorts had finally ripped entirely through the crotch; it’s doubtful that the boy has worn underwear in his entire life – he certainly wasn’t wearing any at that dinner.

Stifling the both amused and troubled look on my face, I stood up and left the bowl saying thank you, I was full. Everyone: "What!? – no, come eat!" "I’m full, and my belly has issues right now," I persisted. After sitting down on the family mat, my host mom and dad reiterate what they tell me at nearly every meal, "Ah, Fatou, when you go back to America, you are going to be so small – your parents will ask where you are!" I joke back saying that my parents will think that I am the size of two people – which is more likely based on my high-carb, low veg diet.

Everyone laughs. They accept the feeble sick excuse from their fair-skinned sister. I must certainly be crazy for giving up meat, but in the end, it means more for them.

June rains...

2006-06-16T19:48:00.000Z

...bring crazy little furry red bugs that come out for a matter of days, populate the fields and paths [much like I imagine the corals correlating their annual reproductive season by releasing eggs and sperm all in one night to meet in the ocean] directly after the first rains, then vanish for the remainder of the year.

My Nemesis

2006-06-11T18:07:00.000Z

The winds, they are a blowin...

2006-06-11T17:56:00.000Z

The first rains are brought by fervid winds that appear with little warning and ravage the sandy soils. In an instant, it becomes nearly impossible to distinguish the difference between ground and sky. The sky then opens and dumps enough water to pack all of the dirt and dust for several weeks when it will rain again. About mid-July, the frequency of rain dumping will be such that the region will be in the "rainy season" (every 2-3 days).

The first rains arrived and found me hovering quietly over my latrine late last Friday evening. I quickly pulled up my drawers hoping that my recent case of diarrhea would behave and sprinted for the shelter of my hut. The dust inside wasn’t much thinner; it reflected the light from my LED lamp back in my face and crept into every crevice in my hut. I managed to find a handkerchief to cover my mouth while I huddled under my mosquito net listening as the wind threatened to pull my roof away and the tin doors off their hinges. Lightning illuminated the hut interior, thunder cracked and the actual sheets of rain materialized half an hour later.

The following day, we in the village no longer stopped at a simple, "It’s hot," or "The sun is hot," or "It’s hot when you stand in the sun," when discussing the weather. Conversation was covered for weeks: "How are the winds?" Laughing, exclaiming, and adding a possible personal story about the winds, one answers, "Oh, they blew alright."

Chicken for your troubles?

2006-05-23T18:20:00.000Z

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.

Snapshots of Dakar

2006-05-08T17:49:00.000Z

Disclaimer: Having been without my camera for over a month now, the only pictures I can give you are the thousand word variety.
The privileged American...

One of the many books that I have been able to read here is The Ponds of Kalambayi by Mike Tidwell. I'm only a few chapters in, but it's a great memoir of a PCV in the former Zaire. Although his training was much more severe than present-day Senegal's, I found myself easily relating to his writing - especially his chapter about illnesses. He says, "You are never as far away from home as when you get sick in a foreign country. I hid myself under the sheets and, with my body hot and my stomach hurting, grew lonely and intensely aware of the geography of my situation. I was 6000 miles from where I was born and grew up." There was one point in my hut, it was after dark, I was laying on my straw mattress completely naked and wrapped in a wet pack towel. I pulled the thermometer from my mouth to see my fever was still increasing and was currently at 103.5. In between uncontrollable sobbing for all of my frustrations past and present, I tried to regain some strength in the situation by telling myself to take deep breaths, drink sips of water and take more fever suppressants; the fever was going to break, it was going to be okay.

The level of medical care that I have received (link) following that night is just one example of the multitude of advantages available to most of the western world. Every day in Dakar, vast differences in economic development are readily visible. A Mercedes pulls over to buy expensive imported fruit on the roadside and is passed by a horse and cart carrying agricultural products from surrounding villages.

Mike Tidwell states that to note his own illnesses serves only to illustrate the gravity of his surrounding neighbors. "In a Western industrialized country like the United States, good health is more or less a birthright for a large majority of the population. Clean living conditions, nutritious food and access to basic medical care mean that most people stay healthy most of the time. But in Kalambayi, as in much of Africa, good health is not a birthright. It falls instead somewhere between a wish and a struggle. At any given time you are almost as likely to be ill as well."

Just one of the many lessons that I will learn here - having always been a relatively healthy person able to run, cycle, snowboard, backpack, etc. this little illness has given me a greater appreciation for my American friends with chronic issues, but more so for my Senegalese neighbors who often can't afford medication even if they do identify the issue.

The sweet taste of gasoline...

Weekend trip to the annual party in Kaolack to say goodbye to everyone COSing in early May: after much harassment in the Pompeii garage in Dakar, 6 other PCVs and myself piled into a particularly beat up 7-place (station wagon PT vehicle). Traffic was much heavier than we or apparently our driver had predicted as he obviously calculated and purchased the exact amount of gas to make it to the next gas station -not at drop more- when we left the garage. We still hadn't made it out of the greater Dakar metropolitan area when the heap of metal started to rattle and lose power. It could have been a number of issues really, after all, Courtney (now an RPCV) was practically sitting on my lap during curves in the road because her door had to be tied shut. Who would have guessed it was the gas, or lack thereof. We sat in mild shock as the driver siphoned gas into the engine via his mouth. That didn't do the trick, he was obliged to leave and get more gas. We all climbed out through the front door not wanting to disrupt the tied door: passenger rear (the driver's side rear door rarely works on PT vehicles in Senegal; this wasn't one of those times). 20 minutes later our fearless driver showed back up with a liter of gas and again siphoned it into the engine one mouthful at a time. He jumped back into the driver's seat and Kristen (also now a RPCV) promptly handed him a piece of mint Trident gum. At the next gas station, he added another cup or two of gas - while leaving the car running of course.

Fuuki Jaay...

You know all of those hideous old team shirts you've donated to various charities some of which ship the used clothing to developing nations? I spent last Saturday sifting through them; I think Senegal has a cornerstone on the market. They sell them at the fuuki jaay (used clothing market). A great sport among PCVs is to find T-shirts with crazy and funny English sayings. An example of a 'PG' rated item is a shirt from Joe's Crab Shack that sports a subversive looking crab saying, "Don't touch or I break ya legs!" That saying has since appeared on several "don't touch" shelves in the Kaolack regional house. One of the largest fuuki jaays is on Saturdays conveniently located near the Dakar regional house. To attend this particular market is reminiscent of an extreme yardsale festival, complete with dispersed food shacks selling rice and fish in bowls, crackers, etc. Merchants put up temporary stalls in the median of a large street; this goes on for as many blocks as the eye can see. Dodging traffic, I approached the first 'Island' of stalls about 10am last Saturday. Walking through the narrow center, open-faced shacks on either side, I could hear static-y radio tunes, merchants shouting out prices to anyone within earshot, and customers bartering over prices. Wall after wall, pile after pile of just about every type of clothing you might want. Unfortunately, I still wasn't in any shape to spend much time wandering in the sun. I did however find a great pair of corduroy pants and a pink superman shirt.

The joy of medicine

2006-05-07T12:50:00.000Z

I just saw that it has been over a month from my last post. I ended up having to return to the beautiful medical hut at the Peace Corps office in Dakar for further testing. And when I say beautiful, I mean it has a refrigerator, microwave, hotplate, hot water, and even a toaster, but it is otherwise gray. In the states, if you are sick but not contagious and can walk around, you often work even if it is only for a few hours a day. As a PCV, the med staff is a little reluctant to send you back to your site that may or may not be an hour bicycle ride from the nearest land-line phone in between medical tests and procedures. This allows for a PCV to end up in a situation like mine: prolonged medical hold away from site.

A recap of my medical history over the past month and a half:

Total number of weeks on medical hold in either the national capital Dakar or my regional capital Kaolack: 7
Highest fever: 104˚F/40˚C
Ambient (outside) temperature at that time: 102˚F/39˚C
Cause of original fever: UTI/Pyelonephritis (Kidney infection)
Number of days on ciprofloxacin: 17 (the
normal dose for a UTI is 3-5 days)
Procedures done to rule out kidney stones and kidney abnormalities as causes for the intense and prolonged kidney infection: ultrasound (twice), abdominal CAT scan
Number of consultations with specialists: 2 (urologist and gastrointologist)
Procedures done in attempt to find causes for gastrointestinal issues that arose during week 2 in Dakar: many stool samples and sigmoidoscopy (procedure to look at the last part of the colon)
Number of times I was given a gown to wear during these procedures versus not: 3:5

High-class transport

2006-04-06T13:03:00.000Z

PT (public transportation) in Senegal (and probably just about anywhere in Africa) involves not only the transportation of humans, but also a number of other animate and inanimate objects. Goats and sheep are trendy items. Around Tabaski (Natural History Museum) nearly every ride I took incorporated a stop alongside the road where Pulaars from the north were camped with their herds to sell. …goats in bags (empty rice sacks), goats in boxes, goats on the luggage rack, goats in your lap, goats on the floor, goats with two legs tied sitting beside you… I’ve sat next to women carrying boxes full of chickens (that later escaped to provide en route entertainment – no need for those silly magnetic checkers games). I have personally transported kittens in a plastic crate on my lap, which my fellow passengers found most peculiar – go figure, if you aren’t going to pluck it, skin it, and throw it into the peanut sauce... Boxes of fish are a mainstay (got to have the ever popular rice and fish dish), as are parts of larger animals. Chairs, bed frames, really anything that needs to get from point A to B goes in or on the PT vehicle.

On my recent trip back to Kaolack from Dakar, I was ready to expect anything. I was not, however, prepared for a stop at the local ‘quicky mart’ for the sole purpose of picking up chips, soda, and other snacks to eat on what was turning into a regular road trip (for reference, I would be surprised if 1/3 of my village has tasted a carbonated beverage). I had ended up in a car with Dakar patrons going to attend Independence Day festivities in Kaolack (4 April 1960 - from France; complete independence was achieved upon dissolution of federation with Mali on 20 August 1960). Not having enough money myself, I accepted a Pringles-like chip from the shiny silver bag. As I settled back into reading my New Yorker, I had to chuckle. I would have been far less surprised to have a large dead rodent end up on my lap – I was really the cow-cow (Wolof for hillbilly) from the ali bi (the ‘bush’) in that 7-place (common station wagon PT vehicle).

Vacation in Dakar

2006-04-01T16:33:00.000Z

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...

Joal-Fadiout

2006-04-01T00:10:00.000Z

The weekend after IST, a good friend -Luci and I took a slight detour down to Joal to visit two of my favorite volunteers Curt and Nicole. Joal-Fadiout are twin cities; Joal is on the mainland and Fadiout is the nearby island.

Now, Luci lives in the far north (Ourossogui, near Matam) where temperatures will soon be reaching upwards of 135 F enabling her to literally fry an egg on the sidewalk (I intend to see footage and possibly post video). She is a city volunteer and consequently has electricity to occasionally power a small refridgerator and fan, which helps take the sting off the encroaching desert heat. As you all are well aware, I live in a small village with no electricity. I am growing to love my village, but as we like to joke about in the Kaffrine area, "Sand, sand everywhere, but no beach." You get the picture.

Continuing my story, as Luci and I make our way down the coastline and into Curt and Nicole's upstairs apartment, we had to take a moment of silence to pick our jaws off the floor before screaming, "You live here?!" So they have a beautiful site - I have a baobab grove and an authentic mud hut complete with its own mini ecological zone (reptiles, rodents, earwigs, spiders, cockroaches, crickets, hornets... just to name a few of the ones I can see) - I'm not jealous at all.

Curt is a SED (small enterprise development) volunteer and is focusing primarily on setting up a solid waste management program with the city. Nicole is an ecotourism volunteer and is working closely with the city and local businesses to promote sustainable tourism - she took us on a path along the ocean that she wants to establish as a tourist trek. Both have extensive backgrounds and I'm very excited to see everything that they are able to accomplish. They've been working 12 hr days trying to connect with the masses that are so eager to work with them. Let's just say, they're not your average volunteers. We spent the weekend walking around the city (Joal) and out to the island (Fadiout). Joal is a reasonably clean city (practically immaculate compared to Kaolack) with many sidewalks, schools, decent restaurants, and English speaking inhabitants. I found that I really had to watch what I was saying.

side note: I have grown terribly accustomed to talking about people right in front of their faces as few people I encounter in the bush understand French (not a problem; I really don't either), and even fewer understand English even when it is spoken very s-l-o-w-l-y to them. I decided that my village friends had been talking about me in a language I still have trouble understanding (unless it is spoken s-l-o-w-l-y and the speaker limits herself or himself the hundred or so word vocabulary that I have readily available in my brain) since the fateful evening I arrived. So that permitted me to freely speak about the ridiculousness of people trying to convince you to buy something or give them money, or a woman wearing a red bra and nothing else on top (it would be far less strange for her to just go topless) whenever there is an American ear present. Admittedly, I have on occasion been known to express my frustrations to nearby goats or donkeys deciding that they understand English deep down and they think that my 40 year old male neighbor wearing a bright pink puffy coat when it's 80F out is just as funny as I do.

Back to Joal: the city is nice, the beaches are really nice, especially in the portions that aren't covered in trash. There's a spot in a small portion of the coastline where the waves actually flow backwards out to sea. It's a strange phenomenon that occurs very few places in the world - if anyone has knowledge of the strange currents off the coast of Senegal, do post a comment.

Another interruption: I'm at the computer room at the Peace Corps office in Dakar. I just jumped and turned around because I heard a crash coming from the adjacent library that was caused by none other than a very large rat. I'm not really sure about the scientific classification of these rodents, but they seriously could be (and have been) mistaken for cats. Its body was about a foot long - not quite as big and fat as the ones I find in my backyard, but he gets major points for breaking into the building.

Back to Fadiout: A unique attraction is that Fadiout island is composed entirely of the refuse from centuries of shellfish consumption. As the story goes, it is also the only place in the world where Muslims and Christians are buried side by side. The whole area is very touristy, but still somewhat laid back as the majority of people are from the Serer ethnicity - they tend to be much less aggressive than the Wolof people that I live with. Because they receive many tourists, they still ran after us trying to sell jewelry, tours, and boat rides. I've discovered that by speaking in Wolof (Wolof is a fairly easy language that most everyone in Senegal can communicate in), I'm able to suppress the amount of attention I receive as they realize that I actually live in Senegal.

After a few days of staying in this city with a nice, cool breeze, walking along the shoreline and eating good food, I'm looking for possible secondary agroforestry projects that Curt and Nicole couldn't complete without my help. My thought is just to set up a tent on their veranda... my village won't miss me that much, right? (two fabulous women: Luci and Nicole)

17 March, 2006

2006-03-17T13:58:00.000Z

I’ll leave you with a picture of the beautiful baobab grove next to Wilanene Gui (Gui is the Wolof word for baobab tree; Wilanene means the people Wilane – a very common last name in the village). This grove provides a lot of nutrition and income for the people of my village and surrounding villages. Boys throw sticks to knock down the monkey bread, women make long poles, and a few men climb up into the really high branches and cut down the fruit. I uploaded an entire album on snapfish dedicated to a day spent in the grove if you’re interested in a closer look. I have now uploaded and labeled most of my thousand or so photos on snapfish. I’ll send out a group email invitation, but as always, if you’re not on my email list and want to be, drop me an email. Again, thank you for the packages!!! but please hold off on the chocolate – we’re entering the hot season and there have been several casualties (not saying that I haven’t been above licking chocolate off the interior of those padded envelopes-okay and anything it happens to get on inside the package, but dried fruits, jerky, or seasoning mixes will fair better).

In some ways, I can’t believe I have been in country for nearly 6 months, but some days it feels like I’ve been in Senegal for years. Nothing is terribly surprising anymore. Sometimes I have to chuckle and say to myself, ‘of course I have rats the size of small dogs in my backyard’ or ‘of course it will take all day to travel 80 kilometers because inevitably something will break on the car and we will all sit on the side of the road wondering where the driver walked away to.’ Some days are worse than others. Some days I feel completely depressed and helpless thinking that my efforts are not going to make any lasting improvement. Then, I see someone following a suggestion I made and improving their daily life; or I discover a true friend in the village that will sprint half a km to flag down a donkey charrette for me and I have hope.

5.5 months in country and counting...

2006-03-17T13:47:00.000Z

I know I have been slacking on my entries, what can I say other than Senegal happened; I will try my best to get at least one post a month up (I can be bribed by hand written letters, or emails, telling me what all of you are up to).

I have gone back and added some highlights from the past few months. I had some technical difficulties uploading photos directly into my blog, so I really have no idea how the layout will appear on your individual computers. I'm going to claim 'zoology science geek' with no html skills yet aquired.

I spent nearly 6 months in country and am finally starting to get my bearings. Here's a brief month by month recap:

End of September: staging in Philadelphia and arrival in Senegal

Oct-Nov: PST (Pre-service Training) in Thies focused primarily on the fun and exciting task of learning local languages, Senegalese culture, medical and safety, and some technical (agroforestry) training. (we stayed with host families in Thies to help the transition into the local culture)

December: First month in the village. I nearly burned my hut down in the first 20 minutes (combination of a hurricane lamp and rogue propane tank) – don’t think I’ll ever live that one down. With nowhere to go but up from there, I spent the most of December concentrating on acquiring the necessary tools to be an effective volunteer (namely: be able to communicate without relying entirely on a poor game of charades by learning Wolof). Everyone was finishing harvesting peanuts, hence I spent a fair amount of time in the fields. However, I was quickly ushered to the shade or assigned to pick up stray peanuts. Towards the end of the month, I went to Tamba for the holidays and then onto Niokolo Kobo National Park to be a tourist and see the wildlife.

Jan-beg of Feb: more getting to know community time. I spent much time hanging out in various compounds talking with women, and on the shade structures in the center of the village talking with men. I was taught how to pound millet, cook rice and mafay or fish, fetch water from the village robinet –I was even brought to a nearby village that still pulls water from a 50m well so that I could learn how to do that as well- wash laundry, collect monkey bread from baobab trees, play a number of games, etc. Much to the delight and amusement of my village friends, I never came close to mastering any of these techniques – except for maybe doing my own laundry. I walked around the fields and small-forested areas with various friends to learn about how local crops and trees interact, what trees they thought were important and what they used them for. Most trees/shrubs have an array of medicinal uses, including a local variety of viagra.

Feb-Mar: IST (In Service Training) back at the training center in Thies where we concentrated on learning technical skills for our work, and eating as much good food and speaking as much English as possible with our American friends we hadn’t seen in three months.

March: well, so far, I’ve had a pesky fever that’s not allowing me to jump into my work like I had wanted to. Soon, however, I will be working with Wilanene and surrounding villages to start tree nurseries. My village would really like another building for storing their harvest safely from fire and pests; I’m working on getting funding from World Vision for supplies in the near future. My girls’ clubs should be up and running soon, and we’ll see what other projects end up working out. ‘Ndank ndank’ (little by little) – I have to continually remind myself that I am living in a village and I have yet to see a fedex truck roll up to my mud hut with a same day delivery.

A day in the life: IST

2006-03-17T10:59:00.000Z

Typical day during training
Since I didn’t get a chance to do this during PST (pre-service training), I’m putting up a short photo journal of IST (in-service training).

I left the house I was staying in at about 630 every morning; everyone else would still be asleep, so I would let myself out and meet up with my friend Kate and walk to the training center. Breakfast was Nescafe or tea and the typical ‘machine’ bread or French bread found in cities topped with real butter, jams, peanut butter, or chocolate spread.
Classes start at 8am, or whenever everyone finally rolled into class. This was my Wolof class - Peace Corps has a unique way of teaching languages that includes an on the spot approach where you spit out whatever response comes to mind and eventually you have communication.

Meetings and cross-cultural sessions were held in the disco hut.

We have several essential daily breaks; here are people relaxing in the foyer. …and on the hammock (Curt)

Lunch time was always exciting; especially after eating village food for a few months – the training center always had a variety of vegetables, sauces, and meats to offer. Just like family, we eat from communal bowls (Sarah, Connor, Kate).

The essential jousting match with the A-frame structure used for finding contour lines after we had established where the slope was (Peter, Nal, Shane); the A-frame in action.

We went on several field trips for agroforestry trainings – this is in the Naiyes near Mbour.

The second weekend, we visited the Bandia wildlife reserve; Pumba! (warthog from lion king…)
Rhinos; our guide assured us that this was a male rhino.

WAIST (West African Invitational Softball Tournament) was a highlight that happened to occur during our IST. Volunteers, expats, and people that enjoy the American softball essence gather in Dakar for an extended weekend every year. We ate ‘real’ hotdogs, snickers bars, fun dip, nerds, and generally enjoyed ‘little America’ for a few days before heading back to Thies.

I have to end with the photo of the night we (agroforestry volunteers) took our assistant APCD Demba out to the bumper cars. Yes, there are bumper cars in Thies. (disclaimer:the UCLA sweatshirt I'm wearing was purchased in Senegal; of course I would be sporting an Oregon State Beavers sweatshirt if it was available [side note:I now have OSU jerky which even has our fight song which I am very excited about thanks to the Finks])

Around the Ville

2006-03-16T16:57:00.000Z

Wilanene has about 250 people making up 16 compounds; I'm posting a few pictures in an attempt to portray some of the day to day life that I've encountered in the past few months.

This group shot is in front of the compound I'm living in; my host family and neighbors spend hours sitting around this log everyday sorting peanuts, breaking leaves off branches for the evening supper sauce, picking stones out of rice, and generally discussing village gossip.

The imfamous pounding of the millet.

After the harvest is in, men spend most of their time making fences for the compounds from the dried millet stalk. After about a year, these fences start to fall down and gaps appear between stalks. This is why I now wait until after dark to take my glorious bucket bath.

The daily task of getting water became somewhat easier for the women of Wilanene after 2005 when World Vision extended a robinet from a water tower 2km away. They still spend several hours every day carrying water to the compounds. I generally use buckets to carry my water in because as much fun as it is for the women to watch me learn how to carry water on my head, several volunteers have told me of their back problems from doing that.

Lunch in a nearby compound; everyone eats from communal bowls. The women and children generally separate from the men depending on how many people are part of the family.

This wouldn’t be complete without the picture of a naked baby’s butt…be careful who you pick up, diapers aren’t exactly a mainstay in the village

Tamxarit

2006-03-16T14:41:00.000Z

Celebrating the new year. Children and young adults go around the village in groups with bowls collecting millet and sauce from every compound; sort of like trick or treating that I did as a kid. In the morning, the groups reconvine and eat as much as they possible can to ensure good luck and health in the coming year. Boys and girls will often cross dress on this holiday, although no one did in my village. I played the role of the old sibling and stayed in the compound with my host parents to welcome the happy, dancing troupes of trick or treaters.

Tabaski

2006-03-16T13:28:00.000Z

Muslims from three villages gather around this centralized baobab to pray on Tabaski

This is my counterpart, Khady Wilane, and a few of the girls from Wilanene praying at the baobab tree Tabaski morning.

The girls from my girls club in their matching dresses

Proudly displaying the meat we will eat for the holiday; A few pieces went down my latrine, the rest I gave back to the fam saying that I was full.

Tabaski afternoon was spent playing soccer (an annual match between the married men and bachelors, losers buy tea) and spending time with family, friends, and neighbors in the compounds-host mom's hut in the background.

Girls in their finest, eating special candy for the occasion.

2006-01-23T11:17:00.000Z

okay, I have tried for several hours to post pictures, I have some beautiful shots of Tabaski and my village, but I now find myself again down to 3 minutes on the timer...

A huge thanks to everyone that's sent me packages and letters; there's nothing better than recieving news from home after a long day of being toubabed!

take care, write me! :)

lots of hugs and love

Typical Day

2006-01-23T09:58:00.000Z

Typical day during the 'Learn your local language/get to know your village' 2.5 month period

630-7am wake up

7-9am breakfast (oatmeal cooked on propane burner, plus kinkiliba, a local tea or nescafe), water the plants in my backyard, listen to my shortwave radio, read, and generally convince myself to open the door and walk outside to face my village

9-11am generally spent sitting in my compund or in the center of the village next to a tree studying Wolof, reading, writing, and chatting with people about daily activities/walking around in the baobab grove next to my village or through the surrounding fields

11am-2pm alternating between studying in my hut, sitting in the shade reading, and helping cook lunch

~2 or 3pm lunch consisting of a big bowl of rice topped with either a peanut sauce (mafay) or fish with a few very well boiled veggetables - all the family eats out of the same bowl, and I attempt to eat with my hand (but often go for the spoon when I can't get all of the dirt out from under my fingernails)

3-6pm sit in front of my compound helping crack and sort peanuts, walk around the village and subject myself to the ridicule of my villagers when I try to speak Wolof (ndank ndank, little by little)

6-7pm running on trails that connect the villages, watching the sun fade: freedom! (intermittant of course with small children happily screaming and running after me until they get tired)

7-8pm carry buckets of water from the town robinae to my hut; bucket bath

~830pm dinner consisting of a large bowl of millet topped with a slightly thinner peanut sauce (basi), often with edible leaves (boom), squash, or bissap in it

830-930pm chatting with my host family (mostly my host father who by far has the most patience) generally about what we might do the next day or the number of stars we can see. My standard answer "dinaa jang wolof" I'm going to study wolof

then it's off to bed for this worn out volunteer

oops...wrong number!

2006-01-22T17:20:00.000Z

Sorry for all that have tried to call me, actually got through, and ended up talking with a random Senegalese that most likely did not speak English or have any clue who Arianne was.

My actual number is 577-1320 (not 557-1320!) I have corrected it in the prior post. It's definitely not like the reception in the states, but I'm excited when it does work. I am generally in an area where I can get reso during the weekends (sat or sun mornings for ppl in the states). I'll write post a more informative blog tomorrow (I'm going to type it at the regional house in Kaolak).

Until then,
hugs for all :)

my cell phone

2006-01-03T13:48:00.000Z

yes, I have a phone that sometimes works; feel free to call anytime; weekends are a higher chance of reaching me

country code 221
my cell 577 1320

ps use a phone card; it,s cheaper

3 January 2006

2006-01-03T13:33:00.000Z

I hope that everyone had an excellent holiday season. It was difficult going through this adjustment period in the village during the time of year that I have always spent with my family, but was also a good bonding experience with my fellow volunteers.
The Christmas feast in Tamba was amazing. I was only sad to discover that my stomach has shrunk a little and I couldn’t pack away more than a plate of food, a piece of cobbler, and multiple gingerbread cookies (made with real molasses transported via visiting parents to Senegal). With many good friends, much baking, candy canes, brownies (mix sent from the states), national lampoons xmas vacation playing in the side room, and 3 sets of visiting parents to pose baking questions to - it was very difficult to remember that I was currently a Peace Corps volunteer and actually had a personal hut and nearly 2 years waiting for me back in Wilanene.

The day after Christmas, a bunch of us packed up in the back of trucks (some visiting parents included) and headed down to the National Park (Niokolo Koba) between Tamba and Ketegou. As we entered the park, a group of baboons crossed the road in front of us. One of the terrible perks about living in West Africa… we took a boat tour in the morning and drove through the park with the aid of a guide the rest of the day, seeing many species of birds (which I will of course later identify, or at least post photos online and give the zoology gurus a good excuse to skip afternoon seminar), several bush buck, one warthog, several crocodiles, hippos from a distance, patas monkeys, a green mamba and lion (okay, I didn’t actually see those two, but they do make their home in the park). With the science geek part of me giddy for seeing unique African wildlife, the Oregonian part set at bay having tromped through the trees, tired and covered with dirt, we returned to the Tamba regional house. We ordered hamburgers from a local restaurant (with fries included in the sandwich of course - schwarmas also include fries inside), then climbed up to the flat roof to doze a few hours under the stars (and mosquito nets) before heading back our sites the following morning.

The New Year’s celebration was equally painful. There were just 5 of us that met at the Kaolak regional house. A special thanks to Anne’s mom - We had care package food that allowed us to feast on canned ham, green bean casserole, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, and gravy. For dessert, we had the beautiful treat of home-baked brownies with sliced almonds - thanks to Clare’s baking abilities at her home stay in Dakar. The evening was topped with champagne and standing on the roof watching the occasional fireworks in the distance.

Now, I am preparing to head into the city to post this (I’m typing it on the regional house computer), catch a 7-place (station wagon transport vehicle that seats 7) back to Kaffrine, fetch my bike from my friend’s house in Kaffrine, and cycle the 7km over sand back past the flat, open farmlands, through the baobab grove, past the stack of millet, and back into Wilanene Gui. There, I will continue learning Wolof, getting to know my villagers, and attempting to prepare myself to successfully accomplish something in 2006.

31 December, 2005

2006-01-03T13:30:00.000Z

This is it. This is the African village where the harsh realities I can no longer ignore exist. Certainly, there are worse; the people in my village have plenty to eat for most of the year, they have homes to sleep in. However, it is still a long ways from REI and Fred Meyers.

I knew what mud huts looked like. It was no surprise to see naked children, women pounding millet and carrying water for the compound in large basins on their heads, or the men (and women) harvesting entire fields by hand. The absence of electricity and running water has not fazed me; I have a LED headlamp. Not having the variety of food or treats available at nearly any hour like I have been accustomed to was admittedly frustrating (having grown up on whole grains and 3-5 servings of vegetables a day), but my family sends me care packages.
I knew that few people in my village were going to know how to read. A smaller number still that understood a language outside of their native tongue (but then again, how many Americans speak anything but English? Luck of the draw, I guess). When asked of my home country, I was prepared for everyone to want to go back with me, saying, "Amerik; neerH na." (America, it is good; there is money there). Yes, I would say, America is beautiful, but Senegal is as well. I would state logically that there were pros and cons to each country, and that even though there are people in American that have a lot of money, there are many that don’t.

The truth remains, however, I am here, living in a mud hut, bathing from a bucket, cycling 7 km over sand to get to town, living on a meager volunteer’s allowance - all things that my American friends would consider hardships - but I am still living far above anyone in my village. My room is filled with gadgets. I have a bicycle that I can ride to town on, and from there continue to the regional house and spend the afternoon watching DVDs and eating ice cream. At night, I can read about almost anything in English. More importantly, if I get sick, I can not only go to see a doctor, I will be sent to the medical team in Dakar, or possibly medi-vaced to a western country.
As I write this (in my journal), my host mom lays moaning n her hut from pain. She has been in bed for 3 days now; alternating from chills to burning fever, vomiting occasionally. A neighboring teenage girl has been cooking and cleaning for the family (my host family’s only girl is 2). Not really knowing what to do, I have just been supplying SurHKna (my host mom) with a rag dampened by the cool water from my caneri, I had resisted handing over money (that’s not what I came here to do, and I didn’t want my villagers to think that they could rely on me to bail them out of every bind with money). But this morning when this normally strong, assertive woman still laid in bed, alternating between shaking and attempting to vomit, while her 2 yr old daughter cried because she wasn’t allowed to play with her mother, I caved.
Throughout the day, I wrestled with the decision of whether or not, and how much. Many of the villagers came by to see her and asked me why I didn’t just give money. Couldn’t I see that she was terribly sick? I could alleviate all of this with my money. How sick was she? I didn’t know; she probably has malaria. Is it something that would run its course, a normal occurrence? If I paid for a doctor, would everyone then come to me for such assistance for the next two years? What would happen after I leave? Was SurHKna in danger of losing her life?

As a brand new volunteer, I didn’t have answers to these questions. My host dad was serious, but also told me that SurHKna was a little better and took the time to sit with me and make small talk - never once asking for money. Their oldest son, Maame Aadji, had taken the donkey and cart to fetch SurHKna’s mom in a village 25 km from here; he wouldn’t return until the morning. The date is Dec. 30; I am preparing to leave for New Years on the 31st. I’m getting over a nasty cold, so with Keba’s (my host dad) positive outlook no her condition, I decided to go to bed - still wrought with guilt and struggling with the decision. I decided that I would give Keba money first thing in the morning, but I heard my host family taking care of her at 3 am. I quickly went out and handed Keba the money, asking if it was enough; feeling terrible that I hadn’t given earlier. Keba thanked me and said that it was enough to go see the doctor in nearby Keur Lahine.

They are preparing for departure now - it’s nearly 7am. They will leave - I think - when Maame Aadji returns with SurHKna’s mom and the donkey charrette. After asking again if Keba had enough money, I am preparing to leave for Kaolack to spend the day relaxing with my American friends, cooking American food. What a truly privileged life I do lead.

2006-01-03T13:29:00.000Z

enter first night in village story here

my new pet! (Mom, aren't you proud :)

2005-12-25T11:27:00.000Z

Merry Christmas everyone; yes, this is a chameleon, yes, he lives in my back yard! I'm starting to settle into my village, but still make visits into nearby cities to visit fellow Americans and compare notes. I am celebrating the holidays with my friends in Tambacounda. We are spending most of the day preparing a huge feast, watching movies, playing games, etc. Just like home, minus the snow, plus the heat, oh yeah, and the little thing called Senegal bustling around us. I miss you all terribly and hope your holiday seasons bring much cheer :)

I have another blog writing that I typed up a week ago but never got a chance to post. I will hopefully be doing that within the hour. In addition, this computer seems to like my camera, so I am currently uploading photos to my snapfish account and will finally email all of you the link to that.

Best wishes from Wilanene!

Arianne

ps. write me!!! my new address is Kaffrine (posted in the upper right-hand corner by the picture of my beautiful cat, Jasmine) and I would love to hear all about what's going on in your lives

pps. chocolate, chocolate brownie mix, raw almonds, and jerky are never rejected ;-)

update

2005-12-06T13:14:00.000Z

when you read this i will be in my village (a friend of mine is posting this for me).

my new address is:

PCV Arianne Cease
BP 51
Kaffrine, Senegal

Hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving. I'll post an email in a couple of weeks.

Here goes

2005-11-23T18:28:00.000Z

18 Nov, journal entry

It's kind of ironic how I really have no clue what the date is; sometime near the end of November (I had to look up the date on this computer)

so much to write; so many things going on in my head. I met my host father over 'counterpart workshop' (this event entails the people that we will be working closely with as volunteers coming to Thies to meet us and attend workshops with us to facilitate our future work). He is amazingly kind and wise. Meeting Keba Mbengue has put most of my worries at ease. I'm going to go live in a small, quaint village. The volunteer that I am replacing told me that it is one of the poorest villages that she has been to, but that that adds to its charm. As my host father told me "Jamm rekk, Amuma benn jafe jafe" (Peace only, I have not one problem). I am so excited and I feel very fortunate to have this opportunity. Sitting in the room with everyone that had come from all over Senegal (the counterparts for the agroforestry sect of our training stage), all of us having different backgrounds, speaking five different languages was such an incredible experience. Most of the sessions were conducted in Wolof then translated into Jahonke, Pulaar, and English. Just being a part of all of this - many cultures represented by a room of people - all coming together for a common cause, common goals - really made the fact that I am in West Africa, working in the Peace Corps with local farmers and government officials for a universal goal hit home. I get to spend the next two years helping to improve the environment in the Sahel of Africa - give a boost to the local agriculture, to the people that live in and around the village of Wilanene Gui. And - I get to do this while living in a welcoming African village. Every night, I get to see the village change colors as the day turns to night. I have a family in Wilanene Gui - a place I have yet to set foot in, but I know that there, I have a family and really good friends.

My host father explained to another volunteer in a very unassuming way that welcoming a volunteer into their home was not unlike growing a tree (this was in Wolof as that is the only language that he speaks, but I was able to understand the jest of it). You water, provide care and support, and little by little the tree grows and blossoms. "ndank ndank" (little by little) The faith that he has that I will pick up the language and grow to understand the culture in such a way that I can actually contribute significantly to the community is beyond me. It gives me confidence in myself and strengthens my resolve for making the decision to come here. It will always be a two-way street, a give and take relationship with my surounding environment, but I will enter the final week of PST and my village with an increasingly open mind. It's not going to be easy, but I know that I will leave Senegal a better person and that I will have the opportunity to make a constructive, sustainable difference at a grassroots level.

Wilanene bound

2005-11-15T18:41:00.000Z

Hi all-

I have fallen into the abyss that is PST (pre-service training); the second half is increasingly jam-packed with fun ways to learn agroforestry techniques, culture, safety, and our local languages (still via French which I will openely admit is still not a strong point. In our language classes and in our homestays, we are very much encouraged to onlyh use our local language. I love my Senegalese language instructors, but I get a sideways look when I interject French with my Wolof. Okay, I'm excited when I can get my point across sans English. At home, I speak a combination of Wolof, French, a little Spanish, and a few English words pronunced with a French accent for good measure... occasionally, I can hold a conversation about more than the weather - there are only so many ways you can say, "it was damn hot today!")

Enough about language; training is so different than what it will be like as a volunteer. For starters, I will be playing an increasing amount of charades as most of my village only speaks Wolof - however, we are able to get tutors for the first year. Training is fairly intense in some regards, and relax in others. We are being pulled in multiple directions all at once: learn the language, spend time with your family, study, explore Theis, learn scientific and local names for 45 varieties of trees, grow a garden and tree nursery, prepare presentations... but many technicalities are taken care of for us like food and scheduling our time.

Our training staff are all amazing. We spend most of our time in language and technical classes (agroforestry for me), but we also have cultural, health, and safety sessions. Another large part of training is living with homestay families. It was kind of overwhelming at first because I felt like I was losing the small amount of autonomy and privacy that I had in the evenings (Senegalese really don't take well to you sitting in your room by yourself; they think you are ill, or very unhappy and will continue to check on you until they are convinced otherwise - my family is very sweet and follows suit.) As I'm nearing the end of PST, I am growing increasingly attached to the family that has temporarily adopted me. We don't always understand eachother, but we laugh at ourselves a lot. I try to help out when I can, I spend much of my playing with my youngest sister, Adja. My host mom will often send me out with her to run short errands. Last weekend, she asked me if I knew what an item was that she wanted. I didn't, so that led to one of our many games of charades. I deducted that it was some kind of dish soap, she had me repeat the name a few times, handed me a coin, then told my little sister the name of another kind of soap, had her repeat it, gave her a coin, then sent us on our way. Off we went, holding hands, walking through the neighborhood in search of our specified items.

The end of Ramadan (Korite) was an amazing celebration to take part in with the fam. They even made sure that I had my own traditional clothes to wear. I don't have time to go into much detail now as I'm running out of time on the computer.

I have uploaded some photos to snapfish.com and will send out a mass email invitation to everyone very soon; if you don't recieve an invitation and would like one, please email me arianne.j.c@gmail.com

as for the title of this post, I'm going to a village called Wilanene, in two weeks!!! I'm very excited. It's 7 km south of a town called Kaffrine which should be on mapquest for those of you who wish to look it up... Mom - I'm pretty close to the capital, and within a bicycle ride from 5 other volunteers :) will write more about this later.

take care, write me emails for now until I get my new address up for Kaffrine!

Adja

2005-10-19T19:51:00.000Z

Adja et moi... isn't she cute? this pic was taken in our compound where I will be staying during training in Thies.

Suxna Diop

2005-10-18T18:23:00.000Z

(pronounced sirnah jobe) can be heard through the streets of my new nieghborhood when I walk home after school - as I will do shortly. Part of being adopted into a Senegalese home is getting a family name that can be remembered and pronounced by everyone. I have been named after my host mom's sister.

My family is really welcoming and pretty small for here: mama, papa, 3 sisters (Nogaye -21, Fatou bintou -18, Adja -6), 2 brothers (Khadim -16, Cheikh -13), and maid (Mariene). I attend classes all day (7am-6pm M-F, and 7-2 on Sat) and try to spend the evenings with my family. It is the Muslim month of Ramadan right now, the month of fasting. This means nothing passes the lips from sunrise to sundown. Needless to say, it is very difficult. Children and anyone that is sick or weak do not fast. My family breaks the fast around 7pm with dates, bread, and coffee or tea; we then eat dinner around 10pm. Dinner is followed by another round of tea anywhere from 11pm-2am - I generally skip the second tea and sometimes dinner as I value sleep.

I am running out of time b/c I want to be home in time to break the fast, and the boy working at the internet cafe would like to go home as well b/c he has not eaten all day.

miss ya tons!

2005-10-13T19:34:00.000Z

Demystification was a great experience. The family I stayed with was very welcoming and the volunteer - Amanda- had good advice and entertaining stories to share from her 2 yr experience. Her hut and compound were pretty much like I had imagined, complete with bucket baths and a hole to squat over. The first day we walked around the village, met everyone, saw the fields and looked at projects that Amanda had worked on - some that we might be implementing over the next two years. Late that afternoon, we helped pull water from the well for our compound. This entailed several buckets, a long rope, and a donkey. Part of my job was to help chase the donkey (while wielding a large stick) which provided much amusement for the ladies around the well. For some reason, a silly looking white girl yelling 'atchey!' just didn't instill the fear that I was hoping.

The second day, we went to the weekly market in Niaro - the closest town. Market days are big events and everyone from surrounding villages usually comes to buy things that you can't get during the week. Amanda introduced us to frozen bisap juice, a major plus when close to that many people on a typical hot Senegalese day. I learned how to purchase a chicken - we wanted to replace the one that we had for dinner the night before - look for weight and size of breast. As soon as vendors realize that you want to purchase a given item, you will be surrounded by a minimum of 5 people trying to convince you that one of their chickens is the best. Mode of transport for a chicken? - holding it upside down by the feet of course. For lunch, we met up with the local Eaux et Foret (equivalent of the local fish and wildlife or ag extension agent) and ate a feast that his family prepared for us.

The third day, Amanda's brother (in her village) took us out to an archeological site via horse charrette. The site conisisted of many large stones arranged in circles. Very little is known about their significance, but Amanda's brother made up some entertaining stories... While out in the 'bush', we saw the 'mountain' of Koalack. I believe it took us somewhere around 2.5 minutes to climb it - but the amazing thing was, we could actually see for miles and miles.

The fourth day, we returned to the city of Koalack to meet up with other trainies demysting in the area and head back to the training center. The major bonus about Koalack was pizza and icecream :)

more to come soon about living with my host family in Thies; write me and let me know how you'r doing!

quick note

2005-10-13T19:22:00.000Z

I thought I would send out a quick note to say that things are still going well... still having issues uploading photos, but more to come soon; I promise.

le demyst

2005-10-02T14:05:00.000Z

I m in Kaolack getting ready to head off to a current PCVs village for demystification. this is where we get a chance to experience what life will be like once we are volunteers - right now we are trainies. this is the first time that we ve been able to leave our training center, although yesterday we made it into the market at Theis- I am now sporting some very snazzy local flip flops that bargained down to 500 cfa. not much has happened aside from adapting to my current sweaty state, the only time that i am not drenched is the few minutes when i m not in the shower- yes, we have showers at the center. so heres my first journal entry for a little insight:

28 Sept: initial reaction

I love my new life! It was very surreal, arriving in Senegal early this morning. I really didnt know what my reaction would be. I still had the slight doubts about my decision and how I would feel once I actually arrived and the reality sunk in. Well, the reality of becoming a PCV still has not sunk in and probably wont for some time, but when I stepped out of the airport, there was a big smile on my face. Loading on the bus and driving through Dakar made me feel as if I had never left West Africa. All of those feelings from my study abroad program in Ghana two years ago came rushing back - like the dreams I used to have about returning, but this time understanding basic survival skills. There is a smell that must be characteristic of the heat and humidity. Even though the superficial similarities are numerous, there are definite cultural differences.

I m going to post bc i m running out of time, will fix typos later _ i dont have time to email anyone, but will try to soon!

ici

2005-09-30T18:45:00.000Z

hi all
just a quick note to let you all know that i m excellent the keyboard is french so no punctuatin for now; limited time

we have been mostly learning wolof via french which is much easier than i thought

we are going in pairs to visit current voluntares at their villages next week so it will probably be a week before i can write more

i have pictures of our training center; and a few birds; one frog for all you science geeks to identify

i am very excited to be here and am looking forward to starting work at my site in a few months

best wishes; write me snail mail letters that i can have time to answer

arianne

2005-09-24T10:26:00.000Z

it's about 3 hours before my flight to staging; big thanks to my Aunt Sheila and Uncle Carl for helping me cram everything into my two backpacks in the countdown hours. (I've included a photo for your viewing pleasure and for everyone that has asked me how much stuff I'm taking... Here it is) I'm still amazed that we were able to fit everything in.

I have been enjoying being back in the beautiful state of Oregon. From visiting much of my family on my parents' ranch in southern OR to my old college town, Corvallis (cheers to a complete draft of the garter snake manuscript), and now in the wonderful city of Portland hanging out with my aunt, uncle, cousin, and dog Rudy, the time has flown by.

Admittedly, I'm a little sleep deprived and anxious, but overall very excited. From Portland, I fly to Philedelphia for staging (a mini debriefing before we leave the states). On the night of the 27th, morning of the 28th, we fly to Dakar, Senegal. I have no way of knowing how everything will turn out, but I guess that's the beauty of it. Here's to Peace Corps Senegal: sustainable agroforestry.

All the best,
Arianne

The infamous packing list

2005-09-23T06:28:00.001Z

My overall advice for packing
Pack as little as possible - you'd be surprised what you can find in country. However, pack what you need; things that you use on a regular basis and wouldn't want to leave behind for 2 yrs. Include items that are you. I wish I had brought a few more of my favorite rare DVDs and books that other PCVs are unlikely to have brought. Some PCV packing lists separate items based on varying degrees of necessity; the best advice I recieved was to pack the absolutely necessary and the luxury items while leaving out much of the items in the middle (namely clothes). You can buy most of the day to day items here cheaper (sometimes substitutes to what you're used to). Electronics are expensive and hard to find as is your favorite

Essentials
18 passport photos
$200 traveler’s checks (having some US$ to exchange can also be really useful; $20 bills work well)

copies of passport, credit cared, etc. (also left a copy with Mom)

Clothing
Note: you can find a lot of cheap used clothing (good pants/capris can be difficult) and you can get clothes made, so pack light in this area. Bring clothes you are comfortable wearing. They say ‘business casual’ for training; it’s not really necessary unless you are a business volunteer living in a city – a couple nice outfits (i.e. skirt/pants, button up shirt) are good (remember, you can always get clothes made locally). Some PCVs really appreciate a shirt or two for wearing to clubs in Dakar and/or regional parties – it’s nice to dress up after wearing village clothes for a long time. My favorite clothing item is a pair of light, durable pants that I wear both in the village and traveling. I feel more comfortable and can do more things in pants than skirts, but many female PCVs like to wear skirts, especially in the hot season.
Bandanas (2)
Dress
Hat
Jeans (1pr)
Light pants (3prs)
Light sleeping pants
Rain jacket
Running shorts
Shirts (a few nice shirts, tank-tops, t-shirts are easy and cheap to buy here)
Skirts (2 comfortable, long skirts)
Socks (3pr; wish I had brought more for running)
Sweatshirt (it gets cold here at night during the cool season & I loved having my fav. Sweatshirt) Swimsuit
Cotton underwear (I brought 16 pr; glad I did b/c the elastic wears out fast)
Bras (4 – they wear out fast; I’m having another 2 sent)

Shoes
Chacos (1 old; 1 new pr – note: PCVs can get a discount; drop me an email and I can send you the order form)
Running shoes
Note: you can buy cheap flip-flops just about anywhere

Kitchen
Candy that I will miss
Gatorade pouches
Camel pouch that fits in my backpack (glad I brought it; but haven’t used it that often yet)
Nalgene bottles (2)
Spice packets
Spices
Tupperware
Ziploc bags (nice ones that can be reused)

Books/journals
Nat. Audubon Soc. African Wildlife (I looked everywhere for a more detailed field guide for West Africa or Senegal; let me know if you find one - this guide offers a rough idea of some of the animals you might encounter)
Birds of Western Africa (This guide is alright; but if you are going anywhere near Senegal or The Gambia the paperback of A Field Guide to Birds of The Gambia and Senegal just came out and is a great reference)
The Complete Idiot's Guide to Playing the Harmonica
French dictionary
Behavioral Endocrinology textbook (yes, I’m a geek, but oh so happy that I can feed that side of my brain)
Picture album to share
Picture album for me
2 journals, 2 pocket notebooks (moleskin)
Planner (2005-2007)
A couple good novels

Electronics
Note: I found a great flexible solar panel with the same 12V adaptor that you would find in your car. I then found the car accessory for charging my ipod, an adaptor that converts the 12V to an US outlet for my battery charger, and bought a car cellphone charger in country. There is rarely a shortage of sun here, so I can listen to all of the radio and ipod I can handle… while reading with my headlamp at night. I spent copious amounts of time finding electronics that all worked together. It is worth obtaining these items a ways in advance of your departure so that you can test them out (especially the solar panels)... I spent the last few days scrambling to find a battery charger that would reliably charge batteries with my solar panel.
Blank cd-r’s for saving digital photos and mailing back to the states
Battery charger (Lenmar NiMH/NiCd Charger)

Eagle Creek multi-function travel clock (REI)
Camera (Canon PowerShot A510 – takes AA batteries)
Dry bag (to store electronics; similar to this)
Extra wrist watch and alarm clock batteries (2 ea)
Headlamp with LED bulbs (one of the best items I brought)
Ipod (photo; 20GB; w/lilipod case I like this case b/c it is indestructable; if you have a newer ipod and want to drop a few more bucks, the otterbox is clearly superior – this ipod helps me keep my sanity!)
Mini mp3 player w/microphone (creative muvo; great for recording local music, oral diary, and listening to while running)
Rechargeable batteries (14 AA, 4 AAA, 4 9V – for speaker/NiMH are best and are environmentally friendly, for more info click here; NiCd are not. It's important to check for the capacity; I believe that the highest for AA right now is 2500mAh)
Shortwave radio (Grundig G1000A AM/FM)
Solar charger (6.5W; I found mine on Amazon, but they are no longer selling it; as far as I can tell its nearly identical to sunlinq. Even if you do end up at a site that has electricity - if its anything like Senegal - the power not only goes out often, but the voltage will fluctuate and can ruin some electronics; using the solar charger is one way to deal with that.)
Spare flashlight bulbs
Speakers (great for listening to music in the hut; I would recommend speakers that don’t need batteries or that take AA – mine take 9V which don’t recharge as well and are expensive to buy)

Favorite DVDs (most regional houses here have a TV/DVD player and many volunteers bring their laptops)
Laptop (I didn’t bring one, but they can be very useful for typing emails and other documents instead of spending precious time and money in a cyber café – you can hook up to most cyber cafes with an Ethernet cable. Even if you don’t have electricity, it’s generally fairly easy to charge in town – or use a solar charger.)

Tools, etc.
Binoculars
Flat sheet (sewn into bag)
Carabineers (always come in handy)
Combination locks (2)
Duct tape
Leatherman
Pocket knife
Stone to sharpen knifes
Thermarest
Thermarest chair sleeve (REI)

Office
Scotch tape
Sewing kit
Stamps (US for sending letters back w/visitors)
Mini stapler (and staples)
Accordian style folder (great for training)
Index cards (useful for learning language)
Maps (Senegal and World)
Poster of mountains and snow to decorate my hut
pencils, pens, etc. (even just bic pens are great to have here; most pens I've bought in Senegal die after 5 min)
plastic document/file folders (great for hanging photos and lists on my walls)

Toiletries
Burt’s shampoo bar, face soap, and body soap
Cortisone cream (useful, but supplied by PC)
Deodorant (it’s difficult to find solid stick deodorant here)
Ear plugs
Echinacea
Good pair of scissors
Hair-cutting scissors
Hand sanitizer
Loofah
Lotion
Nail clippers
Pack towel (I’ve found this essential – the towels here are the non-absorbent variety – but many PCVs use cotton fabric)
Pepto-bismol tablets
Razor/razor blades
Small bottle scented oils (nice for bucket baths)
Sunglasses (2pr)
Sunscreen (PC supplies this)
Tampons
The Keeper (excellent feminine product; for more info click here)
Toothbrush/toothpaste (easily found in country)

Miscellaneous
frisbee
games (deck of cards, UNO)
money belt
small star-gazing chart
soccer ball (plus needle)
travel pillow (thermarest brand; another of the best items I brought)
chromatic harmonica (what better time to learn than as a PCV?)
knitting needles

Gifts
Crème savers/jolly ranchers
Burt’s hand salve
Postcards
Nice smelling soaps

What I stuffed everything into (photo)
Arc'teryx Bora Pack with internal frame
School sized backpack with waist and chest straps and water camel pouch (Kelty)
Small messenger bag for personal items

my favorite sites for discount outdoor gear
Most of the gear I brought I either already owned or found at discounted prices at one of the many fabulous outdoor stores in Portland, OR, or found on these great websites. Either way, don't feel the need to go out and purchase a ton of expensive gear. Some is nice, but most you don't end up using anyways or it gets demolished by the environment; save your money for traveling or enjoying beers with your fellow volunteers.
www.reioutlet.com
www.sierratradingpost.com

ETD: 38 days

2005-08-17T20:10:00.000Z

hi all-

welcome to my new blog. I figured out the number of days until my projected departure date for staging (38); so much to do... so little time. (Mom - or is that so many books, so little time?) Luckily I will have ample reading time as a PCV (peace corps volunteer)...

My stomach twinges at the most random moments with excitement and anticipation -the butterfly effect- although any lingering hesitations have vanished. I am ready to embark on this journey, to meet many amazing people, to work hard and hope for the best (of course with a fine brew like star beer every now and then ;-), and very importantly to laugh at myself (I expect you all to help me out with that one).

I will post contact and other info shortly.

ps. pictures and ideas on must have items for Senegal are welcome :)