“On the way we stopped to pick up a lone white figure walking along the road. The sight startled me; white people hardly ever walked in Africa, and that there was someone white in Gamboula besides Gerard was extraordinary. The tall bearded figure got into the car looking equally surprised. He wore cutoff shorts and a ripped tee shirt; his very pale skin was dotted with red bites and abrasions. The total impression was that of a shipwreck victim who’d been barely surviving on a desert isle for quite some time. Our new companion said in horrendous French, “Who are you?” just as I asked the same thing in English. He was American, a Peace Corps Volunteer.”
If you want to read a book which was not written by me (I know my blogs may feel like books) but feels incredibly familiar to me and is relatively funny, get “Malaria Dreams – An African Adventure” by Stuart Stevens. Aside from that opening quote he also mentions the phrase WAWA…which is two-fold for me. First it makes me want a sweet cream cheese stuffed pretzel and second it apparently means West Africa Wins Again…a phrase that I would feel justified using liberally.
Among my other favorite quotes were the title of this blog, and an African he meets stating “But you are American. American’s have no problems.” Duh.
So it’s gonna be another long one – do not feel obligated to read it J I’m never gonna be like…what? You didn’t read my thousand pages of blog!?
I missed America like whoa during the holidays! It was far from your traditional holiday season here, which was a little sad. I did manage to make strange versions of my favorite cookies and listened to some Christmas carols but everybody else seemed more interested in listening to country music on Christmas Eve. I went to Senegalese Catholic church at “midnight” which was actually 10 PM but the church was full so we had to peek in a window and it was in French so I didn’t really know what was happening. New Years on the other hand, was pretty awesome. We went to St. Louis which is one of the prettier Senegalese cities and has a nice big beach. And the highlight was seeing Akon perform for free through midnight on New Years Eve. It was crazy but none of us died…many were groped inappropriately, and a few punches were delivered with love, but otherwise it was relatively un-riot-like. Akon was born in America but his parents are Senegalese and he lived here for a while as a kid. He spoke English for most of the concert which meant we were some of the only people who could understand him…thus “everybody put your hands in the air” turned into 20ish white kids throwing their hands in the air while everyone else looked on in confusion. Akon did speak the national language (Wolof) at one point but we’re pretty sure he was reciting a memorized script. Apparently he was interviewed in Wolof a while ago and it was kind of a disaster, the Senegalese don’t seem to understand why Akon has no real reason to speak Wolof.
We also went camel riding! Which was awesome as we stayed in tents in the “desert.” It was a small area relatively, but everywhere we looked all we saw were sand dunes. The sand was so soft and rolling down the dunes was awesome! Also, camels’ feet look more like paws than feet which I thought was interesting. The camels are really tall plus you are on the hump plus the saddle is at least a foot tall so you are balanced a bit precariously at an obnoxious height. When they stand up and lay down they either shoot up or drop down so that is quite the sensation as well. We only walked but I imagine trotting would have been pretty crazy. After riding camels there was a drum circle for the tourists. Considering ourselves as native Senegalese (which can be clearly seen from our skin tone) we decided to impress the tourists by busting out Senegalese moves during the drum circle…we succeeded…kind of.
The beach was fun except for the fact that a wave came out of nowhere and swallowed my ipod and phone, bringing me closer to living the life of my villagers. I have approximately no money now (until February anyway), no phone, no ipod, no computer if I am in village, and generally very little contact with other volunteers outside of the regional house (due to the lack of phone). I think this will only help me feel more Senegalese, and then in February I will become all technological again!
However, the locals still do not feel that I have integrated enough. On the way home from St. Louis I was sitting next to a Senegalese man who spoke English well (extremely rare). He was asking me how a Senegalese man could approach an American woman and get her to marry him. He wisely stated that it did not seem to work if he immediately met the woman and proposed. All this was of course so he could learn how to be most successful in marrying me. When he started becoming annoying I explained how gender roles are different in America and exactly why most American woman would not like a Senegalese husband. At this point he told me not to bring my culture to Senegal and that I did not understand the Senegalese culture. I informed him that I had a Senegalese mother, father, siblings, dog, job, etc etc etc and then put my headphones on (despite the fact that they were not even connected to my dead ipod). I think I will bring my culture with me wherever I want when it comes to my marriage proposals.
The end of my journey back to site involved 2 flat tires on my brand new tire tube and a lot of walking. When I got into village there was a professional wrestling troop there from Gineau Bissau. This is crazy – that a professional wrestling group would come to my tiny little village out in the middle of nowhere is seriously mind boggling! Also frustrating since apparently the villagers organized and paid for the event even though they claim they can’t afford to go to the doctor or petition an NGO for a new classroom. I didn’t go see the wrestling because I didn’t feel like playing plus it’s pretty boring to watch grown men waving their hands at like cats for decades, until one of them attacks and then the fight ends in approximately .23 seconds.
I made an attempt to patch my tire only to put somewhere in the neighborhood of 7 patches onto my tube and then learn that it was still flat. Between the 2 tubes on my back tire I have now patched the tire 11 times. Today the Peace Corps bike maintenance guy is going to magically make the tire happy again. The result of this tire problem though, was that I had the happy chance to walk the 18k out of my village with my backpack full of books and clothes, no ipod, and flip flops (I forgot sneakers would be the obvious choice). I did however read a good portion of my book.
I brought a paper brickette maker to village with the hope that we could make fire fuel using peanut shells, since we have a lot of peanut shells. I was a bit confused about how to assemble and use the machine. The villagers had never seen a machine like this nor could I accurately explain the purpose of the machine. This did not stop the villagers from helping me (helping here means taking the machine from me and assembling it on their own) assemble it. Clearly, they were not helping since they had NO IDEA what the machine was for. Also the peanut shells were not ready (they need to soak) so I really couldn’t even use the machine.
After a few days in village (with a continuing sickness consisting of tiredness) I decided to bike out with my older brother to check out some potential new volunteer sites. Seeing as my bike was useless, I took my younger brother’s bike. Despite the fact that he just got the bike, it is in a terrible state of disrepair. The handlebars have very small and slippery grips which I realize doesn’t seem bad, until you hear that the seat had a tendency to tip backwards like a slide so the only way to keep yourself on was to hang from the handlebars. Additionally there were no pedals, only the pegs for the pedals, which spin (meaning your feet roll completely off the pedal every 2-3 revolutions), cut holes in your sandals and generally hurt your feet meaning you can’t stand to prevent the seat from sliding you off backwards. Also, seeing as there are no brakes the only option for breaking is the patented Fred Flintstone maneuver. This coupled with sandy and rutty trails for 20-30k and being exhausted before even starting made for an awesome day. And of course since I was with my bro we literally had to stop and greet EVERYONE we passed on the trail and every village we passed through. When we arrived in the village I asked what they would do to improve the village even if a volunteer didn’t come. They said “nothing.” That really makes me want to put a volunteer there – so they can do all the work for the villagers… Also, while visiting villages, I came across a man with a cow horn growing out of his back. As I was approaching I was rapidly deciding the probability of a genetic mutation that could cause a fully formed cow horn to grow out of a man’s back. It seemed incredibly unlikely but as I approached I could see the skin wrinkled around the base of the horn and for all my doubt I could not see any other explanation. Fortunately for this man, my delirious presumptions were just that, delirious. He was in fact undergoing medical treatment. He had back pain so the obvious solution was to suction cup a hollowed out horn to his back. The villagers think this works because the healers hide blood in the horn before attaching it, thus when it is removed the villagers think the bad blood has magically left their bodies.
Back in Thiewal Lao, the Sous-Prefet (big government dude) came to inform us that as soon as the solar panels are installed our health post will officially open. This meeting included 50-100 Senegalese men…and me. There was something distinctly different about me; skin color? Gender? Age? Also, Kindii felt that she had to be included and came to sit on my lap. She fell asleep on her back with all 4 legs straight up in the air which I think understandably made me laugh so hard I was crying. Although this might have been due to trying not to laugh since I was in an important meeting. When the Senegalese person next to me politely asked what was so funny, I pointed at Kindii…he didn’t think it was funny at all. Happily, 3 whole women showed up for the last 20 minutes of the 2 hour meeting. Interestingly, the Sous-Prefet wore a long white robe with a white pointed hood…
A kid in the neighboring village fell out of a baobab tree (this is considerably taller than any apple tree you are currently picturing). He broke his femur. I went over a few hours afterward (when I found out) to see how he was doing and see if he urgently needed to visit the hospital. No pain meds, a homemade splint, and no intention of going to the doctor. C-R-A-Z-Y. Anyway, since he clearly wasn’t bleeding to death, he could feel his toes, and his legs looked reasonably straight I decided not to push the doctor visit issue.
Kindii has continued to make my village life exciting. She is the world’s (or at least Senegal’s) best lap dog. Even while I am doing yoga she remains dedicated to her task. The moment any semblance of a lap forms she is there. I do downward dog with a little upward facing dog licking my face and chewing my ponytail braid. I do upward dog with a little dog flopped across my back, and sitting forward bends while inhaling copious amounts of dog hair due to the Kindii wedged between my legs and chest. And finally I do the final shavasana with a dog on my chest restricting my breathing. She is unwavering in her dedication.
So I want to give you some insight into the emotional ups and downs of working with Senegalese counterparts. First of all, I think that the biggest problem in this country (clearly this is up for debate) is not money but a lack of creativity, free thinking and drive. Senegalese people work incredibly hard in the fields, but this is what they have to do to survive. If you request that they “think outside the box” or try something new you immediately meet resistance. This has more to do with the way they are taught than anything else. Everything in the Senegalese school system is highly structured and creativity is essentially discouraged. This means the idea of starting a new business is just crazy. I think this really limits the country but anyone can feel free to contradict that thought.
This sudden rant and interest in the creativity problem developed while I was waiting for a meeting to start. I shouldn’t have been surprised that at 9 o’clock, when the meeting started I was the only one there. Nor should I have been surprised when a ½ hour later I was still alone, but regardless, I was angry. 5 of the 20 invitees live in the same village as the health post! When the person who invited people to the meeting showed up I launched into an extensive rant about how this kind of apathy would be dealt with in America, at which point I referenced a certain rowing coach J
At about 10, enough people had showed up and I had collected myself enough to tell the attendees that I was no longer angry but that this was a serious problem. They love making excuses for everything and I told them if they ever wanted money they had to stop. NGOs love to come into countries and hand out money so natives start just relying on handouts instead of themselves. I am fairly convinced that if America or Europe had been young countries with NGOs they never would have turned out the way they did. I referenced early America frequently, stating that America didn’t have any money when it was young but Americans didn’t make excuses, they were creative and they stepped up and did what had to be done. Clearly I have no idea if this is really how it was in early America, obviously I wasn’t there. Regardless, I think I got their attention. I was then completely filled with joy when the relais who had managed to attend (2 hours later a full 6 out of the 20 arrived) decided on a relatively strict attendance policy with zero prompting from me. I went from apathetic to steaming mad to rational to ecstatically happy during that 2 hour time frame, and I think it is a good breakdown of Peace Corps work.
And to leave you laughing, I have had a community group (in a village I have never even heard of – it’s where my older bro works) named after me, that is group Jenaba Sabaly. Also, a new volunteer in my region is working with a patisserie to bring bagels to Senegal. In his first attempt he explained everything and then left, only to return the next day to one giant bagel. The baker had apparently thought all the batter was to be used for one bagel, instead of several dozen.
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