Coming to America

In Senegal they do this little trick called “porte baggage” which basically means to carry luggage or bags in French.  Since most people there do not have cars they transport supplies by carrying them on the backs of their bikes.  Supplies can even mean what you might call a passenger in your car.  One of the crowning achievements of my service was when I ‘porte baggaged’ my little sister Bana 14 kilometers back to our village so she wouldn’t have to walk home for the school holiday.  Honestly, it was probably harder for her…seeing as she had to balance side-saddle style on a wire bike rack on a bumpy road the whole time.  I could argue all the extra weight was hard for me since she is about 5’5” but since she is about as wide as a 2x4 I’d be lying. 

Despite having one father, two mothers, seven kids, and one Peace Corps volunteer we were somehow short of household help (maybe because most of the kids go away for school, the father refuses to do daily household chores and the Peace Corps volunteer is not motivated enough to fight for her right to do chores), so we solved the problem by borrowing one of the neighbor’s kids.  A 12 year old girl left her compound 50 feet away from ours to come live with us and eat with us in exchange for her helping cook and clean.

In Senegal people love to move slowly.  I was in a huge rush while shopping in the market, so I was speed walking (not running, skateboarding, or doing anything obnoxious).  Regardless, at least ten strangers insisted that I slow down!

The Senegalese National Election was taking place during the last few months and it was an interesting event to witness.  In many ways it seemed like an election in the US.  In the big cities there seemed to be a lot more tension between political parties, with frequent riots and demonstrations, but in the small villages there tended to be very strong support of one candidate.  A little background info – the former President Abdoulaye Wade, decided to run for a third term, despite the fact that the constitution was amended during his service so that candidates could only serve two terms.  While this was not ok with people in the larger cities (where they have more access to news and education), this was encouraged by citizens in smaller villages.  When a representative of Wade visited my small village there was chanting and drumming and dancing well into the night, but when one of the other candidates personally visited the welcome was warm but completely lacking in enthusiasm.

Prior to election day there were plenty of obvious bribes snaking their way around.  But in my part of the country things were actually quite calm.  I heard about demonstrations in the regional capitals but I didn’t experience anything first hand (not that I’m complaining).  On Election Day, everyone with a Senegalese identification card can vote.  They go to the school, where there is a stack of photos for each candidate.  They select a photo from their favorite candidate’s stack and then place it in the bag for that candidate.  After they vote someone marks their finger with a pink marker to indicate that they have already voted.  They tally the votes that night and then send them to regional capitals to be combined with the other votes.  The votes for each village are then announced over the radio.  Wade won in my village, and in many small villages.  But he did not get enough of the majority to win outright, so there was a run-off a few weeks later between the second leading candidate (Macky Sall) and Abdoulaye Wade.  There were numerous other candidates, including 2 women!  One of whom is a stylist/model?  Regardless, none of the other candidates made it to the run-off, and pretty much anyone who voted for a candidate other than Wade voted for Macky Sall in the run-off so he was the clear winner in the run-off.  Yay!  Not only was I happy about this from a political stand point, but also because Macky Sall’s symbol is a horse J.  I heard some crazy stories about bribes gone wrong.  One village was partially burned because of unhappiness about a bribe.  No one was hurt but it was still devastating.   Another village chief who was given a car by Abdoulaye Wade, lost his car the day after the election because his village voted for another candidate.  At least the second story is rather amusing.

Election Day was a bit like a holiday in village.  A chicken was killed, everybody dressed up and we ate oily rice!  There was a little bit of rice left over so one of the women gave it to the cow…who licked the bowl clean…hehe. Well, almost hehe.  After the cow licked the bowl clean they filled it with rice again and gave it to the kids.  Makes me wonder how many times I have unknowingly eaten from a bowl licked clean by a cow.

On a non-election related note, you should be happy to hear that singing in the shower is not just an American phenomenon, nor does it require running water.  My neighbor was singing in his bucket bath the other day.  Made me giggle.

Now onto the mushy subject of saying goodbye.  After two years of being excited to come home to the US, I was still excited!  But I wasn’t quite as pumped as I always thought I would be.  It feels wonderful to be home now, but leaving was quite difficult.  Leading up to my departure from village I was starting to get a little frustrated by the constant pleas of villagers who wanted to ensure I gave them this pair of pants, or that water bottle, when I left.  The day I got the most frustrated I was of course reminded of why I really like my village.  One of the women (Isatou Toure) who is amazing (mostly because she has a job and is older than me and NOT married yet) cried when I came to tell her I was leaving in a week.  Really cried, not the fake Senegalese cry I hear a lot of.  Of course this made me cry.  She also ran into her room to get a necklace she wears all the time.  It is a big red heart and she gave it to me.  I carried it around in my hand all day like a security blanket.

Another woman named Tako (like taco…her mere presence makes me hungry) promised she would quit chewing tobacco if I stayed.  Another family gave me an entire outfit.  My pregnant sister-in-law promised to name her baby after me or my Mom if it was a girl or after my Dad if it was a boy.  She probably won’t but it is still funny to think of a Senegalese kid named Kelly, Diane or Ed.  My counterpart Gano, scoured his garden for some early cashew apples and found two.  Made me cry…again.

On my last day, my younger brother, his friends, and I, ripped up all my old papers and made paper bricks that can be used to fuel the fire.  It was an appropriate way to end my service, ripping up paper AND recycling.  It was very therapeutic.

My last day in village we ate cabbage from the Master Farm that I helped improve and leaf sauce made from plants in the women’s garden I helped set up.  The women came over in one big group to say goodbye and they brought me a decorated gourd bowl called a ŋaatangel and matching necklaces for my sister and I called caakaje or ŋaajooje.  And I cried again.  I didn’t struggle too much saying goodbye to the men (yes Senegal made me super sexist) but leaving the women was incredibly difficult.  They talk about you in third person when you are leaving, and they say all kinds of nice things about you.  So I kept on crying and they kept on saying don’t cry, stop crying, you’ll give yourself a headache.  You are actually supposed to fake cry when leaving, and you kind of pinch the bridge of your nose to indicate that you are in fact crying.  One of the men I barely know came to say goodbye and he complained that I wasn’t fake crying for him, so I fake cried so that he could promptly tell me to stop crying.

I am going to end this blog the way I ended my service.  So here is the story.  I had asked everyone in my village to come say goodbye to me in my hut on my last day in village.  At 10PM the doctor and midwife who I had worked closely with had still not appeared and I was feeling quite sad.  So I decided they weren’t going to come and I should just go say bye to them even though they apparently didn’t care.  When I arrived at the health post I learned that they were planning on coming but they were helping a woman with a very difficult labor.  She had been in labor since the previous day and had come to the post for help.  I had had coffee earlier to make sure I could stay up late to say my goodbyes so I decided to move over to the health post to watch the delivery.  I watched the doctors hook up an IV to help speed the mother’s contractions.  She was very calm despite her troublesome labor- this was her 6^th child.  When the IV was half drained the doctor began to get more agitated and said if the baby was not delivered by the time the IV ran dry we would have to call an ambulance (which would mean she would arrive at the regional hospital about 4 hours after we called).  He started pushing on her stomach rather aggressively during the infrequent contractions.  He let me feel the cervix several times and the last time I was able to feel the baby’s head!  It seemed like the baby was stuck like that for a very long time, and I started to worry that either the mother or the baby was not going to be ok.  The doctor kept pushing while I held the flashlight and tried to be encouraging. At 3 AM, the mother finally delivered a healthy baby boy.  I could not have asked for a better end to my service.  I went back to bed so excited that I didn’t fall asleep until 4 AM (the people at the wedding in my village were still dancing up a storm).  2 hours later I woke up (finally the wedding partiers had gone to sleep), cried so hard I could barely even say goodbye to my Senegalese family and then left village.  My bike ride out of village wasn’t the victorious joyride I had always pictured, instead it was a subdued and conflicted ride.  I felt numb, probably the sadness of leaving home canceling out the joy of going home.  But as several people have pointed out, that’s a good thing.  It means Thiewal Lao meant something to me…means a lot to me.

How to Fly a Dog from Senegal to the United States

For anyone aiming to take a dog back to the US, here’s a little summary of what I did…hope it works for you!  It really wasn’t too bad!

Most Important

·         2 Rabies Shots – I believe the second has to be at least a month before you leave and the first has to be three months before that.  You can do them earlier but the last one has to be within a year of your departure.

·         Pet Passport – It is a little Carnet de Sante Veterinaire, and it needs to have the stickers from both rabies shots along with the dates and the vet’s stamp and signature.

Possibly Less Important

·         Export Permit – Mine was not checked but it was free and easy to get from the Bureau d’Elevage in Kolda, it’s a single sheet of paper and will be signed and stamped at their office.

·         Pet Passport Packet – On www.pettravelstore.com they sell 3 different forms for pet import into the US.  The forms are emailed to you together and they cost about $10.00 total.  Again, no one asked to see any of these forms when I took Kindii (my dog) to the US.

Prepping for Departure

·         I ordered my ticket directly from South African so that I didn’t have another website in the middle like Kayak, etc.  I figured if for some reason they refused to take Kindii then it would be easier to deal directly with the airline than with any kind of travel agency.

·         I selected a flight online, then called the SAA cargo department to ask if I could take a dog on the flight, then bought the ticket and then called the cargo department again and officially reserved a place for Kindii.

·         A purchased a cage from Lufthansa (SAA doesn’t have them) – I called Lufthansa Cargo a month or two ahead of time and asked them to keep a cage for me and told them when I would pick it up.  When I went to Dakar I went to the cargo department and purchased the cage (60,000 cfa cash only).  This was about 4 days prior to my flight.  All of the cargo departments are to the left as you walk into the airport complex – each airline has its own building, you can find the one you are looking for easily enough by asking. (Lufthansa Fret or South African Fret)

·         Within three days of departure you need a certificate from a vet stating that your pet is healthy and free of screw worms – no idea what those are…the vet here also had no idea what I was talking about, so he just wrote that Kindii was parasite free.

·         After I had all the vet info I went to the SAA Cargo department with all the forms and told them I had made a reservation.  They took it from there – I just signed many a form! I believe this is also when they weighed Kindii and her cage together and I forked over the money for her “ticket” based on this number.

Day of Departure

·         I arrived at the SAA cargo department 3 hours prior to my flight with Kindii, her cage, and all the forms.  I attached an upside down baby bottle filled with water to the inside of the cage (no idea if this worked, she didn’t seem to drink it) and taped a bag of dog food to the top of the cage with instructions to feed her through the cage door if the flight was delayed more than 5 hours.

·         Make sure all the forms and live animal stickers are attached to the cage and then go catch your flight in the main part of the airport!

·         One website suggested reminding the flight crew that your dog is in cargo when you board to ensure the pilots monitor the temp and pressure in the part of cargo where your dog is.  I did this and I’m pretty sure the flight attendants thought I was super paranoid…but I felt better.

Arrival

·         I arrived in Dulles, and after I made my way out of the airport I drove over to the shipping department and picked up Kindii!!!!  She didn’t seem too frazzled!

Notes

·         Technically there is a law stating that dogs cannot fly in cargo when the runway temp is outside of 45°F-85°F.  I think they don’t follow this rule exactly but it’s something to keep in mind.

Phone Numbers

·         Kolda Vet – Bubacar Diallo – 77.943.9325

·         Kolda Vet Dr. Badji – 77.613.8166

·         Tamba Vet – Dr. Ibrahiima Lowe – 33.981.2430/77.554.4424/77.360.5020/ sudveto@hotmail.com

·         Airport Vet Dr. Cherif Seye (right near the Statue) – 77.639.2393/33.820.5667

·         Lufthansa Cargo – 77.450.2977

Adventures of a Half-Thumb

So I found a rather large rubber band hanging around my hut a few weeks ago and decided I didn’t want it.  I strolled on over to my mom and informed her.  She was quite happy to take it off my hands and when I asked what she was going to do with it she demonstrated, by putting it over my younger sister’s head and using it as a belt.  That’s creative re-purposing for you.

The mother of the two malnourished twins I wrote about a little while ago is still living in my family’s compound.  The first time I saw her after returning from vacation she was only carrying one of them.  I asked where her other child was.  She repeatedly put her palms together like she was praying, tilted her head sideways and laid her head to rest on her hands.  I asked if he was sleeping but she kept repeating the motion indicating that I hadn’t gotten it quite right.  He died.  He died while I was home, presumably because of malnutrition.  She said he would not eat the nutrition loaded moringa powder I suggested.  I didn’t know what to feel. Upset? Angry? Frustrated? Just plain sad?  As with other similar events I have written about, I really didn’t know this child well.  So what struck me most was the injustice of it all.  There is a health post in my village that gives away free high calorie bars to malnourished children.  Free.  All his mom had to do was walk 200 yards to the Health Post.  Why didn’t she?  I don’t think she didn’t care, because she now has several of the high calorie bars for her other son.  I don’t think she didn’t know, because I told her.  I think she didn’t understand.  So many Senegalese don’t view sickness the way we do.  They’ve been sensitized to understand that malaria is a problem…but malaria comes and goes, or kills, quickly.  They can see the connection.  It’s so much harder to see the connection between malnutrition.  The same thing goes for STDs, and even family planning or pre-natal health.  I’m going to blame the educational system here again, as I often do, because it doesn’t teach students to comprehend.  It teaches them to memorize, instead of think.  So it isn’t surprising they struggle to understand an abstract concept with no easily visible cause and effect.

Moving on.  I brought back obscene amounts of lipstick, eye liner, hand cream, etc.  (Thank you Aunt Carol, Mrs. Cubit, Mom and Mandy!)  The women in my village LOVE it.  And I’m also getting a kick out of it because now as I am just walking around village I see so many highly make-uped faces.  It’s really funny!  The little kids have been having a blast as well.

The girl who I have now mentioned twice in previous entries (she was married, sent to another village, and then returned, only to be dragged back) is now back in my village for good.  Apparently she kept running away so her husband gave up.  He appears to have done so graciously in the end.  The money that was exchanged was unexchanged and if the baby is born (she is pregnant) they will meet again to discuss its future.  Why, you may ask did she think her new village was so bad?  Her husband was just fine…there just weren’t enough young people in her new village.

While I was sitting with my moms cracking peanuts the other day 6 donkeys came stampeding through our compound.  The funny part wasn’t necessarily the herd of donkeys, but the fact that my family (and I) didn’t react at all.  I asked whose donkeys they were, and my mom informed me that they belonged to a village about 1k away.  I was really hoping a disheveled donkey herder would come dashing through our compound but I wasn’t that lucky.

I was sitting with my friend’s host mom and older sister a few weeks ago.  His mom started to pray, then turned abruptly to his sister and said, “O I forgot I have to take my shirt off.”  I thought this was an interesting preparation for praying.  She continued to change into a new shirt.  She then explained to his sister that she had been wearing it since the day before.  I figured this was why she needed to switch, but then she continued on to explain that the baby had peed on her yesterday, and she couldn’t pray with dried pee on her shirt. Duh.

Since my service is winding down, I decided I needed to get serious about collecting money for my projects – namely the money for the women’s garden.  It was pretty much a mob shake down.  The two mob bosses (the two women’s group presidents), the fast talker (one of the president’s sister wives) and the intimidator (clearly that was me) walked from house to house collecting money.  We actually succeeded in collecting almost all the money and I’m going to attribute that success to my terrifyingness.

It actually makes me feel kind of mean, making everyone pay up for the garden.  Yes, before we started the project I made it clear they would have to pay.  But because they took so long to pay, I fronted the money.  So now, all the money I collect from them goes straight to me, and I really don’t need it as much as they do.  The problem is, they are more likely to use the garden if they have contributed financially to it.  I have decided to take the money and then secretly re-invest it in the garden. So I can sleep at night…or not.

One night in my hut I awoke to a scruffle.  I’ve been a wee bit paranoid sleeping lately (I think my malaria meds are getting to me), so I jumped up and frantically shone my headlamp around my hut.  What I found was not, in fact, the ax murderer I was expecting but a mouse chasing a frog.  They disappeared from view and the mouse returned a bit later dragging the dead frog. Seriously!?  I thought mice ate cheese (I never considered the possibility that there is no cheese in Thiewal Lao).  I never knew they were such ruthless hunters.

I think working as a volunteer here must be similar to being a parent…except I’m not taking care of children, I’m taking care of fully grown adults.  They come to me when they have disputes and expect me to solve them.  It gets frustrating being asked to constantly solve the problems of adults.  Kids are one thing, but adults should be able to face the responsibility.  The problem is I really can’t solve many of their problems, they have to.  It’s a frustrating predicament which I feel acutely some days and not at all other days and is probably largely responsible for all the times when I’m the one acting like a child, and my Senegalese friends are the ones taking care of baby-adult me.  Yes…I’m a hypocrite.

I had a moment of integration a week ago.  I waited literally all day, by the side of the road, for a car that never came and I didn’t even care.  I felt so Senegalese J  And since I am now so wonderfully integrated I decided to stop tolerating the amazement that people express when they see me doing household chores.  Example – “Wow Jenaba, you can do dishes?! You can get water from the well!?”  Yes…as a matter of fact I’ve been doing dishes for a while now and I pull water every day. How exactly do they think we do dishes in the US?  (we don’t always have a dishwasher J)

One of the women in my village was beaten by her husband.  The village was a bit disapproving of the incident which made me happy, but there still wasn’t much being done about it.  I asked the woman how I could help and she asked me to talk to her husband.  So I did.  I was a bit nervous, but I think it went well.  I asked why he hit her and he said she talked back.  We talked about it for a bit and I don’t think I changed his mind, but I think he will think about it a little more in the future.  It felt good to chat about it.

And now for the most awesome moment of my February (thus far).  While waiting in the garage to head back to my village I saw a woman with twins.  But what really struck me was her thumb.  She had one thumb that split at the joint, so she had two tips on her thumb complete with two fingernails (one for each tip).  Seeing as I only have half a thumb I got really excited!  I got the woman’s attention, and then before I could say anything else she tried to give me one of her children.  I respectfully declined and then showed her my thumb and asked if she would give me one of her extra thumb tips (this is a little bit more acceptable here than in the US).  She appreciated that joke.  I then asked if I could take a picture of our thumbs together.  She said sure, but I would need to pay her…two dollars!  Lets summarize, she was willing to give me one of her children for free, but a photo of our thumbs together was gonna cost me.  I was willing to pay about twenty-five cents…so I am going to have to live the rest of my life without the double thumb, half thumb photo.