“PCVs, they explained, were Peace Corps Volunteers, not as I supposed, a type of plastic pipe”

“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.

The Good, the Bad & the Sad

Police died. Probably my saddest moment in Senegal so far. Police is my nearest volunteer neighbor’s dog’s girlfriend. Yes, I know this is a bit of an obscure death, especially since a 10 year old girl died in my own village only a short while ago. The difference was that with Police I felt how completely helpless life in Senegal can be. The girl in my village was a kid I didn’t know and I heard about her illness after the fact. Police was a young friendly dog who even visited me in village with my nearest neighbor (Amanda) and her dog (Nacho). When I showed up in Amanda’s village on Dec. 23^rd I was just coming to see Police’s new puppies, and visit Amanda for the morning. I wasn’t expecting Amanda to tell me Police had been in labor for 2 days, was covered in blood and was so exhausted you could drag her across the dirt without a single whimper of protest. No puppies. And no options. We couldn’t take her to a vet; there aren’t any in a 4 hour radius, assuming the best traveling conditions. No one in Amanda’s village cared if Police died. We tried everything we could think of, searching through Amanda’s own med kit, trying to reach into Police’s uterus, and even considered trying to make a small incision in her stomach. In the end she wandered off and was found dead about an hour after I went home to Thiewal Lao. I cried that night…and not just because of Police but because I know that my sister-in-law Djonfollo could have a similar experience. She could be stuck, bleeding and exhausted, with no easy way to a doctor and I could be sitting with her feeling just as helpless. Granted a doctor is a little easier to come by than a vet and the family would be far more willing to make sacrifices to help her, but it happens.

To make things worse, Amanda’s own dog is now sick, and she isn’t sure he is going to be waiting in village for her when she returns. And there really isn’t much she can do about it. It kind of gets you down.

But while we are on the topic of dogs I want to move on to happier things (since I don’t like sad stories). Happier things being my new puppy! She is an adorable little brindle puppy with white paws, a white tip on her tail and a white stripe on her face. Her name is Kindii (Kin-dy) Sabaly. Kindii is a Senegalese name (short for Kindiima) and Sabaly is my last name here. The Senegalese think it is hilarious that I gave her a Senegalese name (everyone except the women she is named after, who is offended). Most dogs here don’t even get a name but a human name is quite the exception. They joke around and call her my baby and if she isn’t with me when I walk around the village they all ask where she is! She eats all the same food as we do and she is the pickiest dog that ever got to eat human food (see if that tells you anything about the food we eat here). She makes it so much easier to stay in village and do my job.

Getting Kindii to village was an adventure. She was born in the house of the family my younger sister lives with when she goes away to school for the year (middle school). This village is about 30k from my village. I showed up there as it was getting dark because the Senegalese transportation took forever as usual. When I arrived I went into the family compound (I have only met this family once for maybe a total of 5 minutes) and asked if I could possibly spend the night. They were more than accommodating, they begged me to stay another night and when I went back 2 weeks later they were asking if I would spend the night again! Right after dinner during my first extended visit, as we were drinking tea, they came up and dropped Kindii in my lap! They knew I had wanted her as I had seen the puppies the first time I visited. I was so happy. So after spending a fun night (we went to a random wedding to dance) in their village, I went to school with my middle school sister. It was math class…and I think it is safe to say that school here is pretty tough. The teachers lack creativity and the students have no idea what the teacher is trying to teach as they do not explain the concepts well. I am sure there are some very talented teachers here but the guy I watched wasn’t one of them…my sister agreed. After school I finally headed home, with a huge backpack of stuff on the back of my bike from my trip to Dakar and a Kindii...swinging in a purse…from my neck. So classy. I biked the 30k to village like that, alternating between shoving Kindii back into the bag and thinking she was dead every time she went to sleep. I even had to battle my way through a herd of cows on the main road. I arrived in village to a very surprised but happy Senegalese family (after being gone for two weeks I showed up unannounced with a puppy). That night Kindii whined her little head off in my hut - I think she woke up the entire village.

Kindii has also opened my eyes to an entertaining fact. Puppies, like us white folk, are greatly feared by Senegalese youth, not full grown dogs (all of whom are the size of Labradors), but puppies, and kittens also. On the other hand, my youngest baby sister has always been afraid of me, but she loves Kindii (from a distance). She sees Kindii on my lap now and she always wants to do what Kindii does so she, out of the blue, came over and ‘asked’ (her Pulaar is significantly worse than mine) if I would pick her up. I was overjoyed!

The Senegalese find my interactions with Kindii hilarious. Since I give her commands in Pulaar they seem to think she is learning Pulaar like me. They don’t understand that she can only really learn one command so they speak to her in sentences. They also like to give her Mandinka commands since that is what you say to get Amanda’s dog to shake, sit, lay, come, etc. They also laugh when I talk to her. In the Henkler family if you are being silly we like to call you a turkey…well I didn’t know the Pulaar word for turkey so when Kindii was being silly and scared to walk away from an area she was familiar with, I asked her if she was a chicken or a dog…the villagers around me pretty much feel to the floor laughing…apparently I’m funny in Thiewal Lao. The villagers also LOVE feeding Kindii; they get as upset if she doesn’t as if I don’t eat. She eats so much she can’t walk after meal times. And now when we do regular Pulaar greetings, How’s your family, how’s the sun, how’s the work, how’s your uncle, how’s your god sister twice removed etc, they say how is your baby to me…and then gesture at Kindii.

Senegalese people don’t celebrate Thanksgiving…but ironically enough they do celebrate Christmas. This is not surprising for the Christians…but kind of funny for the Muslims. They have no idea what they are celebrating; they just want to have a party! Gotta love it! The kids even get Christmas vacation from school.

For anyone who ever noticed my half thumb at a strange time…prepare to feel less silly. Amanda, my neighbor, who I have now known for 8 months, just discovered my half thumb…and this is how it happened. I was standing in the garage with Amanda and Wilma waiting for our car to leave. My right hand was pressed against my leg and Amanda turns to Wilma and says look, doesn’t it look like Kelly’s thumb just ends there? Like it’s a stump? And Wilma stared at her for a second and I laughed like it was a joke and then Amanda was like how do you bend your thumb that far, I can’t even see it. At which point I showed her my thumb only for her to realize my thumb really is a stump. It was hilarious, for all of us!

I finished my first solo mural (the first mural I did with my language group turned out so poorly that I don’t think it can really be counted anyway). It is pretty big and depicts the 4 food groups (we teach a modified nutrition pyramid) and a healthy vs. a malnourished child. And let me tell you, Michelangelo, despite all of his fame, still doesn’t get enough credit. Painting a mural is physically, yes physically demanding, it should be a D1 sport. I can’t even imagine painting one on a ceiling. It took me 3 days full of work to finish mine. Granted, I was working with the worst, cancer causing paint money can buy, but still. The hard work paid off before the mural was even finished. The most important group to educate about nutrition is mothers. There happened to be a vaccination tourney in the health post when my mural was close to done. 30ish pregnant and nursing women were sitting in a room with my mural, along with a relais and the health committee secretary. I grabbed the two of them, briefed them on a nutrition causerie (which they were already familiar with) and then let them do their thing. It was great, I was grinning like an idiot. I only had to help get the audience to participate…which I did by stealing babies and not giving them back unless the mothers would get up in front of the group. I know this sounds absurd but the Senegalese thought it was hilarious.

The Islamic New Year (Tamkarit) happened during mid-Dec. It was among my favorite Senegalese celebrations. My dad came up to me with an unidentified cup and was like drink, and then wash your face, this is medicine. Understandably, I was a bit nervous about undisclosed Senegalese medicine, and I didn’t really want to smear anything sticky all over my face but my dad kept insisting so I did it. Turns out it was water, blessed by the Imam. The kids also trick or treat for real! On Tamkarit Eve the kids run around and sing and dance for rice and peanuts (I got to give out rice). They are far more entertaining than trick-or-treaters in America and all future trick-or-treaters in America who visit my house will now have to sing and dance for candy, I suggest you all do the same. The next day the kids get medi gerte – a rice and peanut containing treat! I also went to the Tamkarit service at the Imam’s house and they did the “Peace be with you” Greeting like in many Christian churches! But while shaking hands we were saying “Allah grant you a good New Year.”

As I sit here typing I am drinking tea, I just drank a bug…didn’t even spit it out.

Right around Tamkarit my little brother Djibi got very sick. It lasted for a few days and I started to get worried. I asked if they thought it was malaria and they said they did. When I asked why they didn’t go to the hospital they said they didn’t have the money. I said I would give them the money and they said they would wait until the holiday was over, at which point I said I would take him during the holiday. They agreed. This is completely unsustainable but I would feel terrible if something happened to Djibi. So we went and got the medicine, it cost me about 3 bucks although I did have to get the pharmacist to go the nurse’s home since the health post was closed for the holiday (on a holiday, even if you go the 18k to the health post, you might still be unable to see the Dr.). Ironically my family bought bananas and fish along with some other things that made it pretty clear that they did have the money…but I will try not to think about that. They can buy new clothes and other similar things but they can’t save to take their kids to the hospital. The upside of this was that I threatened not to pay if Djibi didn’t go to the mosquito net as soon as it got dark which meant I finally got someone with malaria to get under a net when it is dark, like they should! I also had a chance to show my Senegalese parents that I keep a stash of emergency money in my hut and to encourage them to do the same. I said I wouldn’t pay for the hospital in the future because they should save their money for medical emergencies…and I think they might actually do it. They might use the saved money to buy a donkey cart instead but at least they are saving.

A little Pulaar vocab for you – mentally handicapped is the same word they use for unrippened fruit or unfinished dinner; they say the person is ‘bendaani,’ or ‘not finished.’ I thought that was interesting.

I visited a new health post last week. I think this is my favorite health post so far. The Dr. was engaging; he gave full attention to his patients and gave thorough exams. He explained both preventative care and the diagnosis very well (comparatively). I saw a cool birth control idea called cycle beads. It is a ring of beads that are colored depending on the day of the menstrual cycle. You move a ring from bead to bead and when your period starts you restart the 28 bead circuit. I am sure it is not as foolproof as other methods but it is cheaper than most and culturally interesting since it kind of mimics prayer beads. I was looking at the registry of pregnant women who had been in for consultations and I found a 20 yr old with 4 kids! At least she sees the doctor?!

While showering the other night I thought I heard rain…which would be strange since it is absolutely not rainy season right now. When I finally went in front of my hut I saw that it was a HUGE fire. I asked my mom what was going on and she mentioned that it was controlled; they were just burning a field. Here we go slash and burn farming…anyone know a good alternative?! It did look cool though…

I am a huge fan of 101 Dalmatians, but I was not a huge fan of the reenactment the village dogs performed. Remember the twilight bark, where all the dogs are barking to send a message? Well the village dogs decided on the 4AM bark, it was ridiculous, all the dogs were just randomly barking for about 20 minutes, adding to the already loud sleeping environment provided by village. Kindii, the best dog in village did not participate, but when I switched on my headlamp to make sure she stayed inside (my family thinks the big dogs will eat her if she leaves my hut at night) I saw her crammed into a corner in fright…I guess maybe the big dogs really might not like the puppies.

A Brief Update for Your Amusement

Remember those digestive issues I mentioned in my last post - well the mystery is solved! I have Giardia AND Amoebas! Try not to be too jealous.

Also - the volunteers in my region just had a Christmas decorating party. We wanted to make cookies but our oven ran out of gas and so did all of Kolda...so we had no oven. We compromised by making a bowl full of gingerbread batter and then eating it, and then trying to make cookies on the stove which we dubbed pankies (pancake cookies).

Happy December!

How To Get Rice Yo

I recently went to a wedding ceremony…apparently all the dads go the night before the wedding, sit in a circle, give money and pray. But I went with one of my moms anyway. It was interesting, and when I say interesting I mean my mom Jenaba and I fell asleep. I spent most of the time wondering if they expected me to give money (turns out they didn’t since I am decidedly not a dad). But the food was good and I got to do some fake praying thanks to my dad elbowing me and hinting that I should at least do the hand motions.

Sadly, very soon after the wedding my village experienced an extremely sad event when a 10 year old girl died of malaria. The family said she was only sick for 2 days but by the time she got to the hospital she had a serious case of malaria and they were unable to help her. Her body was brought back to our village on a horse drawn cart with mourners wailing behind her. The men and women of the village went to sit in the compound. The men sat with the dad and the women with the mother and grandmother. I went and gave the mother a hug and said a prayer when I met the father. It was extremely sad but the environment was strange. I have never been to funeral in America so I can’t compare but while the villagers were sitting in the mourning family’s compound they were talking and occasionally laughing. The mother was either silent or very loud and when she was crying out it was heartbreaking. All in all it was a very surreal and moving experience.

Back to happy times in Thiewal Lao. A dude with a crazy cello-like instrument made from a gourd showed up in my village claiming to be my dad’s brother. He then hung out in our compound for a few days so that every five minutes he could say “Jenaba Sabaly” and then nothing else. I wanted to punch him after the first five minutes. But I also wanted video of him playing the kora (the big gourd). When I finally got it and showed them (a woman sang with him) the 10 second clip they started berating me for money. This only made them more obnoxious as they were informing me that all the other volunteers they had met gave them money. I talked to all these alleged other volunteers and none of them even saw this dude so I have no idea how he got their names. I finally gave them about 10 cents and then they left. Afterward I asked my mom if they were really related to my dad and she said they weren’t. The guy was just the older brother of one of my dad’s best friends…ridiculous.

I went to spend the afternoon in a compound that I don’t visit very frequently and while I was there twin goats were born!

Regarding the weather. It has started to get cold here, at night anyway. But the cold came super quickly. One night I was sleeping with no sheet in shorts and a tank top and the next night I had to get out of bed to put on a long sleeve shirt, a sweater, pants, and socks. The following night I had to bust out my nice warm sleeping bag. Granted, it is still hot during the day but at least sleeping is now comfortable!

I saw a pumpkin/squash tree. Literally, huge green pumpkins growing out of a tree. I am still confused about this sight.

At the well the other day I saw a very cute sight. The little girl whom I secretly refer to as ‘Stitch,’ because her eyes are closer to her ears than each other (she is really adorable and her name is Hocha), came with her mom to the well. Her mom was carrying a huge 5-10 gallon benoir on her head but Hocha wanted to help. She carried a coffee can of water on her head...it was adorable.

Senegalese people are hilariously catty. I went to eat at a neighboring compound and when I got back to my compound both of my moms were like, “what did you eat? O…you ate leaf sauce? Not maffe gerte? And you didn’t drink tea! O that’s not good.” Unless you ate maffe gerte and drank tea they are pretty sure you had a terrible afternoon.

Senegalese people also enjoy terrifying their children. Inevitably, if a small child is terrified of me (due to my glaring whiteness) his or her mother will try to force the child into my lap. The more terrified the child, the harder the mother will work to get the kid onto my lap. So in the end the child is screaming and crying and clawing it’s mother’s back in an effort to stay away while the mother is laughingly trying to get them off and I am sitting there trying to absorb the sun’s rays as quickly as possible in an effort to become darker.

I ate a dish called labu again (I believe last time I mentioned this I described it as super hot wings without the wings). I was informed labu is used as a medicine for colds - since hot stuff makes your nose run. Yes, this food is so spicy it can CURE colds. Also along the lines of spicy food, my younger siblings made a “salad” the other day. Tomatoes, onions, a super sour citrus fruit, hot peppers and salt. It tasted just like salad…if salad was a shot of tequila.

While visiting my road town I watched a small child pick up fresh cow poop with his hands and carry it out of the compound. Apparently my brother does this too.

While reading a funny book in front of my hut I was frequently laughing out loud. This made my family wonder what on earth I was doing (since they think the only form of reading is studying). I continued to attract a lot of attention and eventually a guy who can read English but not understand it came up and asked if he could read what I was reading. I said sure, only to remember that the passage I was reading was a bit blunt and sexually inappropriate for out-loud reading. But I couldn’t really explain so I let him read out loud which of course caused me to go into more fits of laughter. No one had any idea what was so funny but that saved me from being terribly embarrassed. On a different note…this book, in its infinite wisdom mentioned the importance of having Wawa Iced Tea in your fridge at all times. In case you want to read this awesome book which refers specifically to Wawa…it’s called “Dave Barry’s Complete Guide to Guys” by Dave Barry.

Village life serves as a daily reminder to me that Senegalese people think I have the physical abilities of a 4 yr old (just because I talk like one). I spent an hour or two sitting with my grandmother pulling peanuts off the peanut plants. This literally involved sitting and not much else. However when I was done and went to crack the peanuts my whole family emphatically stated that I must be exhausted and it was vital that I take a break. I insisted that sitting for two hours, while physically challenging, had not caused me to reach my limit and continued to crack peanuts. Since I am improving my peanut cracking technique I had a substantial pile of peanuts which also inspired awe. Granted my pile was 1/16 the size of my 5 year old sister’s pile.

I believe I have mentioned fish balls before (meatballs made with fish…I don’t know what you were thinking). I just learned how they are made. The night I watched was special because instead of the normal fish that we buy, we had faro fish – as in the seasonal river is drying up so all the mud-hopper kind of fish that live in super shallow water can be caught – since they no longer have any water. Making fish balls means pounding up a whole fish and then adding onions, bouillon flavoring, corn flour, salt, pepper and wait for it…peanut butter. Yum.

Tabaski (big Muslim holiday) was very much like Korite and Ramadan minus the fasting (which is fine by me). Prepping for these holidays reminds me of horse shows because people are up braiding hair all night. Lauren Fitz would be in high demand here come holiday time.

Tabaski was also fun because it felt kind of like Christmas Eve – mostly and only because we went to midnight church. Which only convinced me that Africans (in America and Africa), regardless of the religion, have way more fun in church than white people. There was singing and chanting and laughing and snapping and swaying – it was pretty cool minus the fact that it went on for hours upon hours. The most important part of Tabaski though (besides the food), seems to be the clothes. My dad (a tailor) sewed for over 30 hours in a row and I still don’t think he finished. My sister paid 2x what an outfit is usually worth (a ridiculous amount of money here) to get fabric sent to a tailor in Kolda (since the power in our road town was out and she wanted embroidery). The importance of the new outfit is that it is needed for trick or treating. Ok, so they don’t really trick or treat, but during the day they put on their new outfits and walk to all the compounds to greet everyone and say prayers for everyone and it feels like trick or treating.

In honor of harvest time I would like to summarize how hard the Senegalese people work for rice (a food with almost no nutritional value). First the women mix up the faro mud – they do this with little hand tools that require bending over all day. Then they plant the seeds, and they have to be planted in excruciatingly straight rows with exactly x centimeters between each seed. Then for months the women go out every day and weed the faro because rice is pathetic and can’t handle a little competition. The weeds look alarmingly like the rice – so much so that I am fairly sure I can’t tell the difference. Then after all this work they cut the rice down and bundle it up. They let it dry, then all the kids beat the daylights out of it with sticks (even my 1or 2 year old sister helps with a little twig while I fear for her life as she is inches away from the swinging rice pounding sticks of death). Then they pick up the stalks and put them in a pounding container to pound it in the more traditional sense to make sure all the rice falls off. Then the rice that has fallen off is swept into a huge pile on the ground. The women then shake the junk and bad rice out using a basket and a complicated wrist motion which I am fairly certain I will never master. Then they sweep the dirt ground clean and sprinkle the rice out to dry in the sun. Then they sweep that up and steam the rice and then in the afternoon they pound the seed coats off the rice and then the use that ridiculous wrist shake to separate the coats from the rice…and then it looks like the rice we buy in the store…except it is not in a convenient boiling bag.

The other night I was playing with the only 2 siblings remaining in my house (excluding the toddler), as the rest left for school. We played tag and my bro hid behind a fence and made me scream so loud as to cause the rest of my family to fall to the ground in fits of laughter. I also learned how to play a Senegalese version of Enie Meanie Minie Mo. Except the losers in this game have to sit with their butts in the air and get tickled (keel-ay keel-ay in Pulaar). I lost a lot.

I ate a raw sweet potato. Surprisingly delicious. I didn’t know what I was eating so I was surprised after it was cooked to learn that it was a sweet potato. It kind of tasted like a really crispy but rather unflavorful apple. But it made yummy sweet potato fries!

I have mentioned some ridiculous things little kids chew on, but I saw a new one, cigarette butts J yum.

My older brother and I walked over to a village 3 kilometers from ours around noon. It must have been around 90 degrees in the sun (which is where we were) and he wore pants, a short sleeve shirt, a jacket with a collar (zipped up) and a ski hat. I was the only one sweating. He also just got a camera phone (essentially our family’s first camera) and found that is was completely necessary to take a picture of me with every person we met.

And finally, in true Peace Corps fashion I continue to have fun digestive adventures. In an effort to cure the latest case I didn’t eat for 30 some hours. My Senegalese mothers were extremely unhappy about this and I am surprised they didn’t force feed me. They were very cute though because they made my favorite meal and teased me and waved it under my nose and said they were going to eat it all so I better join in. I just barely resisted. But they gave me lots to eat in the morning!

Happy Belated Thanksgiving! We killed and plucked a turkey in the spirit of the day.

All the Men, Women and Children…and the Americans too!

So I have talked a bit about how crazy Senegalese families are…but recently I thought of an outrageous way to explain family here. One women (her name is Djonfollo or Keba or Kajatu) in my compound (she is essentially one of my Mom’s but is really my brother’s wife) lives with her two mother in laws and her father in law. Her husband doesn’t even live with us – he only visits occasionally. On top of that he has a girlfriend in the town where he normally lives (I don’t think Keba actually knows this for sure). She raises their 18 month old daughter with the help of her mother in laws and rarely sees her own family as they live in another village. On top of that she does most of the cooking and cleaning for the whole family…talk about a raw deal! Try to picture your life in that situation…o and she also lives with one grandmother in law…

Remember that stuff called gak…or that green stuff every Nickelodeon contestant would inevitably be slimed with? Well I had that for lunch. It’s called Canye although I would argue it tasted more like sticky cucumber that pepper but regardless…it’s a slime green snot sauce you eat with rice…surprisingly edible. If you want a taste of something nasty try some laalo. This is the epitome of dark green nastinesses you put in health food shakes…or so I assume. The problem is that here they serve it over something like really dry cream of wheat…with more salt than you can imagine…for breakfast (in this state it is called Toure). The first time my family served it I ate as little as possible. It really is just dried up leaves pounded and then turned into a jellylike substance with boiling water. The second time it dawned on me that laalo is probably loaded with vitamins so in the interest of one of my fingernails (which is either riddled with fungus or falling off due to vitamin deficiency) I ate a whole bowl while being a good volunteer and repeating over and over again how good laalo is and how many vitamins it must have. Toure is still disgusting and my fingernail is still in a strange state…

On another food related note…Senegalese people just love spicy food…I like it every once in a while but I’m not particularly awesome at eating spiciness (although maybe after 2 years that will change). Moral of the story…the other night we had a little pre-dinner snack called lammi. Lammi is super duper extraordinarily hot wings without the wings. It makes your nose run and your eyes water but is actually good. Even my Senegalese family was coughing…we were like this is so cough, cough…good…cough, grunt, spasm. Also, Senegalese eat limes…just limes.

The Senegalese do something really cool called a kiile! All the women and men have either rice faros or fields. Usually they work them alone but on big days when they need help all the villagers go to one person’s field or faro to help out! Afterward they all come over and eat massive quantities of oily rice (ceeb – pronounced cheb). It was a cool example of helping out your neighbor with a little party tacked on! You also need an amusingly big pot to cook rice for 17 people.

I went out to milk the cows a few weeks ago – not fun! Gross - And this coming from a girl who would be unfazed by sleeping in a horses’ stall. Cow diarrhea everywhere and flies and nastiness. I even tried milking the cow but can’t say I was particularly fond of that task. Touching the cow udders was strange but was actually unpleasant because I felt as though I was sitting in poo while I milked Bessie…The upside of this was that I got fresh real milk later in the day. Also – I thought it was interesting to note that the word for milking in Pulaar is the “ing" form of the word milk as well.

A little insight into Senegalese housekeeping – A Senegalese Martha Stewart moment if you will. There are no trashcans really. If I have trash in my compound – a corn husk, peanut shells, spice wrappers, plastic bags, I just drop it where I am standing. So does everyone else…every morning one of my Moms or the kids sweep up the whole compound. Let me know how this housekeeping method works out for you in America…

Also – you might like to know that the day before the end of Ramadan – you should have cleaned ALL of the clothing and linens in your house. Imagine washing all the clothing and linens in your house…by hand. My Senegalese family pulled a lot of water that day.

Korite was a pretty cool experience…it is the celebration of the end of Ramadan which meant I had to try to learn a whole new set of Arabic phrases…Arabic is a crazy mouthful of syllables and I’m pretty sure I failed spectacularly at learning them!

In America holidays are highly food centric but in Senegal there is really nothing except the food to mark holiday time. And holidays aren’t so much parties as much as they are just normal days with abundant quantities of rice… To illustrate – on Korite Eve, the most exciting thing for the kids to do was watch me cook pre-dinner. Fascinating. I made a delicious potato/squash/noodle/onion dish fried in oil and Senegalese spices. And gave myself food poisoning…no one else, just me. That meal was in and out in under an hour. That was my first food poisoning in Senegal – go Kelly! Also, I am fairly certain my family enjoyed my cheap tomato soup packet more…probably because it was like eating milk and salt.

One night of Korite we also had spaghetti sandwiches (eating pasta without bread here is considered mostly crazy). They were delicious but eating oily spaghetti with your hands and a piece of bread is quite the challenge. That same night people kept showing up at our house with bowls of food. When I asked why my family was like on Korite you give food to the elders. So thanks to grandma Kande we had lots of eats! One thing was like millet with a watery sauce but somehow it tasted like a taco.

Another cool Korite tradition is greeting all your neighbors. Throughout the 2 day celebration everyone gets dressed up and then goes door to door around the village to shake hands.

I watched my grandma in Senegal spin cotton into thread! It is a crazy process and the cotton really looks like white cotton candy before it is spun. It looks very difficult and I have a video that will make its way to America eventually. They use the thread my grandmother spins to stitch broken gourd bowls together.

In preparation for the arrival of the nurse at the Thiewal Lao health post I have been spending some time shadowing other health post workers. I actually went with one of my relais to learn how to do malaria rapid tests so villagers don’t have to bike 18k to get medication when they have malaria. The amount of disturbing things that happened in the brief time I spent at the health post is disturbing.

· They bite the end of the needle to get the cap off (this is a tiny cap so you are almost guaranteed to get some of your spit on the needle

· Blood spilled on the floor – just a little but no one cleaned it up

· The used sharps get thrown in a mesh trashcan with everything else

· The testing supplies fell on the filthy floor multiple times – no worries, they just picked all the now unsterile stuff up and put it back in the bag

· They didn’t wear gloves, ever

· They didn’t wash their hands, EVER

· The nurse is actually the mid-wife

· The doctor is actually a nurse

· The doctor very rarely even touched the patient

· After my relais (who has no practical health training) watched the test performed once he did the rest of the tests for the day (including all the poor terrified sick little kids) which meant many people had to be stabbed multiple times

· No patient confidentiality

· The patients usually don’t even know what they have when they leave the office

· For each patient the doctor writes one 11” line of info, and that is it

· No medical history is available or consulted prior to the appointment

· No physical exam aside from temperature (all day I only saw maybe 3 physicals)

· They only have one thermometer – when it breaks they use the back of their hand

· Each patient has about 5 minutes with the doctor – this is not so much lack of time as that the doctor wants to spend the afternoon playing cards

· Every 3^rd or 4^th patient during rainy season has malaria (which is ridiculous since every Senegalese was given a mosquito net and most have more than they need)

· They give out medicine like candy (like we do as well - only it is worse since here it is often cheap ineffective medicine prescribed for an inadequately diagnosed disease and on top of that the patients can barely afford it. And the doctor doesn’t explain if the medicine is absolutely necessary or not. Nor does he explain how to take it – though I believe the pharmacist does

So…that’s awesome. I did see something funny at the doctor, although it had nothing to do with the doctor. Someone came on a motorcycle wearing chemistry lab goggles. If only I had thought to bring mine to Senegal! Could someone send them pronto so I could use them as a fashion slash motorcycle accessory J

On my own personal medical front – I went to the Peace Corps doctors complaining of an earache. The medical officer looked in my ear and was like yep – it’s all bloody back there. These words of comfort for some reason sent me reeling (I have never been a very calm patient – especially when there is no reason to freak out) and I had to leave her office mid appointment to avoid fainting. Very strange. So when I became unparanoid again I went back and got an appointment with a Senegalese ENT 2 days later. In the meantime I continued to feel like one half of me was on an airplane and to eat Tylenol like candy. The perks of this were getting to stay in the air-conditioned and couch furnished med-hut! The doctor turned out to be a cool guy. He was European but born in a Senegalese village – since he really only spoke French and Wolof I couldn’t really figure out why but that was still interesting. He was very nice and I could watch on a screen as he examined the inside of my ear – which was super cool. He said I had something white like cotton stuck in my ear drum so I got some codeine and ear drops! When I came back 5 days later he flushed my ear with water! This is a ridiculous experience and I advise you all to go get something stuck in your ear so you can have it washed out. I laughed so hard I cried because the sensation was so funny. I still don’t know for sure what it was although another volunteer said in his old village (this is his second time in Peace Corps – the newest stage here has someone on his 3^rd tour!) the women pounded grain in a separate area to avoid getting rice chaff in everyone’s ears. Since my women pound all day right in my compound maybe it was rice chaff?

On my way home from the doctor in Dakar I went to visit two of my friends in their villages which was very fun. Amanda lives in a Pulafuta village which is similar to my Fulakunda village (both are Pulaar dialects) so I could kind of speak with them. We played board games and generally had a lot of tickle fights with the little kids! She has an adorable pre-school in her village (which is really random especially because the pre-school may be better than some of the middle schools I have seen). Then I went to visit Spence to see his new puppy Koba. She can’t walk properly, possibly because she was kicked by the little kids, but she is getting better. Her name also derives from the fact that she can’t hold her butt up properly. Spence claims Koba means big butt in his language Jaxankey (Djahonk-a). Amanda and Spence’s names in village are Isatu Ba and Babanding something or other. Just in case you are thinking about adopting a Senegalese name.

I recently heard an awesome story about a current volunteer. When you buy bean sandwiches here they wrap the sandwiches in old paper. One volunteer got her bean sandwich only to find it was wrapped in her most recent gynecological results…hilarious and disturbing.

Returning to village was fun – the 18 month old basically cried her eyes out because she was scared of the white person. She is usually scared of me but the separation made her react much more violently! I got my siblings to run with me a bit. My younger brother went one day and even though it was really hard to make him finish after me I did it because he has a little attitude and I decided it was worth the effort to learn that a girl could beat him…I then proceeded to secretly collapse in my hut. My oldest sister also started running with me but she will be living in another village now that school is starting. She even did a full yoga practice with me – it is hard enough to lead yoga in English – try it in Pulaar! I also saw a bird that looked just like Zazoo from the Lion King! And I had allergies or malaria for about 2 days. Since I take malaria meds I can still get it but it would only be very mild. It felt like I had allergies but since at least 2 people in my family currently have malaria it seems quite possible that I actually had malaria.

A really big shot government official was supposed to come to the village next to mine to talk about my village (no idea why he wasn’t supposed to come to my village) so I went to that volunteer’s house for the day. I arrived all nasty and sweaty from biking only to find everyone in her village all dressed up and pretty so I borrowed Senegalese dress clothes from her and we hung out for the festivities. Of course there were INSANE amounts of oily rice and they even killed a cow for the occasion. It was 103 degrees outside but we went to stand and watch the festivities. The village won’t let the women sit so my neighbor refuses to sit even if they offer her a chair. She says she will only sit if the other women can sit as well which puts them in a predicament since they really want her to sit. But generally they won’t let the other women sit so we stood! They made a line of people wearing soccer jerseys for the official to walk through when he arrived and there were drums and whistles and dancing for hours. And for some reason a bunch of the women cross-dress and make crazy hats for ceremonies like this. So they were all dancing up a storm and we were watching and the guy (Becaye Diop) finally came although it wasn’t the guy…it was just his people. So that was a bit of a disappointment and we couldn’t hear him talking anyway so we have no idea what happened. All we heard was “look, all the men, women and children have come out today for this celebration…and even the Americans – with a gesture at the two white crazies in the crowd. Of course at this moment Amanda (my nearest neighbor – village name is Namoo, which is actually Pulaar for right hand) was doing something with her shoes since they were only speaking Pulaar and she is a Mandinka speaker, but I managed to get her attention so we could look cool for half a second.

On a totally different note, I went to visit a health post in a village about 20k from mine and didn’t have a place to eat lunch. I knew one of the kids who lives in the house behind mine was visiting family in the village I was at (Fafakurou) so I asked if anyone knew her family and they took me to their house where I ate lunch. Only in Senegal can you go to a complete stranger’s house and get invited to lunch! And this is far from the first time I’ve done this.

Back to my village. By super old great grandmother still works really hard in her rice farro so I try to help her out with stretches when she is sore. The other day I gave her a back massage and she was like no it hurts here. She kept moving my hand around until finally she pointed out the chest pain she had been having for a few days and asked me to essentially give her a breast massage. Clearly in my American way I was quite disturbed by this but I was like Kelly, if you want to be a doctor you better get over this so I did it. I was laughing a lot and when I tried to explain how strange this was to an American my whole Senegalese family was laughing too.

As I mentioned before – at least 2 people in my compound have malaria. They get it diagnosed by the “doctor,” a man named Mali Balde with NO practical knowledge or experience in medicine. He gives them meds which I suppose is good for now. I went to check out his hut and see the meds. Nothing was expired and his hut looked about as clean as one of the health huts near me so I decided to let him be until the Thiewal Lao doctor actually arrives. He was giving penicillin injections to villagers who were sore from field work…AWESOME. I tried to politely ask him not to do this and compromised by telling him when penicillin might be effective. No idea if he will listen, we shall have to see. Anyway – back to malaria, before the kids had medicine I suggested to my moms that the kids get under a net as soon as it gets dark. The mosquitoes that carry malaria only come out at night. It is advertised as being important to sleep under your net but that does not acknowledge the fact that Senegalese people often don’t sleep until early morning. So I explained that if the sick kids were bitten and then the same mosquito bit someone else then a new person would have malaria. My moms nodded and said ok. No one moved. So I explained this to my sick siblings, asking if they wanted to get someone else sick. They heartily said no, they didn’t want to make anyone else sick…they also continued to not move. Eventually I gave up. I understand why they don’t go under the nets as soon as it gets dark. They would have to change their whole daily schedule drastically and I am not pushing them to do that, but it would be nice if the sick kids at least lay under the nets. O well – just keep pushing little by little.

In another shining example of health and hygiene – I saw my older brother lick his daughter’s foot clean…lovely. Apparently she had spilled porridge on it. Literally – toes in his mouth.

I now have a Pulaar tutor in village. Souleyman Diallo. He is a relais at the health post and is a very helpful dedicated tutor. For 30 bucks a month he spends 2 hours with me 4 days a week practicing Pulaar. He is especially amusing however because he doesn’t understand that Pulaar is what I don’t understand. He seems to think I need a well rounded education – he asks me to practice my handwriting (something I usually refuse to do) and also my long division. I don’t remember how to do long division (at least it took me a few tries) and Souleyman is very adept at picking numbers which are all but impossible to divide in your head and generally have infinite decimal endings. I decided to let him keep quizzing my basic math skills because I figure it is good for my brain and sometimes he gives me Pulaar word problems which are really good for my market Pulaar!

As for projects! Solar panels are being installed at my health post without my help – which is awesome! And as for other projects my action plan will be evaluated in 2 days but I imagine I will be doing the following

· Train Relais and Health Committee on how to perform their jobs efficiently and effectively – I really want the relais to give awesome presentations so I will work with each relais on their own specialty presentation and hopefully help them start presenting on their own. The Health Committee has to learn how to run the health post well so I will probably be trying to help them observe other health posts

· Help the villagers to learn why certain practices are unhealthy and to initiate some behavior change

· Make some repairs and additions to the health hut – although the NGO that helped build the health post seems to be taking care of this

· Build a new women’s garden so they can supplement their own diets and sell vegetables to surrounding villages

· Making school more interesting so kids don’t drop out – Olympic Day, Science Day kind of stuff and Pen Pals with Michele’s class

· Adult Class – a once a week night class for village adults to learn to write Pulaar and read and write French and maybe a little English. I might also step in to do some biology education

· Gardening – helping my counterpart to act like a gardening relais – someone who can give gardening demonstrations to surrounding villages

· Animal Rights – I want to try to encourage better care of animals here

· Food security – maybe find a way to make the backbreaking rice farro work a little bit easier (possibly with better tools)

· AIDS Awareness – AIDS concert!

That’s all for now – sorry if I repeated anything from an earlier blog and you are a champ if you read all of this because it is 6 pages long…

Dakar is NOT Senegal

I just spent a month out of village, including about a week and a half in Dakar, the capitol of Senegal…and going back to village was so different that I’m fairly sure I experienced culture shock. Anyway, back to the beginning of this little NotSenegal adventure!

After spending the night having an awesome campfire in a friends’ village we all headed to the beach – where we used to go when we were in training! We spend the night in really cute huts that were Senegalese but clean and adorable. And spent 2 days on the beach…before we left we visited our host families from training and ate at my favorite Senegalese burger shack J

Next we headed on over to training. We were supposed to stay with new host families but after a few days the training staff let us stay at the center – basically this means we got more time to hang out with other Americans and eat/cook American food – always a bonus! But my new host family was pretty cool – they made a rice dish for dinner that was essentially rice pudding – fantastic! And we had mangos every night for dessert. This family speaks an insane number of languages between them. They kind of spoke English and fluently spoke Catalonian, Spanish, Zarma, Pulaar, Wolof, and French. I was impressed. They also had 2 computers, a TV and real chairs! My older host brother lives in Spain and yearly brings a bunch of Spanish students to the Senegalese village where he was born, to do volunteer work. We actually ran into the bus filled with the kids on this trip and my host brother, on our way back to Kolda after visiting Dakar…it’s a small Senegal.

Overall, in-service training was about as uneventful as pre-service training so I was pretty glad when it ended. At this point I headed over to Dakar with a couple of other volunteers to help at an English Camp run by the US Embassy – so we were interacting with Senegalese high school and middle school students BUT got to speak English the whole time. Also, before camp started we got a CATERED meal…the appetizer was so big we thought it was the meal and I couldn’t finish eating…AMAZING. English camp pretty much just consists of the volunteers and campers playing games while speaking English for 4 hours a day…and it’s over by 1 PM…which means we played games all morning and then lounged around all afternoon. Also at English camp I had the pleasure of meeting such celebrities as Young Money, Birdman, Ciara, and Rihanna among others…this is because we asked the kids to pick English names…and apparently most of the English names they know are the names of hip hop and rap artists. There were a ton of volunteers in Dakar for the weekend because one group was having their close of service conference plus the English camp volunteers and the people who live in Dakar were all there. So every afternoon consisted of sitting by the pool at the American club…or swimming in it, and playing volleyball and chillin. We had a trivia night, which my team won, no thanks to me, followed by an amazing party thrown by some Belgians for some independence day or birthday or something or other. We dubbed it the Bouncy Fun Party…because there was a dance floor, trampolines AND two enormous inflatable slides! Plus there was alcohol… I made some sweet dancing Belgian friends after busting out the worm on the dance floor. They also played the World Cup Shakira song Waka Waka no less than 3 times…which was awesome since we had spent the previous month perfecting the dance. Also on the way home one slightly drunken volunteer informed the cab that he once ate so many mangos that he smelled like mangos, this was amusing. The next night was a rather enormous outdoor dance party dubbed KouelGraul or something to that effect. In between dance parties and camp we ate at delicious restaurants and frequented the grocery store…the real life grocery store that is. Don’t take your friendly neighborhood super market for granted! The first time I step foot in an American supermarket I’m going to bend down and kiss the floor…this is not a joke. There was also a Guess store in the “supermarket” (it’s called Casino)…I could have bought one dress with all the money I get for 3 months…tempting.

I also could have helped with a basketball camp in Dakar but I chose to chill by the pool instead. I would have missed meeting Dwight Howard…had he not slept in and missed his plane. The volunteers who helped did meet some other NBA players though.

Anyway, the fun had to come to an end so I headed on home with a station wagon full of volunteers. When biking home the grasses and crops had grown so crazily that I biked right past my village…only to realize I must have missed it about 20 minutes later. Coming home to village was a huge shock, not least because it’s Ramadan! This means we eat breakfast around 5:30AM and then don’t eat again until 7:30 PM. I of course sneak food in my room or eat lunch with the little kids. The adults can’t even swallow their own spit. I can’t imagine working in the fields in the crazy heat without drinking and on top of that spitting frequently; but they do it. The perks of Ramadan are that we have bread and coffee every night to break the fast AND we have 2 dinners! This lasts for a whole joyous month!

As for my garden…FAIL. When I left my garden decided mostly to not grow (with the pumpkins, squash and corn being the exceptions) and my pepiniere was overrun as no one weeded it. Of 500 sacks only 24 trees survived L At least that was enough to give each family in my village a tree! Another FAIL would be the stealing of my cell phone…mostly because I knew when it happened and saw the guy but I only checked for my wallet…anyway, got a new phone now, same number!

And finally…hate to end this post on a sobering note but it’s a crazy sad fact that is worth sharing. I have been talking to the villagers to try and decide my projects for the next 2 years and have just begun realizing how prevalent child mortality is in Senegal. My family has 8 living children currently…6 other children were also born but died before reaching 1 yr old. Thus I will be pressing pretty hard to improve maternal and infant health.

As for other projects – I think I will be working with the relais (Senegalese villagers who volunteer to help with health education and are associated with health posts) and training some of them in specific areas so they can speak with villagers about certain health topics. The hope is that after I leave they can continue educating other villagers. I will also be working with groups of women to help them start small businesses and helping with a weekly class for the adults in my village since many of them wish they could have a shot at school. I am also thinking of putting on an AIDS concert with a volunteer friend of mine! So lots to do J

Love From Senegal!!!!!

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