Workin' Man

This week has had a few worthwhile events. I've decided that I can't stand not being productive, so I have decided to start 'work.'

In my earlier posts, I had mentioned a group of young girls who are apart of a larger NGO called 10,000 Girls (www.10000girls.org/). This goal of this NGO is to promote young girls and maintain their education, which is why for any girl to be apart of the NGO, they must both be in school and working, neither of which is easy.

The sect of girls in Koungheul have had a restaurant business in the past, but have decided to close it as the highway construction through downtown Koungheul has caused a detour, though the highway reopened again yesterday. I have to ask what the girls planed to do about the restaurant. But they have plans to break into the Fabric and couture production. Currently, they are waiting for the sowing machines to arrive from kaolack, which are just sitting in a storage closet

My decision to start working came from a visit to the headquarters of 10,000 Girls and a conversation with the founder and leader. Prior to the visit, my counterpart and I were frustrated at the delay of the equipment promised to the girls, so I said I would pay the NGO a visit when I was in Kaolack again. Well, I ruffled a few feathers and probably made a name for myself, but I needed to know what was taking so long. To make a long story short, the issue is with the money from USAID and Aid to Artisans. With American grant money at hand, the funds appropriation must have professional approval, and that is where the delay is. The is a stipulation that the girls must have a room with a bathroom, water, and electricity. That is not easy to find in the market and has forced my counterpart, who is responsible for finding the room to search in the residential areas, far from the centralized market.

Because of the delay in funds, the available room my counterpart had found was rented to family and the NGO, for good reason, won't send the machines because they have no where to go in Koungheul. Also, I saw a series of emails that indicated that any funds would arrive no sooner than January.

So I decided to make the best of this lull...

In the first meeting I ever had with the girls, I had asked them what they wanted to and I just got a bunch of this and that and other ideas. Nothing really concrete.

So Tues the 15th I called a meeting and said I wanted to discuss their ideas concretely. Although this was the primary goal of the meeting, the idea of teaching costing came to mind and I put together an activity for them to do that would both map out in separate graphs the materials necessary and their costs and the time required each step in making the item.

After talking with them about their products and what they hoped to sell, I busted out the costing activity and said that this activity would help them better understand their business and that plans like this will help get funding. It was a big hit and there were excited to do it.

I was so relieved. I had no idea how far I could push or where my limits were, so I was happy to see them eager to do it. We did a few examples so the girls would understand and then said we could come back two days later to see if they had any questions.

Two day later and the moment we showed up they still hadn't done anything. I knew this would happen, which is why I said I wanted to see them in two days. Motivation is not a big deal here. So my counterpart and I stuck around to get the girls started. I knew they would need to be pushed to get started, but what surprised me was the level of frustration I saw. At times it seemed like they would give up at the slightest challenge. One girl couldn't spell out a French word and another couldn't correctly COPY a graph that was right in front of her. When anyone, not just myself, attempted to correct them, they seems offended and patronized. I think this is related to the fact that everyone is rough when correcting or teaching to the point of belittlement and that everyone has such different educational levels that when one is placed next to another more educated person, feelings of inferiority come out.

Anyways, we got the girls started on the costing activity and told them to do both graphs for every product they want to sell and every product they think they may sell. The last thing I said as I left is "I hope to see many many products list in your notebook."

On Tuesday, we are meeting again to see what the have accomplished and I want to give them an activity on indirect costing. Though I don't know exactly how to do it, as there is not a room yet and salaries are not established. Though, I think I will just have them guesstimate and use it to teach them how to consider all their indirect cost, like rent, water, and so on.

My worth hog party went fairly well, though it could have been better. Originally, my counterpart and I planned to have the party Saturday night, but no pig could be found until Sunday evening, meaning the party would have to wait until Monday night. My counterpart had sent three hunters into the bush to find a pig, but it took three nights to finally find a pig! The hunters have to walk far out into the bush to water beds that are drying up and wait for the pigs to come and drink.

Saturday afternoon, no pig. We had to call everyone and tell them to wait until Sunday. Sunday afternoon, still no pig. We had to call everyone and tell them to wait until tomorrow. Sunday night, we got pig!

Sunday 9pm: My counterpart calls me and says the hunter killed a wort hog a few hours ago and we need to go collect it. Of course, I wanted to go! My counterpart tells me he will come get me

Sunday 9:30pm: My counterpart shows up with a bush truck and a bunch of guys I did not know.

Sunday 9:45pm: We arrive at the bush road and the driver hesitates, saying he is not comfortable driving his truck through the bush at night. Wait, weren't we on a 'bush' truck?

Sunday 10pm: Back at the garage looking for another car to take us into the bush. We soon a 1945 bread car the French forgot to take when they left. In the Car is the hunter, my counterpart, the driver, the driver's friend, myself and two other. The driver makes the two other get out and so the five of us take off

Sunday 11:30pm: After a long and bumpy bush ride, we arrive at the hunter's marked spot on the road and the five of us get out. Much to my dismay, the driver and his friend light a fire and sit. My, how the Senegalese love to sit. So the three of us proceed into the bush and attempt to drag a work hog carcase back half a kilometer. The first time I went to collect pork like this, we had five men. Back at the car, I sarcastically thanked the driver and his friend and made a comment about solidarity. The(#*$&#*@(*@!

Monday 1am: I go to bed

My hoping in having this party was to witness first hand how Senegalese organization works. And what a demonstration I got! My counterpart was never worried about finding a pig and every day he said, "today, we will have a pig." And no one was upset or cared that the party kept being pushed back. It would have been a failed party in the US.

Stool Stat!

It’s been quite a while since I made my last post. But I have a reason. A day or so after Tobaski, my boss called me and asked if I would like to be a part of a conference in Joal-Fadiouth, a city on the coast. The connection was bad, so I couldn’t gather what the conference was for, but I agreed because I wanted to get out of my site and do something different.

Thursday the 3rd, I left for Kaolack to stay in the regional house one night and leave Friday morning on the Peace Corps bus that was too take us to Joal. By Thursday evening, all the volunteers who were going to the conference showed up. I asked everyone what we were doing and why we were asked to go and no one knew the answer to either! Again, not a problem.

Joal Fadiouth is beautiful touristic city on the cost of Senegal just south of Dakar. It where one goes to experience Senegal without actually seeing Senegal. So, it’s just a bunch of Frenchies. The hotel gorgeous and spacious enough, but there wasn’t running water for the first two days. As my time in Senegal increases, things like that become less and less of an issue.

Friday evening we decided to look around the area and go over to an island that is said to be the only mixed Christian and Muslem cemetary in Senegal. It was a beautiful island and many shirnes throughout.

The conference was Saturday morning and we got dressed up and headed over to where it was to be held. Upon walking in, I was met with a sandy football field with tents pitched to one side and a small covered stand on the other upon which the dignitaries would sit their rears on cushy lawn chairs. We found seats and prepared to wait.

And we waited……

Finally at 10:45, nearly two hours late, the dignitaries showed up and lumbered into the field, accompanied by the Gendarme marching band that could have made a middle school recital look like the Philharmonic. Included in the list were a bunch of Senegalese reps and the ambassadors from the US, Korea, Japan, and France. Then, they proceeded to give speech after speech in French. I enjoyed the French ambassador’s speech. Let’s jus say he spoke better than the Korean ambassador who was too short for the podium. Whoops!

Turkey Day

Thanksgiving turned out far better than I expected. I planned on too little food and more aggravation than it's worth, but I was pleasantly surprised.

Sunday afternoon the Peace Corps volunteer who lives about 23 kilometers south of me on a dirt road came up and spent the night and on Monday morning, at 5 am, we were picked up by our sept place. We are lucky, as I know a driver and can get front door service, which is monumental when considering I would otherwise have a 15 minuteswalk in the dark to get to the garage. The trip to the regional house in Kaolack took the regular, dusty 3 hours, but was aggravated by my iPod freezing 10 minutes into the trip. So to pass the time, I played "Counted the Dead Things" and racked up five dead goats, one dead bull, one dog, and three indefinable animals.

We got to the regional house and immediately I searched for a bed, knowing that the population of the house would swell enormously and that there weren’t enough sleeping apparatuses to go around. Luckily, I found a bed. The rest of the day was spent relaxing and just socializing. That afternoon one of the Peace Corps doctors showed up to administer Swine Flu and regular flu shots. Those of us under 24 years received the Swine Flu shot and those over were just SOL. No reactions or side effects. Thank God!

On Tuesday, we formed a "pricing party" and four of us, myself included, headed to the market to find out how much everything would cost for dinner. This involved asking multiple stands for the price on one item, but it's necessary so as not to be ripped off. We did get some looks when we said we were just pricing, and not buying. There is no "shopping" here and people walk into stores and know exactly what they want. Browsing is unheard of. Thanks to this adventure, we did learn that the further one travels into the market (or the abyss and I call it) the better the produce becomes. I guess the produces at the entrance is picked off pretty quickly, but in the back we found scallions and parsley! I couldn't stop sniffing the parsley.

By tuesday night, food committees were formed and the work was divided. I am often amazed at how volunteers often accomplish tasks. Maybe it's the level of ingenuity and drive that is necessary in all voluteers to survive here. For example, we all wanted cornbread but couldn't determine how to make it until one volunteer suggested we use millet. The idea was reflected on and we decided to try it, and it worked. My experience in the States would be to have forgotten it altogether.

My responsibility was dicing and chopping. I seemed to be the only one who know how to do it and I was happy to, seeing as how I didn't want anyone to lose a finger. And I did try to pass on my skills. Thank you Food Network. I started dicing about 8 am, but I had to leave before 10 am, because I was meeting with some people from an NGO, which I will explain further on,

Everything pulled together around 5pm and we had a heap of food. There were three turkeys, millet bread, mashed potatoes, gravy, soup, cucumber salad, deviled eggs, dinner rolls, cupcakes, pineapple upside down cake, and apple crisp. I ate till I was about to explode. I wish I could have eaten more, but I'm not used to stuffing myself anymore.

- - - - - - -

In Koungheul, there is a group of young girls that are a part of an NGO called 10,000 Girls, and the headquarters is based in Kaolack. The founder and current leader of the NGO is an African American woman who lives here in Kaolack and one of her assistants is a volunteer who decided to work for the NGO for 6 months after her service was finished. The aim of the NGO is to empower young girls to stay in school and work; both are required to be enrolled with the NGO. The division of girls here in Koungheul own and operate a restaurant and are very shortly moving into the couture and fabric business, for which I am very excited to be involved.

Saturday evening, I received a message from the assistant saying that on Tuesday she along with some British nationals would be in Koungheul for the day visiting the girls who own the restaurant. I declined to accompany them, as I wanted and was required to be in Kaolack at the time. Luckily, they were all to be back in Kaolack on Wednesday, and I said I would stop by and say hello and get their opinion on what they saw.

10am Wednesday. I rolled up into 10,000 Girls office, which is just a 10 minute walk from the regional house and quickly found the Brits and introduced myself and what I was doing. We talked for a while and I discovered that they are apart of some larger organization that wants to become and NGO and works with restaurant businesses. I didn't understand everything, and was more focused on their opinions than what they actually did.

I found out they had gone to Koungheul and had done and action plan with the group of girls, and gather other information. An action plan just maps out what they wanted to do over a specified period of time. Well, the girls didn't know much about their business, and so the Brits decided to do on it English and it was suggested that I would help translate into French or Wolof. They only issue is that they are doing an extensive business plan and it won’t relate well to the girls. Although, I am extremely excited to have it because it will be over 5 years and include purchasing a building, meaning it will be extensive and will save me much foot work and research when grant writing time comes.

Next, one girl told me that they would like to see the girls do a costing analysis to better understand their costs and she then gave me some technical term. What she said would allow any company to operate efficiently, but it isn't that practical to teach a overhead per unit cost to these girls. But it is important that they learn all their costs. The Brits want a costing report, but the girls have no idea and the restaurant is closed until at least January due to the construction of the highway through downtown Koungheul. My counterpart and I haven't figured out what we are going to tell the Brits, but my guess is that they will have to wait.

Money, Money, Money!

The other day, my counterpart took me to meet a women’s group. What a walk! But anyways, the groups is a bunch of women who have a boutique in which they sell millet and rice, pickled vegetables, died fish and juices. Mostly a bunch of agricultural products as they have a small plot of land. Their clientele is mostly local people with a few larger orders coming from around the region and Dakar.

After walking into the compound, we were directed into the first building and told asked to sit, at which point our host left us. This happens a lot. I walk into a house and am immediately taking the ‘salon’ or living room and left to my thoughts. I guess I’m supposed to relax and marvel at the lavishness of the family’s wealth, which is usually demonstrated with pealing linoleum, moth-eaten couches, and cable TV.

After a few minutes, she returned and took us to another building, in which door number 1 hosted the boutique. Wow, that could do with some marketing tips, but on the upside, things were clearly labeled and priced. Behind door number two, was the ‘processing room.’ This made me smile and remember where I was. In this unlit room was one old African woman sifting through a bowl of millet. Around her were empty pots and pans. It was the quintessential African production line. Behind door number three was the “office,” and where my opinion of the group altered. In this nicely painted, tiled, and spacious room I learned that my host was the president of the organization and also did some treasury work, which in Africa, just spells disaster. And for some reason, there was a mattress and an armoire in the room. She brought out the accounting books and little notebooks of log entries and showed me how the finances work. It is a great system, and clearly she had been taught it. The only problem was, it didn’t add up. She had this individual book for bank deposits and withdrawls, which did not correspond with the numbers in the accounting book. None of the monthly profits matched the deposits into the bank account and I couldn’t figure out why. Then, she told me that my predecessor had helped them to find funding for the “office.” Yeah… that’s right… the room I was sitting in with the mattress and the armoire. Something seemed to be amiss.

The president told me the groups three goals are (1) electricity, (2) a computer and (3) money for raw materials . As the conversation continued, I learned that the electricity had been cut for a failure to pay the bill because the group didn’t have the funds. The President told me the amount she needed for the bill and I nearly hit the floor. Nothing they had shown me needed electricity. Then my counterpart asked for previous bills, but they conveniently couldn’t be found. As far as the computer was concerned. Why? What for? They don’t need one. They were managing just fine and I doubt that any of them know how to use them. Finally, why do they need money for raw materials? I thought they had land. This all refers back to what had been pounded into my head during training. The people here do not know what they truly need.

All of this does make sense one you learn that the group’s building is located inside of the president’s home! Electricty, a computer, money for raw materials. Sounds like the president is trying to line her own pockets.
On the way home, my counterpart gave me some other examples of mismanagement and told me that on our way out the president had asked him to persuade me to work with them. I think they’ve already reaped the benefits of a volunteer and other funding.
Afterwards, I was shocked, but then came to my senses and remembered I was in Africa. But this is commonplace, and obvious. So why do these NGOs allow this to happen? The president of an organization shouldn’t be allowed to line her own pockets. I’d have to say the problem lies with the NGOs and other development groups. They themselves are not always financed with their own money, and often have governmental funds to mismanage. But why not monitor and set in place practices that will discourage or block corruption? Isn’t that the “Teach a man to fish” argument? Maybe because that is too costly and it is less expensive to throw out tons of money and rely on statistics than it is to hand out what is necessary and monitor it. In this case, then I’m saying it’s “Teach a man to fish” versus “Superiority of numbers.” Who will win?

The problem is corruption is an institution, and it’s abetted by careless donors who throw money and then turn around and say ‘look at what we did’. At what point does a child’s misbehavior become the fault of the parents? I suppose it’s easy to get caught up in the excitement and effectiveness of a training program that say teaches 100 girls to make and sell bisap juice and then forget to teach ethics. So maybe the underlining problem is our own complacency with ethics.

MEMO: MOSES IN TOWN

Last night I went to take a shower and had a ghastly surprise. I got my shower gear ready and waddled across the compound to the shower in my crappy shower flip flops, closed the shower door, and arranged my arsenal of anti-dirtiness and turned on the water. Now, usually, the water takes a second or two to come out, which is normal anywhere, and in this brief moment, I looked down at the floor and was instantly sprayed with red liquid. Looking up, I saw red water flowing out of the shower head, and I thought I was in some horror movie, and then.... I realized... I am!!!

After the water ran red for a while it turned back to sandy clear and I finished my shower. Then I headed back to my room where I was met with a humming that could have rivaled a John Deer. That turned out to be the biggest flying SOB I have ever laid my eyes upon. It took my French dictionary, both my sandals, and the realization I throw like a girl to finally kill it.

I don't what's going on! Red water, giant insects. I promise my pyramid is not being built by Hebrews!

Sick Again

Well, I’ve gotten sick again! I’ve been in Senegal for a grand total of 3 months and I’ve been sick 4 times. The third time was a whopper! I had a cough for 3 weeks, but it went away in just enough time for the fourth illness.

Now I should point out the connection between how viruses and bacteria are transmitted and the lifestyle of the Senegalese. I always figured that outbreaks in the third world.... (oops! I mean least developed countries)… were due mostly to the lack of medicines and hygiene took a back seat. Yet, since living here, while never being far from my wagon train of medication, I’ve been sick more times in a quarter of a year than I have been in a quarter of a decade. Everyone, and I mean everyone, eats out of the same large, communal dinner bowl; whether you’re sick, sniffling, sneezing, or a child. A spoon, cleaned for dinner, is readied by a douse of water and a quick rub by your right hand. Soap optional. Then, the person who washed the spoon, will switch hands in order to hand off the spoon to you so that you don’t tough the head, though in the process, that’s exactly what they’ve done! I’ve seen children sneeze into the food bowl and women don’t eat with spoons; they use their hands. Also, it is customary for them to lick their hands periodically. There is one communal drinking cup that sits out all day long on top of the clay retaining pot. Maybe my baggage train of medication is necessary.

My fourth illness started three days ago with major fatigue, but nothing else. They next afternoon the fever struck, accompanied by some achiness. I thought nothing of it, took and ibuprofen, and decided to stay around my room resting. A few hours later, I received a text message from the Peace Corps doctors informing the volunteers of an outbreak of Dengue fever, which is caused by daytime mosquitoes. If you’re wondering, it’s the nighttime mosquitoes that cause malaria. I went to bed that night and woke up will all the symptoms except the rash and I was nauseous. I about panicked. I called the PC doctors and was told to rest and take fluids, and consider moving to the regional house for a few days. I didn’t feel very feverish and my headache was in the wrong spot so I decided to stay in bed reading and sleeping, and this morning, I’m much better, except I still feel a little nauseous.

One family member told me I was sick because I never eat much and don’t drink tea every day. As far as eating goes, I’m so tired of eating the same tasting food for every meal that it’s a challenge to get past the first whiff and continue. I always go for the vegetable and fish and leave the rice to everyone else. The moment I feel full, I stop. The tea comment made me laugh. This is Chinese imported tea and is more than a ritual than a drink. It takes forever to make and must be boiled, cooled, boiled again, infused with enough sugar to give a horse diabetes, and then cooled again. I usually dodge my dosage which is two to three glasses. Should I fail, then I usually just poor it into a cup and dispose of it later. It’s so sugary, that I’m usually bouncing off the wall a few hours later. It’s served in rounds, with everyone sharing the same two or three cups.

I am thinking about upgrading from a wagon train to a parked 747 behind my house. I hate being sick.

I Ain't Yo' Baby Daddy!

Well, I thought the money issue was resolved. But I have another round to go. It’s an intricate story, but the gist is that I have had to deal with a family member who lives in Kaolack. She is the mother of a few of the children in the house and had told me to wait until her arrival to discuss my contribution towards the family expenses. She currently lives in Kaolack while she is studying to become some sort of nurse and her children lived in the house here in Koungheul until this past Sunday, when the mother took them back to Kaolack to be with her and attend school.
Saturday, the mother showed up sometime in the afternoon, while I was on the phone. Shortly after, she introduced herself and had me sit down with her, alongside the rest of the adults, who had gathered to chat. She welcomed me and we made small talk for a few minutes until she informed me that I was “her son” and a “member of the family” and that if I have an issue I should come directly to her or the family and NOT use my counterpart as an intermediately. This point was made multiple times followed by “do you understand” and some smiles. It only stopped when I got short and said “I got it.” By this point, I’ve known her for a grand total of 5 minutes, and I’m already pissed. The only reasons she wanted my counterpart left out is that she figured she could get one over me. NOT!

Money is a sensitive issue in Senegal. People here become ravenous wolfs when the money comes out; but they’ll preach solidarity all day long. This is advice given and my observation. Knowing this, I let the conversation drift and figured she could bring up the subject on her own. Time is on my side, as I’m not hurting for money. The afternoon drifts away and is followed by our nightly viewing of a Spanish sitcom dubbed in French, which, in turn, is followed by dinner. Afterwards, she calls me over and we sit in two plastic chairs making small talk about her life in Kaolack and my politically correct observations of Senegal.I knew this conversation was going to turn to money, and when it did, I let her have her say, which includes the following: (1) I am a member of the family (2) She considers me her son (3) Life in the cities is more expensive (4) Life in Senegal is more difficult (4) Americans have money (5) The family is poor (5) She has no husband to help (he’s got another family in the Ivory Coast! Jerry! Jerry!) (6) She’s going to school and is working. (7)The family member sending money is struggling (LIE!!) (7) Electricity is expensive (8) I have to pay for private high school because my son has repeated multiple levels.

I should also clarify another point of contention in all of this. My predecessor was generous. It’s nice that he was able to help out the family in such a way, but I cannot and I won’t as he did. He paid the same amount that I am currently paying; in addition, he paid for the electricity, which, in total, equated to two-thirds of the stipend given by Peace Corps. Furthermore, I know he made donations, including a year’s school enrollment and school clothes. There is no way he was not using American funds.

Now, as I reread these points, I can imagine why it’s easy to take pity on them. But maybe I can explain my cynicism with the points that I made to her. In essence, they all rebuttals, but points nonetheless. First, I told her that I am paying the same contribution every month that my predecessor paid and that I am only responsible for my costs. Upon hearing this, she asked me how I knew what my predecessor paid and if my counterpart told me. I informed her I had emailed my predecessor, which did not go over well. Secondly, I noted, although she says I’m a member of the family, I was asked for money my first day her, and asked to give an abhorrent amount. Third, I said she doesn’t understand American life and cannot therefore make an appropriate comparison. Fourth, my American family will not contribute. Fifth, we eat the same, inexpensive thing, for lunch, and we eat rice with beans for every dinner and we are not village folk. Sixth, there is a family member in Dakar sending money. Seven, I am not responsible for the private education. Seventh, I am one person and will not use as much electricity as you think. Finally, I told her that my Senegalese instructor from the Peace Corps told me what I wanted to give was appropriate and if it wasn’t good enough I would move, implying she could take what I was offering or zero!

She accepted with the caveat of “we’ll help you out, since your family.” Whatever. So Saturday, I gave my contribution to the predetermined family member and got my receipt. I’m not taking any chances. She signed triangle with a line through it. Figures. Then Tuesday evening, I saw her with an expensive fabric that she bought for an outfit for an upcoming holiday. This happens here, and I’ve heard stories of other volunteers going through the same thing. I won’t let this get go, and I have decided to wait until Friday to bring up the fact our diet is absurd, and when they give me the “ain’t got no money” line, I’ll point out the fabric and threaten to call the mother in Kaolack to discuss a change in my contribution. Maybe this will be my justification for moving.

Despite all this though, I am making great progress with the children. We now have homework session in my hut every evening. It started when one kid asked to review and the others felt left o. ut. The boy that I wrote about in my last post is making great strides. He can now do double digit addition and carry over, which put his math skills above his class and currently, he is on the floor of my room writing over and over the letters A-M and almost recite without error. Last week, he could only say ABCD. He keeps telling me he is tired, but I won’t let him leave. Next, I’ll see if he can individually pick out certain letters. I found out that he sits in the last bench in the class, which is what happens to students who are duds. The teacher has so many students, that he or she will put the ones that are forerunners in the front and the duds in the back to be forgotten about. His problem is he has never had any reinforcement at home or at school.

My endeavor to have internet in my hut is progressing. Last week, I went to the Orange boutique in Koungheul to acquire information on having internet installed in. The worker (forthwith known as the “idiot”) was a complete dunce and I let my American culture come out in a flurry. First, the idiot didn’t know anything about the bandwidths or the prices or the installation process. When the idiot finally located the prices on the net with his computer, I asked him to email me the link and he promptly informed me it wasn’t possible! I asked him if it truly was impossible, or if he just didn’t know how to do it. And at that point, any hope of getting info is lost. Luckily, he did inform me I needed to send in a demand to the office in Kaffrine.

So the next day I asked my counterpart how to write a demand and he was actually surprised that I didn’t know. At least I knew what one was, thanks to a story I read in a French class in college. It’s a request for something written in formal French and looks much like a memo. I told my counterpart that demands are not commonplace in the US, and I left out why. After writing the demand, I sent it in and then I waited. Remember, lots of waiting in Senegal.

After a few days I received a call from the office in Kaffrine informing me that I needed to go in person to the office! The idiot never said anything about this. There was no way around this and so I was off to kaffrine. It took me two hours in a sept place to reach the office and, after finding the office, I signed up for what I wanted. The only thing that concerns me was the technican who will install the internet next week was the guy who filled out the paper work. I have receipts for everything, but this is Africa and one cannot be too careful. He did tell me that I would have to pay an additional CFA 10,000 ($20) for installation and I could pay it while I was at the office or when he comes in install the internet. This makes no sense, so I refused to pay it on the spot and I need to call the customer service again to get information about this so-called “installation.”

On an unrelated topic, the children of the house have started school this week, and I’ve gotten a glimpse into the education system of Senegal. My assumption was that is very much a European system of education, with a French influence. Well, I certainly see the French influence, but I don’t think it is as rigorous. The children start later and there is no preschool. Children may attend school anywhere from 5 years to 8 years of age but they cannot partake in the class, they may only listen and watch. At eight years old, they begin school and start as we have in the States with the ABCs and reading. Why they start late, I don’t know. Maybe there is backlog in the school system. I do know that there can be around 50 children in the class and teachers are not paid well. So one afternoon, the children were reviewing what they had done in class that day and I got involved by giving them simple addition problems. I noticed right away that the 8 year old could do more than the 10 year old. I knew they started later, but I could tell something wasn’t quite right. I later found out that the 10 year is now retaking, for the third time, the first level, and is in the same class as the 8 year old, his cousin. Not much reinforcement at home, as his mother is dead, his father is MIA, and the adults here have no formal education. For the past few days, I’ve been working with him on the ABCs and simple addition and he can’t retain anything. I sing the ABCs in French, by section, and ask him to repeat it and he can’t. I wrote out the ABCs with every other one missing, and he can’t complete the blanks, even after stopping to sing the song again. I showed him the same math problem 4 times and on the 5th, I gave it for him to do, and he couldn’t. He just laughs and smiles. My outlook is grim. At least he lives in a country wrought full of manual labor. Right now, as I’m typing this, he is stilling on my floor counting his plastic Fanta bottle tops that he keeps in his Micky Mouse backpack, and soon, he’ll probably get up and start going through my trash again. He loves to open the yogurt packages and lick what is left.

Another Week

This past week was spent meeting new people in the community and getting to know my surroundings. Most of whom I met I can’t remember their names. This can be an issue because people here are insulted if someone doesn’t remember a name. “Big deal” I always think, but when your life is centered on daily market visits and sweeping the sand (yes they do that) remembering someone’s name is a big deal. What’s funny about the whole situation is that names are so repetitive here but I can’t pronounce them!
The money issue persists with my family and I’m working with my counterpart to find a solution. At the moment, I don’t believe it is wise to go into detail, but the biggest concern for me will my having to find a new family and move all my things. But I do think that can be avoided, as progress has been made, albeit in an odd way. In one foul swoop, in the form of a clandestine toilet window meeting, I found out that it is just one woman causing issues, and her past experiences in troublemaking is why she was sent from her husband and now lives in Koungheul with her sister!
I went to Kaolack on Sunday. I made it a day trip because I didn’t want to spend the night, and the Peace Corps suggest that we make every effort to spend every of the first month at site. It was a challenge for me because Kaolack is 3 hours one way by a cramped sept place. Luckily, one of my friends who lives along the main road needed to go to Kaolack as well to use the internet. She lives in a village north of the Route National One and has to walk through 7km through loose sand to get to The RN1, where she finds a car. In Kaolack, I picked up what I had accidently left behind in the regional house, which included my all my cooking supplies, which are now a God-sent because of the family’s lack of variety in meal selection. For the last 5 dinners, we’ve had the same thing.
While I was in Kaolack, my counterpart sent me a text me
ssage telling me his father had passed away. The veteran volunteers weren’t joking when they say we’ll see the full circle of life here in Senegal. I was surprised because my counterpart had told me he was improving. I’m not sure which illness his father had, but I think it may have been Parkinson’s or MS. Fortunately for my counterpart, his father lived in village about 25 kilometers south of Koungheul, just before the Gambia.

Monday afternoon my counterpart invited me to the funeral service. Since he was still in his father’s village, he sent his nephew to my house to escort me to the church. We arrived at the church early and wound up waiting for my counterpart to arrive. While waiting, I found out my counterpart was coming with his father’s body. Shortly thereafter, I heard a car horn and in pulled the church’s white (of course) mini Toyota pick-up with about 10 people sitting in the back. As the pick-up turned around, I noticed a crummy, blue box in the back and then realized it was the casket. I don’t know if this box was an impromptu coffin or meant to appear like this, but it was shaky and had slits in it. It was almost like a box car crate. After being unloaded from the pick-up, the coffin was placed inside the church, in the center aisle, and a short ceremony was given. Then, it was picked up, placed back onto the pick-up and off it went to the cemetery, with the multitude walking behind it.

The grave in the cemetery was already prepared and dug between some already disposed of people, and the crowd gathered around and more prayers were said. At the end, my counterpart’s father was relieved of his coffin and placed, well wrapped in tacky cloth, into the earth. And in the scuttle to place him in the ground, many of the crowd began to press forward to get a look and I noticed people standing on the graves of other people! I told one guy to get off. I’ve given up on respect in formal events here in Senegal.

Tuesday morning my counterpart called me and invited me to the funeral services in his father’s village. He told me to come to his house (which is on the other side of the cemetery) and we would walk to the car that was to take us to his village. After walking for about 10 minutes, we rounded a corner and I saw this “car.” The best was to describe it is to picture a medium sized U-Haul truck with the back converted into a flat bed. Inside cramped 20 people and off we went down the bumpiest, most sandy road I have ever been on. I still have bruised from the bumps. A few kilometers into the trip, we heard a cracking sound and the truck came to a stop. After a close examination, we learned the tire had cracked, which resulted in a two hour sitting fest while we waited for a part to come. Once fixed we took, it was another half hour until we arrived.

Once in the village, there was more waiting. We had to wait for the priest to show up, which took another hour, and when he finally arrived, I wound up waiting even more. I while I waited, I sat inside the hut of my counterpart’s brother and talked with some of the people who obviously came inside to see if there really was a white guy in the village. At some point during my waiting the priest showed up and the family meeting started. I learned this when my counterpart sent me a text message saying he was sorry that he had to be in the meeting. I hadn’t realized he disappeared. After a while my counterpart’s brother comes back into the hut all flustered, and on his heels is my counterpart’s wife. They start talking about something that is going on and the most I can gather is there is some problem between the brother and someone else.

By this point, it’s pushing 6 hours since I last ate and my blood sugar is starting to drop. It’s always been an issue with me, but now it’s worse because the malaria medicine that I take diminishes my circulation. I’m always fidgeting and switching positions because of it. So during a lull, I leave the hut and see if I can find a boutique to buy something. I quickly realize that there aren’t any then, it was realized the white guy has left the hut and needs to be returned. So I am promptly escorted back to my chair inside the hut. At this point, I’m starting to loose feeling in my arms and legs and realize I need to eat. So with my counterpart still trapped in the family meeting, I went to his wife and tried to explain, in French, what was going on and that I needed to eat. Luckily she understood and rounded me up some tasty rice with some mouton. She ate with me as she is still breast feeding and hadn’t eaten in a long time. My counterpart later apologized, but it wasn’t a big deal. I got food.

During my lunch, which by this point is an early dinner, I learned the ongoing issue is between my counterpart’s brother and his sister and their dying father had asked for them to be reconciled. After a few melt downs, I think they did. Though, I’m still not sure. Soon after, the priest gathered everyone around for a short ceremony, and it was nice, aside from the woman who disrupted everyone when she decided to shoo away a duck that started eating the sacrificial rice. Yeah, I know…. Sacrificial rice. They’re Catholic right?

On the way back I rode with the priest in the front seat! It took an hour travel back the 20+ kilometers . And this explains my first Senegalese funeral.

El Diablo

Last night I came face to face with the devil himself. I had gotten up during the night to use the bathroom when I came across a monstrous creature! Leaving my room, I grabbed my cell phone, as it has a built in flashlight, and I proceeded to the toilet. Everything was going as planned. I walked in, placed my cell phone on a ledge so I could use both hands and have light, when all of a sudden I hear this hissing sound. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a creature stir in the corner of my bathroom and then I realized what was making the hissing sound. All I saw was a lizard’s silhouette in the corner before I jumped back 10 feet to safety, or what I thought was safety. A few feet outside the bathroom door, I attempted to catch my breath when I started hearing the hissing sound again! And as if its life was at stake, this create came bolting out of the bathroom right at me hissing away with all its might! I jumped back another few feet and the creature scurried into a pile of rubble near my hut. All I could discern was it was it had the silhouette and walk of a lizard, was black, and hissed. In the morning, I spoke with my family and they told me it was some harmless animal that lived around my bathroom and it’s not to be feared. My counterpart on the other hand, told me it was some creature that does hiss and it SPITS urine that is toxic if consumed. This makes no sense! So I have done some research on the internet and this is what I have found.

In other news, it’s hot. My counterpart and I met up this morning to go meet some more officials, as we are doing this all week. On route to the only high school in a city of 19 thousand, the power to the city is cut, which means no fans! We make it to the school and proceed through the usually waste-of-time greeting and then head to the headmaster’s office which is hotter and more humid than a furnace. He offered very kind and philosophical words of encouragement but failed to see me dripping sweat. I finally said thank you and stirred enough in my chair to warrant an end to the conversation.

Today I decided to buy some chickens. My host brother is taking me to the market after lunch and I have decided I want two female chickens from which I will have eggs and raise chickens. Two chickens will cost me around $10-$12 dollars and food for a month is only $1. If I sell the chickens in the market, I can get around $5-$6 for each. I think it will be fun to try and if I fail miserably, I think ten bucks is worth the experience.

I Ate Pumba!

The past two weeks have been such a whirlwind of new events and experiences. This post will pick up from after our swearing in ceremony.

October 16th was the date of the ceremony and the following Sunday I left with several other volunteers for Kaolack, which is a large city in the south and also the location of our regional house. Unfortunately, it is three hours from my site, but such is life. The trek there was hell! The Peace Corps hired Sept Place drivers to take us, rather than drive us themselves. My driver was mean and thought he could take advantage of us. After loading up the cars, our caravan of white people took off and got as far as the first gas station before we struck problem. Our driver demanded money and was incapable of understanding that he would be paid for his services upon arrival. He wanted money for gas! One volunteer was given all the money for 5 drivers and was directed to hand out money only once we arrived. So we wound up arguing for a few minutes until the driver conceded defeat and paid for gas to be put in the car. Then, for the entire duration of a 4 hour trip, he played the same high-pitched-praise-Allah-give-me-a-headache song that made me want to scream. I thought about accidently spilling my drink on the radio. As if the radio wasn’t bad enough, every gendarmerie along the route tried to pull us over to check our papers. I guess the caravan of 5 cars of white people was just too much to resist. Oh and it was hot!

We arrived Sunday night and until Thursday morning, I acquainted myself with the city. Kaolack itself is not a pretty city. If Dakar is the “Paris” of West Africa, then Kaolack is certainly “Marseille.” What is nice about it is its size. It’s big enough so that we can buy anything we could need and then some –the ‘then some’ being western goods. I took a few days to buy what I thought I would need. By the time I was finished, I wound up with plates, dishes, a machete, buckets, silverware etc. What I figured I would need, I bought, as the Peace Corps gives us a generous amount for “settling in” expenses.

By Monday afternoon, with nearly 30 people in the regional house, there was no room left, but it was a blast and we all had fun. Feeding ourselves was getting expensive, so one of the volunteers who knew how to kill and clean a goat offered to collect money and make roast goat for dinner. His assistant, a volunteer of Greek decent (insert pun here) offered to help. I didn’t like it. The taste was excellent, but the texture and consistency of goat’s meat was not appealing to me.
Moving on to Thursday the 22nd. Charged with the responsibility of installing myself and another volunteer is will be very close to me was the security director and an assistant from the medical office. It took two hours in the Peace Corps car and we arrived in the afternoon. I was greeted by my host family warmly and they invited the PC staff and the other volunteer to stay for lunch. After lunch the PC staff took off to install the other volunteer and I was left with this family.
This family is interesting-I’ll leave it at that. I’ve been here five days and I know only one person’s name and have no idea how the family structure works. There is three women and many children. I know one woman is my host grandmother, and her daughter (my host mother) lives in Kaolack because she is in a technical school. There is a boy and a girl of high school age, though I don’t know how they are related. I do know the boy is the son of the woman in Kaolack and the boy told me his father is in the Ivory Coast working and can’t come back now because of money. I don’t know if he sends money every month or what. My counterpart later told me he is indeed working in the Ivory Coast, but he also has another family!

My room is nice and big. It has a thatched roof which is great with the heat. It’s spacious and I do like it. I’m having a dresser made and my counterpart has a fridge ready for me to buy. When it is all set up, I will send pictures.

The Peace Corps told us not to discuss money or our contribution for a few days because we needed to determine who runs the family and what an appropriate amount to give each month is. Unfortunately, before I was even here for 16 hours, my family had told me what they believed I should contribute each month. I thought it unfair and I am currently negotiating with the family. However, in order to cover my rear, I have already looked at a few other locations, though I am confident the family will be more reasonable. I wish I could divulge more, but it is unwise to do so on a blog.

The past few days have been spent meeting useless government officials who think too highly of themselves and becoming acquainted with the family and town. It’s not the prettiest site, but it’s livable and I am definitely not near central command, which may or may not have its advantages. On that, I will have to wait and see.
Sunday was the most interesting day here so far. My counterpart, who is catholic, picked me up to go to mass on Sunday. On this particular Sunday, the priest from the big cathedral in Dakar had come for a conference. He was a very interesting character, but I had to sit on a bench for 3 hours before we finally left! After mass, my counterpart asked me if I wanted to go with him to a nearby village to pick up some pork for a party later on. I thought why not and I jumped inside the car with my counterpart, some other guy, and a priest and off we went. We wound up heading north on some dirt roads that took us into the bush. After a while I asked what we were doing (I’ve really learned to just go with it here) and my counterpart said we were looking for a hunter who would be waiting for us by the side of the road. After a while, we came across the hunter who led us on a 20 minute walk though the bush to nowhere. When he finally stopped, (and we caught up) there, at his feet, was Pumba, dead as a can be. It turns out he meant wild pork. Back at home, my counterpart’s wife cooked up the meat and I did try it, and I loved it! It is some of the best meat I have ever had and it tastes just like domestic pork.
So far, those are my adventures. Please stay tuned.

Graduation Day

Yesterday, I became an official Peace Corps volunteer!

The ceremony was held at the American Ambassador's residence,which comes equipped with a swimming pool, a cadilac, and enough space for over 100 people. Needless to say it is a nice place.

We were escorted from The training center in Thies by the Gendarmerie, and by "the Gendarmerie," I mean one dude in a uniform on a motor bike with a siren less potent than the one on my tricycle. Nonetheless, we arrived on time and had no trouble getting through traffic, which is perilous at best!

The ceremony started around 10:30 and we were presented to the Japanese and Korean Ambassadors to Senegal. Surprisingly, there is a Japanese Peace Corps, but we never cross paths and the only thing I know about them is that they have greater trouble pronouncing the languages. The highlight was the speaches given by the trainees in the local languages we are learning. There were many laughs, though I only understood the French, and Wolof speaches. I was at a loss with Mandinka and Pulaar. Finally, we took the Foreign Service Oath and became volunteers.

After the ceremony, we had a reception with tons of American food ranging from cheeseburgers to guacamole and I stuffed my face knowing I would have to face Ceebu Jeen (Fish & Rice)for a very long time.

Tomorrow I leave for the city of Kaolack, which is my regional capital. There, I will buy what I need to get set up in my residence. Pots, baskets, rugs, all these things. I feel bad for the drivers who have to take us.

Don't Get Booze On Your Boubou!

Today the center hosted a party for the trainees and their families. In all honesty, it turned out better than I, and many others, had hoped for. Only one member of every one's family was allowed to come and at some point in the mid morning, PC drivers sortied out to collect the family members that were to come to the center, and so this left the trainees with some time to do nothing. Finally! Somewhere around 11 I went to put on something nice and figured I could wear nice western clothes since Friday is the ceremony and I would be wearing my grand boubou. I threw on my polo, a pair of jeans, and my chucks (none of which I have worn since arriving) and sat around and waited for my host mother to straggle in. When she arrived, she was disappointed to see me not wearing my boubou, so I had to go change. I got many compliments on it and it was better than anyone else's. Unfortunately no one will be surprised tomorrow at our swearing-in ceremony.

My host mother and the other family members from Tivaouane were the first to arrive, so we ended up sitting around for a good hour and a half before we finally lethargically moved over to dinner. People just don't move fast here. Lunch was great. We actually had chicken, which is a real treat here. After lunch, the music start, and that was the highlight of the day! What fun is was watching all the musicians and people dance.

The style of dance here is much more chaotic and the influence in many western dances is evident, as in Samba. Someone who wants to join in on the dancing will run in, dance for a minute or two, then proceed to the sidelines for a rest. It's a bad idea to have many people dancing at once, because, well, someone will get a broken nose!

After the music, we had a small reception and each family received a certificate stating they had hosted a PC trainee. The Senegalese love certificates and the Peace Corps passes out one for every event. Following the reception, all the families went home.

Now, it's onto Dakar!

The Incha'Allah Tense

My studies in Wolof are coming to an end and I feel more gyped than a fat kid at a Jenny Craig surprise party. This language does not have the conditional, subjunctive, or pluperfect tenses or any of their more compound variations. But it does have the Insha’Allah tense. Insha’Allah means simply “God willing” and this tense is used to express uncertainty as in “Insha’Allah it rains this afternoon.” It is also used to dispel laziness, such as “I can, Insha’Allah, finish building my house before I die.” There is also future Insha’Allah as in “I will, Insha’Allah marry an American and listen to Aye-kon all day on my cell phone.” Above all, though, there is the most important Conditional Insha’Allah found in such extraordinary expressions as “IF Insha’Allah it, I would have 5 wives and listen to Aye-Kon all day.“ This tense is very useful and seems only to appear where one finds a fire and brimstone concept of God.

A door-to-door salesman stopped by our house today selling household telephones and my host father bought one, though I fail to see why. I’ve yet to see a house phone in any other house and everyone has cell phones. I think it might use as a status symbol or as a conversational piece, though I would love to see all the cement block covered with plaster before we add decorations. But hey! We now have a phone. After the purchase, my host brother proceeded to build a shelf for it and it, for whatever reason, rests so high on shelf that I can’t see the buttons. I’m 5”10’’. Without seeming over patronizing, one of my favorite things to do here is observe how the population uses technology.

Yesterday was a bad day for me. I was really hot, tired and bored, and I started thinking about all that I had in the states what I didn’t have in Senegal. It transcribed into my wanting a cheeseburger and telling my host sister that we do more than play “musical shade” to amuse ourselves back in the States. The food here is so monotonous. Except for one plate, all means have either rice or couscous, and I rarely have couscous. The one exception is a fish sauce with salad and bread. It’s my favorite because it offers variety. I get so hungry hours before meals, but within a few spoon full’s, I’m no longer hungry. I guess that’s the way it goes with a diet based on empty carbs. I’ve never eaten so much fish before and it’s not uncommon to have it twice a day for both dinner and lunch. Breakfast is always sugar with a little bit of coffee and bread with chocolate or butter. A few times, I’ve had the previous night’s dinner on my breakfast bread and I hate that. I’ve decided that when I move in with my permanent family in my site, I will make breakfast and dinner on my own. That way, I can break up the monotony and it’s just WAY too hot to cook during the day!

Recall my oldest host brother and oldest host sister are actually my cousins and my host brother lives permanently with his aunt and uncle (my host parents) and his sister is here visiting. My host mother has left for Kaolack, which is a city in the south. Her brother is getting married and my host father gave her the money to travel there for a few days. Unfortunately for my host sister, she has to stay here until Tuesday the 20th because someone has to run the household. This is a problem because school starts on Monday the 19th and she lives in a city on the other side of the country. My host mother doesn’t see this as an issue. I don’t think she herself has an extensive education. At least my host sister won’t miss too many days.

In other news, I’m broke! I need to keep a spread sheet to find out where it all goes. The Peace Corps gives us CFA 29000 ($50) every two weeks, but I just can’t save it! I had a bunch saved up in my refrigerator fund, but it’s all depleted. I’m not sure what it all goes, but I can say that cold drinks are so much more appealing now and it’s so hard to refuse a trip to a restaurant with English speaking people. And I bought my grand boubou. It’s a piece of art that consists of a pair of pants, a shirt, and a large over shirt. All the pieces are white and the over shirt will be embroidered with silver. It cost a pretty penny, but it will be worth it for our swearing in ceremony. Also, Peace Corps gives up beaucoup money for “settling in” expenses, but I want to make sure I have enough for a fridge. I’m going to tap in to some American funds. Da Da Da Dummmmm!

Dakar Day

The trainees were cut loose on Saturday and so we finally had some time for relaxation... well, some us us. Since Monday was Dakar Day, half of the all the trainees decided to head up to Dakar for Saturday night and Sunday. I opted to stay in the compound and relax and do a whole lot of nothing. My fellow trainees who went up early had fun, but most dropped about $50-$60, which on our teeny tiny "salaries," that's a bank buster. Im going to use my money for a refrigerator. I'm starting a Fund.

Dakar Day was fun. It reminded me of Athens, just less white. White buildings, that is. We were taken on a tour of the city and shown all the nice places to go such as the American Expatraite Club, and the embassy, and even the stip of beach sidewalk on which people get mugged! I don't think I'm supposed to go there. We ate lunch at the French Culture Center and I had a Moroccan cheeseburger. It's basically a slab of beef with North African spices. And there were french fries.



It's still hot here and I don't forsee a change anytime soon. I think the rainy season is over, which explain why my room is always so hot. It never gets a chance to cool off.

The Workshop

Our Counterpart Workshop was Thursday and Friday. Our counterparts and supervisors from all over the country came to the center for two days of workshops and meet-n-greets. For clarification, a counterpart is the individual with whom we will work on our various projects and who is is responsible for helping us acclimate into the community. Our supervisors are individuals on some governmental level to whom we report.

Overall, the conference was a success. My counterpart is very eager for me to get started on my projects. I finally see why I was placed in my site. I had said that I wanted to work cross-sector on projects, pulling in volunteers from Agriculture and Education. I just wish my site was half way to Nowheresville.

We discussed various topics and made a plan for my first three months at site. Well.... my counterpart and supervisor made it. I just sat there in awe as they listed out all the people who are necessary for me to visit. I have to go meet someone at the Post Office. Why not?

My predecessor left some big shoes to fill. My counterpart even named a son after him. I'm excited about all the projects that were left open and even some of the other potential projects in the area.

During one of the sessions, everyone was given the goals of his or her sector and told to discuss which goal would be the most important in his or her site. My supervisor and counterpart both agreed on technological education, particularly computers, so that the local producers of the on-gong agricultural projects can find buyers. I bit my tongue. I can teach someone how to use a computer, but I wonder if my counterpart and supervisor realize the buyers may not be technologically savvy. We'll have to see how it works out.

We're spending the weekend in the Center and then going to Dakar on Monday for just the day. We will be introduced to the city and shown around. It will be fun

We're Planting Beach Trees!

For the past week I've been with my host family. I'm becoming increasingly more comfortable with the family and they are with me as well. I found out that my host brother, when he works, gives most of his money to his father, and my host mother does absolutely nothing, which is a sign of wealth. I did notice a change in the quality of diner since my last visit. My host sister was the one who made diner every night and after a few "blah" meals, I got the nerve to ask what was going on. My host sister informed me the maid was now making diner. However, for me, this posed a problem. The maid left in the early afternoon, so I am assuming she is preparing diner and leaving it out. Yuck!

Korite was on the 20th. It's the celebration that marks the end of Ramadan. We all had to wear our nicest clothes and I got to wear my boubou. We walked around asking for forgiveness from our friends and neighbor. It was fun and a great cultural experience

I'm trying to progress in Wolof. I find it difficult because it's structure is OBJECT+SUBJECT+VERB and the tenses are as developped or structured as English or French. Time markers (ex "yesterday" "today")are what really denote the tense. But I have to have a working knowlegdge of Wolof because adult women and rural populations are not as likely to speak French; although, I would often just prefer to use French.

Monday afternoon we left for Popenguine. We rented out a beach house for the night and just hung out and partied. It was a nice relief and a chance to catch up and exchange stories. Surprisingly though, most of us didn't tell our families we were going to the beach. I conveniently left it out. One of the agriculture trainees said she was going to plant "beach trees." I didn't ask if her family believed her or not.

This week is our Counterpart Workshop. This means that every trainee is having both his or her supervisor and counterpart come for a 3 days conference. Given that there are around 55 trainees, the population of the center will flood to about 150, which is way above capacity. To solve this conundrum, our leaders decided yesterday to have certain groups of trainees commute from their training sites. I fall into this category. I'm really looking forward to the conference and getting to met the people I will be working with for the next two years.

Licking It Doesn't Make It Clean

For the last few days, all the trainees have been visiting other volunteers for "demystification." I spent mine in Fatick. Unfortunately, I couldn't go to my site because my predecessor has already finished his service.

Fatick is a nice city near the coast. My volunteer took us to a few different locations. The most interesting was the handicapped center, where disables work on various projects in order to raise money. There is TV repair, furniture manufacturing, and even couture - that's just a fancy way to say clothes repair. Shortly after arriving, I noticed the power was out and after asking why, I was promptly informed the center needs an NGO as a partner because they can't pay the bill; although they are supposed to be self sufficient. I think there is some nifty accounting going on.

We spent the earlier part of our days there exploring the city and then we spent the afternoon sleeping or playing cards because, well frankly, it's too effing hot to do anything else. Luckily, many of the locals are Serere, which means they are catholic, which means there is booze. The city I train in is a holy city which means no booze. Pas de booze!

One of the other trainees had a rough encounter with a child during our trip. In general, you don't touch the kids. You just don't. They're dirty and have brain damage and did I mention, they're dirty. We stopped into a compound to talk to a family the volunteer knew and one little girl came up to me and shook my hand (this is OK because I carry a gallon of hand sanitizer with me at all times and her parents were watching). After shaking my hand, she retracted her hand, looked at it, and then, as if it was as common as tying your shoe, she licked her hand and extended it the other trainee. Needless to say, but we all have our "happy places" and she quickly visited hers.

Back to Thies for tech training.

Today we played a game created by an NGO for teaching about savings and the importance of utilizing banks. It worked just liked Monopoly except you could store your money in the bank (without interest) or just keep it on your person. What we failed to realize were the 'chance' cards. During the first round, our mattresses burned and we lost all the money we didn't have in the bank. The implication was to show us how we need to keep our money secured in banks and not in the mattress. The other chance card was to accept credit for our services, but we took the chance of default. Once again, the implication is to show that credit to your sister-in-law is bad. You have no guarantee.

I liked the game so much that I have already emailed the PC Director in Senegal and spoken to my supervisors about getting one. I'm told the NGO has dozens lying around unused.

Koungheul Or Bust!

My site is Koungheul!

It's a huge community with a population of 19,000. And yes, that is large. There are volunteers moving into villages with populations of a grad total of 280 and 400! Koungheul is about 8 hours from Dakar and around 4 hours from the regional Peace Corps headquarters. It will take less time once the Route Nationale 1 is finished.....Inshallah.

Our instructors handed out blindfolds and then placed us on a giant map of Senegal, and when everyone was in place, we removed our blindfolds and immediately looked down at our feet to see which city we were standing on.

On Saturday, we are heading to our permanent sites for a few days for "demystification." It’s when we finally get a half decent understanding of what we will be doing, and it’s also when many people quit. I wont be going to Koungheul because the previous volunteer has gone home already. Instead, I'm going to Fatick for a few days. I'm excited.

Everyone decided to go to a local bar today to celebrate. It was a sight - all of us in a small bar. And as usual, we got the cold reception that I would get in France. But it was fun retelling stories. I'm amazed at what some of my fellow volunteers have managed to get themselves into.

Thursday 27 August

Today is my first day back with my host family. They greeted me at the door and were genuinely pleased to see me. I gave them the small bag of dates that I brought as a small present, which is customary for someone who leaves for any long duration of time. For dinner, we had a spaghetti-like noodle and some meat and surprisingly, we ate it on the roof, which is more like an unfinished patio than anything. My comprehension of Wolof is growing, but not at the speed my family would like. They have all gone through the French system of schooling which is pure memorization. The American system offers more choices and learning techniques, and I have trouble conveying this to my hosts. And for now, this language is just a bunch of sounds to me.

The family is fasting during Ramadan, which means I eat breakfast and lunch alone in my room. I can’t complain though, because it’s nice to finally get some alone time without someone wondering if I’m sick or dead. This culture is very social and “personal time” just doesn’t exist. Breakfast is always the same; a baguette with butter and chocolate. Lunch and Dinner are always something different and I’ve yet to have the same meal twice. Lunch will most likely be leftovers from dinner the night before, which isn’t all that safe, and dinner is business as usual with everyone together.

Islam is so engrossed in everyday life and when I ask a question, there often seems to be a religious implication hidden in the answer. When I asked at what time the prayers were, my question was met with an explanation of how it is important to talk with God. I’m wondering what Senegalese Muslims are taught about Christians. So far, it appears Christians are not the infidel, just less connected to God. The call to prayer and various other religious announcements and songs are blasted though the speaker system that runs throughout the city. I haven’t quite decided which is more bothersome, the conniption ridden donkey next door, or incomprehensible Arabic being piped though my window at 6am.

Friday 28 August

Since it is Ramadan, much of nothing is going on. Life here has slowed even further because, in addition to being hot, everyone is hungry and irritable. Everyone fasting gets up before sunrise and eats and then goes without during the day. I eat lunch with the little children and it’s usually a meal of leftovers. The fast is broken every night by an announcement from the mosque and is shortly followed by some snack. Dinner is still at its usual time.

This morning I had a technical activity to complete. Each member in the Small Enterprise Development group was to find a local business and ask a series of question to better understand how the business operates and how business in general goes on in Senegal. My language teacher gathered us at 8:30 and we proceeded down the street until we came to a decent looking boutique. She asked the owner if he would acquiesce to an interview and the owner accepted. Then my language teacher looked at my fellow trainee and informed him that she would be back to pick him up in 30 minutes. I wasn’t under the impression that we would be left alone to ask questions. After leaving the boutique we searched for a tailor and found one willing to be interrogated by a “Tubob.” Again, one of my fellow trainees was left to fend for herself. Now it was my turn, and Lady Luck was not with me. We went to five separate stores and the owner wasn’t around in any of them. This process took well over an hour because my language teacher explained why we were there before asking if the owner was around. Finally, we found one, but he didn’t speak much French, and my Wolof is pitiful. I looked at my language teacher and informed her politely that this would go nowhere fast, and she told me that I would manage. I didn’t. I think I found out the owner is originally from Mbour and buys his wares from there too. When I asked about his mark-up, he just looked blankly at me. Culturally, the Senegalese don’t discuss money and business affairs with people they don’t know. So I’m not upset the owner wouldn’t tell me the details of his business. It was not the most productive morning and now, for my own sake, I need to do it on my own.

Saturday 29 August

Overall, today was a pretty good day. My comprehension is growing and I’m getting over the first hump of learning any language and I’m starting to hear words rather than just sounds. This morning, I tried again with my language professor to find a local business owner who was both willing to have an interview and spoke French. I found one who owned a small hardware store and asked him my questions. He was generous and patience and didn’t seem to mind.
I went to the market today to buy fabric for 2 more pants. These two will be made in a more western style and I hope the tailor can add a pocket in the back for my wallet. It took a while to come up with some fabric while in the market because every pattern I preferred was for women and it’s not easy to only enough fabric for a pair of pants. Usually, fabric is sold in enough quantity to make pants and the accompanying booboo, which is a neck to ankle shirt.
While at the market with my host mother, she asked where I got the white t-shirt I was wearing. I asked her why she wanted to know and she replied that she wanted to buy me another. I informed her it wasn’t necessary because I had brought 16 from the USA. She seemed puzzled, and after a few more inquiries, it was determined she, and unfortunately the rest of the family, all believed I had only one t-shirt. After I picked myself off the floor, I explained that I brought many t-shirts because they are cheap and easy to clean. Maybe I should change it up a little.

Sunday 30 August.

In class today I mixed up the verbs “to sell” and “to study” in Wolof and promptly informed my class that each morning in the market I study mangos. It was the highlight of my morning. Not much has happened today, so I’ll reflect on some of the oddities I’ve seen.

• Plastic bags make excellent non-degradable diapers
• Children are more “free-range” than the chickens
• Plastic teapots are better used for washing than tea
• Don’t worry about erecting fences, your goats know the way home
• If it ain’t broke, it will be soon
• A wheel on a stick trumps kick- the-can
• If it matches, don’t wear it
• Hand-me-downs are gender neutral
• Q: What’s for dinner? A: What do you think? Fish and rice, it’s what we have every night.
• I only ever see the one discarded sandal lying in the street. Does that imply the other was worn home solo?

Thursday 3 September

Class this morning was routine; said hi to more people than I can count or remember. Every time I turn around, there is someone new to remember and it’s impolite to forget someone’s name. I’m still amazed at how important greetings are in Senegal; people even to the extreme as to ask where your family members are. I usually have no idea. A typical greeting is a monotone mumbling of a set list of questions which last a good 30 seconds. So, typically, I have to start before I see the person, or at least until the second they come into ear shot.

After an hour or so of language class, we headed off to do our technical training activity. I look forward to these, because they allow us to have a change of pace. Today we got to talk to the mango ladies. Da Da Da Duuuum. The mango ladies are a force to be reckoned with. They all congregate in one area of the city, which happens to be very close to my house. On both sides of the streets they sit with their identical mangos all piled up in mango pyramids. Upon arrival, we were swiftly asked to be seated, and the flood gates opened. I was asked more about what I eat for dinner than about where I am from. I was asked, what I study, how’s my mother, will I marry their daughter, am I healthy, do I like Senegal? But in the end I did pick up a few new vocabulary words and I think I might be engaged.

Anyways, I learned how the mango ladies acquire their mangos. Once a week, they all travel to a farmer with their baskets and collect as many mangos as they want. They then pay by basket and return home to sell their mangos. They lady I interviewed said she buys ten baskets from the farmer and sells, on average, one a day. Some days are better than others and what is left is eaten by her family. At the end of it all, I bought 7 mangos for 500 CFA, or about $1. Needless to say, I eat lots of mangos.

What Do You Mean the Electricity Is Out?

For the past week, I’ve been with my host family, and it was a grueling experience. My family lives in Tivaouane (pronounced Ti wa wan), it’s about 30 minutes north of the training compound, and I’m one of the more fortunate trainees who lives near the training center and has electricity… well that is when Dakar decides to not push the red button marked Tivaouane. It always seems to go out around 4am and then comes back in the afternoon.

I was the first one dropped off and I was greeted at the door by my host mother and father. The organized introduction lasted a whole 3 minutes and then I was left with this family who didn’t speak English. Thank God I speak French. I am graced with the traditional African family, consisting of more people than I can count and more names than a Chinese phone book. In my house, there is my father, mother, my sisters of the ages 10, and 8 and le petit Mohamed who is all of a year and a half and poorly behaved. Also, there is a 20 year old boy and an 18 year old girl who was originally introduced to me as my brother and sister respectively, but it turns out they are my cousins and the boy has been living with my host mother and father (his aunt and uncle) since his father passed away years ago. The 20 year old girl is also my cousin and is visiting during summer vacation.

My father is a truck driver for a local company and walks many kilometers to his work which has varying hours. Sometimes he is around for dinner and lunch and I never see him in the morning. My brother, the 20 year old, is waiting to pass the BAC, so he can run off to college. He works a few hours 5 days a week at a garden nearby. My host sisters do much of nothing and just play around all day and get into arguments. Who would have imagined a wheel on a stick would be so amusing? But it beats the hell out of kick-the-can.

Home life and rules are segregated. My host mother makes me breakfast every morning, which is always bread and butter or chocolate and coffee so sweet it could make me a diabetic. Lunch is always prepared by the maid and dinner is prepared by my 20 year old host sister. Doing nothing, or very little is a sign of wealth, so adults are less inclined to do as much around the house as American adults.
The biggest obstacle is the house itself. It’s unfinished. Imagine living in an unfinished basement with drywall up. Houses are made of concrete blocks and cement is used to bind everything together. The floor in the hallway is unfinished concrete. The rooms are usually complete and have poorly laid linoleum on the floors. The toilet and the shower are in the same 4’X4’ room, with the Turkish toilet being raised up 6” and in one corner; the rest of the area being used as the shower. I leave my sandals on. Showers are bucket baths. I fill my bucket up and take it into the bathroom when I shower, which is twice daily and that is considered below average.
The food is pretty consistent. It’s either rice or coucous and has fish with it. Any other meat is rare and is a special treat. Last night my sister was thrilled that my host mother agreed to buy a chicken for dinner. I guess it was ok, since it was the first night of Ramadan. We eat dinner together around a large tray that hosts the meal. As customary, no one talks and everyone eats with the right hand, as the left is used for less dignified purposes. Luckily, the men in my family are granted spoons. Needless to say, I had to just suck it up and deal with the double-dipping. Very often, the mother takes it upon herself to divide pieces of meat and place them in front of various family members. It was nice not having to pick out my fish bones, but I don’t care for someone touching my food. My trick for getting through any meal is to not look up. I look at my spoon, the rice in front of me, or my knee; never anyone else.

Soon after arriving, I asked my host mother to take me to the market so I could buy some local fabric and have pants made. She agreed and she helped me to get a good price on some cloth. I took her to avoid the tubob price, or the “foreigner” price. I’ve been called “tubob” all week by little kids and it get annoying.
Language classes are going well. In one week, we are already formulating sentences in the present and past tense. It’s not easy, as Wolof is structured as Object + Subject + Verb and can be difficult to organize mentally. Luckily, the verb doesn’t conjugate.

On Wednesday, I’ll be returning to the host family for 12 days. I’ll write more about my first week tomorrow, but for the mean time, I hope this suffice.

More Orientation

This morning, we went over the language requirements. The language one learns is based on the assigned type of work and site and everyone must demonstrate a proficiency on the mid-intermediate level. Since I will be doing Small Enterprise Development (SED), my group will focus on learning French, mostly due to the reports and governmental rigmarole needed to be successful. If a trainee reaches the mid-intermediate level in his or her language before swearing in, then the trainee can begin learning another language pertinent to his or her site. Due to my level of French, I will jump right into learning a local language, which will most likely be Wolof.

In the afternoon, we had a cultural fair. We rotated between six stations that informed us about Senegalese life. They ranged from different fabrics and outfits, Islam, spices and food, food bowl manners, and well-water and toilet training. The last was the most interesting. Apparently, everyone has been told volunteers don't know how to get their own water nor wash their own clothes. Therefore, we had a well demonstration on the proper technique of lugging water out of a hole. Following that, we were demonstrated the best way to use a Turkish toilet. And let's just say, I know why the left hand is shunned. Thank God I'm SED! Most likely, I wont have this problem.

First Day

We landed in Dakar early this morning and after avoiding several harassment attempts, we boarded our buses for Theis, which, due to immense traffic, was three hours away. The road out of Dakar was laden with undeveloped buildings, horse carts, and many women carrying baskets on their heads.

When we arrived at the Peace Corps compound, we were greeted warmly by all the staff, whose names I cannot pronounce nor spell. Heck, I don't even know where the first name ends and the last name begins. Anyways, the compound is very nice and has several buildings, including dorms, a lounge, and various other rooms.

Lunch was served in large tin bowl to groups of five. We were all given a spoon and told to dig in. We had a rice and beef mixture and it was delicious and spicy, despite the constant and unavoidable double dipping. I suppose that isn't a big deal, considering the small pharmacy I am now carrying in my luggage.

The afternoon consisted of a meeting with our respective coordinators to determine which type of sites, rural or urban, we would prefer and which language we should begin learning. My coordinator determined I would begin right into a local language because I have a strong backing in French. After that meeting, I had my French exam which consisted of an instructor, a tape recorder and me. It went on for nearly 45 minutes. It should have been 15. She grilled me on my study abroad, my family, my hometown, and the importance of education and women in developing countries. The last one was a whopper!

The evening will be simple. Dinner at 7:30 and then bed. I'm still suffering from jet lag and not sleeping on the plane.

Here We Go!

Today I had my first taste of what life might be like in Senegal. I arrived at Washington International Airport (Reagan) and found my friend without any hassle. Planning to share a cab was a great way to avoid lugging heavy suitcases around, but it got interesting when I found her surrounded by a few others with more than just a little baggage. It wasn't a problem, as the airport offers a shuttle service.

The problem was the shuttle service!

The individual running the booth seemed a little too laissez-faire about the obviously exorbitant amount of luggage we had and despite his many attempt to
convince me there was ample room in the back of the passenger van, I was not sold. I doubted even the available space for the seven of us; yet I was out-voted.

The driver of the shuttle was French-African and even used some French with his counterpart. I think I was the only one of us who was able to understand his conversations with his co worker. So onward he proceeded to cram our luggage into the back of the van like a bad game of tetris as we stared on in amazement of how all but two bags fit!

All went according to plan until we came to a red light and then, upon the light turning green, and the driver pushing the peddle, the van failed to move forward. In fact, it rolled backwards; much to the horror of the Cadillac behind us. It took a minute but the group finally came to a consensus: The tranny dropped.

Despite time being short, the driver said we could wait for another van to come, but after being told quite profusely that the hotel was only a block away, we decided to hoof it.

Bad idea.

I figured we could just take cabs the rest of the way but no, it was not so. Someone made the point that life in Senegal may be full of very similar situations and after a moment pondering this point, no one wanted to be "that person" who suggests alternative transportation.

The van was in the left turn lane and traffic was thick. We had one person directing traffic, another standing guard on the curve, and 5 people unloading the van like a free-for-all ant party on a carcus. And the hotel wasn't a block away. It wasn't 2, it wasn't 3, not even 4. It was a grand total of 6 blocks up hill in the summer heat.

I was hot an tired and needed my lunch. What a start!

I Need A Shrink-Ray!

One week remains until I depart for Senegal.

I spoke today with the Peace Corps Director of Senegal and was informed that it would be rare for someone in Small Enterprise Development to be anywhere other than a large town. So I'm now holding out for electricity. I was even told that some volunteers have been fortunate enough to live with families who have air conditioning. I feel bad for the agro-development volunteers. They will be in very rural areas. I don't think there's such a thing as anti-lion spray.

At this point, it's safe to say I'm trying to fit half of the Tools & Hardware department at Home Depot into my suitcase. Needless to say, I'm being over zealous. I'm taking a small wrench, screwdriver, duct tape, and glue. On one hand I hope these things will be useful since I'm taking them. On the other, I hope I never come across any reason for needing them. I've been told to only take what I can carry, which, so far, is one large and one small suit case, my carry on backpackers backpack, and my laptop case. I think I need to consolodate. My solution: Space Bags! and an acceptance of that which is going, ain't comin' back!

Do I need bug spray?

Staging

I received my Staging instructions today. I will be in D.C from Tuesday morning, August 11 to Wednesday, August 12 and then my flight leaves for Senegal Wednesday night.

When I called the travel agency to book my flight, there were no agents available and I was asked to leave my contact information. When an agent returned my call, my flight had already been booked for Tuesday morning at 9:40am. I'm so glad that none of my family or friends work Tuesday mornings.

I must thank the American tax payer for all of the support. The cost the US Government paid for the airline ticket from Charlotte to D.C is $728. Expedia's price: $69.

Tuesday's Itinerary

Background to Peace Corps history, mission & goals
Anxieties and aspirations for service
Managing Risk (personal responsibility for safety)
Policies
Reflection on commitment to service
Logistics and departure/arrival information

Wednesday will be 4 hours of shots and vaccinations!

I'm Going Where?

So the Peace Corps finally made a decision concerning my application!

I will be sent to Senegal for Small Enterprise Development with the title of Small Business Counseler. I think that sounds official enough.

The work I will be doing varies and the specifics aren't given due to the various needs of the communities. Overall, I will be focusing on conveying basic business practises and routines to my hosts. I was unsure of my qualifications, but the Peace Corps has said adamantly my efforts will be on the "grassroots" level such as demonstrating how to inventory or plan in advance.

Additionally, since I will be stationed in Africa I will be devoting efforts to HIV/AIDS education and awareness.

I will be stationed in Thies, Senegal for the first 3 months where I will undergo extensive language and cultural training and gain a better understanding of what is expected of me and the goals I can hope to achieve. Sometime during these 3 months, I will be given my permanent location where I will spend the next 24 months.

My living arrangements are still uncertain, but may involve my own home with electricity and a cement floor. In most cases, Peace Corps volunteers live with families or in family compounds, therefore, having my own small residence is an option.

At this point, I'm awaiting for a package to arrive in the mail which will inform me of where my predeparture training will occur during which I will meet other Peace Corps volunteers heading to the same region and have numerous shots and fill out numerous travel documents.This will last for 2 days after which I will leave the USA and head for Senegal.

My Decision

My decision to apply for the Peace Corps wasn't done on a whim. Despite the bliss that so often comes with making an exciting and new decision, I needed to figure out exactly what I would be getting into. I'll let you know when I figure it out.

My thought process started over the summer of my first senior year in college. Yes, like so many I had two. Somewhere along the line it never occurred to me that 6 months studying abroad in France would put me behind one full year with my business classes. Lesson learned and being paid for. Thanks CFI.

My immediate reasons for looking into the Peace Corps are eclectic and start with an average GPA, a desire to travel and avoid the monotony of a 9-5er, and do something exciting that I could slap on the resume. I know I should add something among the lines of"giving back" and "making a difference" that make your eyes gloss over, but I'm still waiting on that bug to bite. I figure that will happen when I check into my hut. Oh... and don't forget the advantages for a returned volunteer! Graduate schools, pensions, and more.

I kept the Peace Corps shelved for a month or two while I researched and spoke with professors about my options after graduation and everything, in my opinion, paled in comparison of the excitement and variety the Peace Corps could provide. So I decided to go for it. Now, remember, I'm still trying to figure out what "it" is. I'll know when I get there.

Taking a class on African Economic Development in college first introduced me, academically, to the many issues that plague Africa. I became intrigued with the continent and its struggles and realized Africa would be better served by first understanding the fundamentals of the continent and then throwing money at it.

So, with my knowledge of French, business, and a genuine interest in Africa, I decided to apply for one of the business programs aimed at French Africa. After passing the first interview, I was nominated, and thus began the arduous task of shots and paperwork that would take me until June 2009 when the Peace Corps finally made a decision.

A volunteer serves for 27 months. Three months of intense language and cultural training within the country of service and then 24 months of service.

I know this experience will help me grow and see how far I can push myself, in particular, my comfort levels. So at this point if you don't see the leap of faith needed to complete a tour, keep reading, and note, I'm not even on the precipice yet.