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.