Maggie P Goes to Africa

Back to the Future

2010-07-08T08:08:00.000-07:00

By popular (albeit surprising) demand, I am submitting one final entry to my Africa blog.

I returned to America on April 1 and have subsequently eaten my way back around the world from the comfort of home:) I have overindulged in the amazing family, friends and food in my life over the last three months (though not necessarily in that order)!

My social life feels a bit like the movie Groundhog Day without the budding romance at the end:). I have had a similar version of the same conversation several times over, and never get tired of telling people about my life in Senegal.

I know, it's surprising, but life there has gone on without me! Thiewal Lao has received a new volunteer, Kelly, who I got to meet briefly before I came home. She seems to be doing an amazing job and I wish her the absolute best of luck! You can follow her blog at www.SeneKel.blogspot.com to see how the health poste and other projects progress.

I finished my Peace Corps service in an incredible place. I had achieved a defined goal. I was proud of what I learned and the manner in which I learned it. I met some incredible people with whom I will remain friends long after our experience. I was coming home to THREE nieces. And I was excited for my next big adventure for so many reasons, not excluding access to running water this time around!

That's right, I am writing this blog post from my new apartment in Pittsburgh, PA. Less than a week ago Mama P and I loaded up a rental minivan and drove 17 hours from Lincoln, NE to the home of the industrial revolution so I can start grad school at Carnegie Mellon University in the Fall! I must add that she was a very good sport about the whole thing!! I will be starting a Masters of Public Policy and Management program with a concentration in International Affairs in August. I will spend the second year of the program in Washington DC working in an apprenticeship - cross your fingers that they want me on Capitol Hill!! I wouldn't be here without Peace Corps and I will keep you all posted if I am resentful of that in a few months:)

Since I've been home I became a Godparent, took a road trip with my Mom, watched one of my best friends graduate Medical School, celebrated birthdays, weddings and baptisms and have fully committed myself to reversing my hair loss! Bring on the broccoli!

I get emotional every time I think about the support I received while I was overseas. I remain astonished and touched at the number of family, friends and even strangers who read my blog and can even quote from it!

But now I'm back and safe and mostly healthy. I'm glad I did it and glad it's done!
I wish you all the very best for the future!
THANKS again!
Maggie

Closure... Sort of

2010-03-06T01:58:00.000-08:00

The health poste in Thiewal Lao is not yet open. Additionally, the health poste in Thiewal Lao will not be open during my Peace Corps service. I have accepted this. It doesn't make me especially happy, but I have come to terms with losing out on this particular Kodak moment.

A Ministry of Health-appointed nurse will be assigned to Thiewal Lao this year. I know this. 15 community health volunteers are trained and ready to do health education outreach. The poste has a trained midwife, pharmacy tech and a functional Health Committee; all of whom are desperately protective and proud of the new facility. For these reasons I can leave Senegal with confidence that two years of work will not be wasted.

But despite some very dedicated self-convincing, there was still a sliver of my heart that was missing sufficient closure on a project that has ruled my life for the past two years. A project that in all reality, no matter how much I tried to phrase it otherwise, was not finished.

Last week I got my closure.

As you might imagine, we don't get a lot of traffic out in my part of the middle of nowhere. So when a fully equipped mobile medical van rolls into town, it tends to make quite a stir. Even the toubab (that's me) was running to stare at the spectacle.

Last week Dr. Gregoire Sar and his team of three doctors and three nurses came to Thiewal Lao to perform free HIV tests, do basic medical exams and give vouchers for a follow up at the health poste in Dabo in three months (if the Thiewal Lao health poste isn't open yet, that is). This alone would have been incredible. But it gets better. Instead of seeing patients one-by-one in the mobile medical van parked in front of the health poste, they spread out, set up their supplies and used EVERY ROOM in the health poste! We don't yet have shelves and chairs and exam tables so people hurriedly brought wood benches, the doctors laid out the diagnostic testing supplies on butcher paper taped to the ground and after three hours they had to turn people away with promise of return. 91 people were examined. Every one of them was thankful... for the facility.

That's the thing. I wasn't so much touched by the excitement to be treated, but for the access to the treatment. It's a small difference, but it is my whole world at the moment. You see, in three hours I was reassured I have done my job. I brought people to the facility. My purpose was to provide sustainable access to medical services and ensure that people use them. And they are. They will. My replacement will have an incredible and overwhelming amount of work to do to educate and positively change the behavior of the surrounding population in many health related areas of daily life. My job was to set up the infrastructure to do just that and it is entirely possible that I did.

Now I'm not saying in any way, shape or form that it wouldn't have been an absolute once-in-a-lifetime moment to have had the health poste open a year ago and hand over the reigns to my replacement to a fully functional rural medical facility with established classes and outreach programs and financial profit... but that sounds a little greedy at this point. When I leave village in seven days the last thing I will pass, perhaps all too symbolically, is the health poste. The point is that it will be there for a heck of a lot longer. It will open. And even though I didn't get to see patients waiting to see the Thiewal Lao doctor, I saw them flock to see a doctor. And for now that may be enough.

Don't Blink

2010-01-27T08:40:00.000-08:00

For months I have been receiving reports. Like the Loch Ness Monster, there had been unprece-dented sightings between Kolda and Velingara, a distance too vast to legitimize the claims. He had stealthily eluded my earnest pursuance... until now!

You see, there is a man with a green push-cart who, like the Ice Cream Man in America, lets you know he's coming by squeezing his clown horn. He travels with his cart throughout the region to weekly markets along the Route Nationale highway selling ice cream cones! That's right. The front of his cart has stacks and stacks of tiny cones like the ones Diary Queen keeps on hand for small children, spoiled pets and hungry employees. And on the top of this cart is one tiny hinged door which houses and equally small container of pink, yellow and green swirled ice cream. It is magical - and until last Saturday, I thought it was also just make-believe.

But it is real. It is also cold. It is nothing more than glorified ice milk, but, Oh, it is glorious. I have no idea how he keeps it cold, transports his cart or where he got his start. But I'm buyin' what he's sellin' and hopin' he is willing to consider franchising!

I had spotted him in Dabo, my road town, on Saturday morning as the weekly market was setting up, but I no more than blinked and I lost him in the shuffle. I was sure he was gone forever, but just as I was heading out to go back to village, he rounded a corner and set up shop under the last tree on the edge of town - DESTINY! I paid him my 50 CFA, strongly considered taking a picture of my petite cone and enjoyed every moment of coldness.

Man in the Mirror

2009-12-17T01:24:00.000-08:00

Several months ago elections were held throughout Senegal. Following the campaigns, newly-elected officials held annual budget planning meetings (called PLD, Planification Locale de Development). These meetings are long, drawn-out, rarely productive and have no real impact on the actions or spending of the government.

During this same election cycle, the Communitaire Rurale is chosen within each commune. The Communitaire Rurale is sort of like a capital city only on a much smaller scale. The villages are chosen by the President of Senegal without ever visiting the area, and is usually based on where he has family throughout the country, not strategic, facts-based decisions.

The former and current Communitaire Rurale of the commune of Dabo (my road town) is Dialembere. Dialembere is located on the very edge of the boundary of the commune, has no health poste and is where the President's cousin coincidentally lives. Geographically it makes no sense for Dialembere to be the Communitaire Rurale. So this year my village, geographically located in the middle of the commune, with a health poste in the process of completion and the full support of nearly every village in the commune, actively campaigned and petitioned to be elected the Communitaire Rurale. Not surprisingly, Dialembere retained its title and my village was and is STILL not happy.

So when the newly-elected President of the Communitaire Rurale came to my village to facilitate the mandatory PLD one month after elections, he was met with hostility, no cooperation and finally left without so much as formally beginning the meeting.

The people in this country have so few options to stand up for themselves. Particularly a village deep in the bush whose population is largely illiterate and poor. Not only did they stand up for themselves, but continue to do so today, months after elections were finished. I was incredibly proud of their determination and character. We all knew nothing would change, but they were making a statement.

And now it is being used against them.

A refusal to do the annual PLD meeting means that that village forfeits its status as a recognized village essentially. It can't receive any government money. This is usually not a big deal because government funds rarely make it out to the people for whom it is intended. But we are building a health poste. It is a medical facility that, once completed, will and must be supported by the Ministry of Health to pay salaries. So now, the big cheese Medical Man in Kolda is threatening my village that he will not support the health poste until my village gives in, says they are sorry for protesting the assignment of Dialembere as Communitaire Rurale and agree to do the PLD.

Here are just a few of my concerns:
1. The PLD doesn't really even matter. Even if they do comply, the meeting will be a disaster and my village will be slighted in their rightful alllocation of funds (that won't ever be seen anyway).
2. If they threaten my village with withholding the funds for the doctor's salary before he has even arrived, what's to say they won't threaten them with the exact same thing whenever they want something from my villagers or any of the villages in the commune for that matter?!
3. The President of the Communitaire Rurale is a bad man. He is greedy and untrustworthy and vengeful. My village is very leery of him and for good reason. If my village was to agree to their terms and let him facilitate the PLD, he would make them beg. And I am sure that one of two things would happen: 1. My head would explode or 2. I would hit him. Hard.

As you can see, I am in a very difficult position. I was basically given an ultimatum to pass on to my village: give in or give up the health poste. And I struggled for almost a week before I got the courage and conviction to even tell them the problem, let alone make a suggestion. I was having serious moral and ethical concerns. The reality is that they should probably just give in, play by the book and be quiet because no matter how long they hold out, it is only hurting them. The likelihood that anything tangibly positive will come from this is beyond unlikely. But how could I possibly advise them to give up? Who am I to say that their protest is not worth it? And since when do I ever do anything the easy way?!

When I finally called a meeting to discuss the concerns, I was literally shaking. I kept my sunglasses on the whole time even though we were in the shade so they wouldn't notice me constantly glancing at my trembling hands. I talked them through the entire situation and at the end, when they asked me my opinion, I apologized before telling them to give up. I secretly hated myself.

And then they changed my entire world.

They asked if I might be able to set a meeting with the head of the Ministry of Health in Kolda. THEY wanted to speak with him! Are you serious?!?!? This is a culture known around the world as non-confrontational and suddenly an illiterate, powerless, informal group of farmers felt it was appropriate to knock some sense into one of Senegal's elite medical professionals... I LOVED IT! Absolutely!

I don't know why I ever doubted them. They have been the most honest, respectable people throughout this whole process. Now, I recognize that I am going to have to lie to get this meeting set up - this is a man who could not possibly lower himself to speak with villagers. And I recognize that IF I can set up the meeting, he will be irate when the six of us show up. And I also recognize that if he doesn't throw us out in the first five minutes, we may piss him off royally and ruin any future opportunity for compromise.

But they want to use their voice. They want to explain their position. They want ownership of this project and control of their own destinies. And I certainly can't advise them against that. It is possible that this health poste will not open during my service, if at all. This is a reality I am loosely accepting. But if and when it does, it will have been done the RIGHT way. It will have been a group effort marked by honesty and determination. I no longer feel guilty for telling them to give in - I think it was my obligation. And it is my pleasure to help them do the exact opposite.

Third Time's the Charm

2009-12-01T04:14:00.000-08:00

There is a well-documented and equally well accepted phenomenon known as "Africa Time". What it means is that people are free to be late, hours late, with hardly any acknowledgment, let alone consequence. As you might imagine, this drives me batty! You see, I inherited a genetic disorder from my mother in which I am always at least 10 minutes early - can't help it, and I get flustered when I am not. Being exposed to Africa Time has perhaps in some small way relaxed my obsession, and it has certainly forced me to find ways to deal with it.

Since the very first meeting I held in my village I have had a rule that I will wait one hour for people to show up. If they don't arrive within that window, I will not be mad (most of the time), but I will also not wait any longer. I am happy to reschedule the meeting, training or whatever it is another day, but the opportunity for that day is gone.

For 20 months in village, I was not let down once.

But that all blew up in my face two weeks ago when I tried to hold a training for the health extension workers that will work at the health post when it is finished. Not once, but twice I waited one hour and not once, but twice only half of them showed. They were mystified when I eventually got angry - not at their tardiness, but their lack of commitment.

(Please allow me to stand on my soapbox for a moment). The likelihood of this facility failing is astronomical. More than half of all health postes in this country are non-functional. The other half only stay open because NGOs pump money into them. Even if we manage to get it open, fully stocked and supported by the government, corruption, greed, poor economy and disinterest are all factors that WILL close it down in no time. If these people are not 1304957890% committed to fighting for this thing everyday, it will not last. And I only have four months left in this country. I have a very short amount of time to prepare these people and I absolutely don't have time to reschedule the same training three times.
There, I'm done. Stepping off my box now.

So I told them if they organized a training on their own and told me about it I would come, wait one hour and if it happened a third time I would no longer work with them (which was a TOTAL bluff). But it worked.

Two days later, everyone was present within 15 minutes of the set start time. We had an amazing training. They participated. They understood. My pulaar was awesome. They understood my pulaar. And we had a very honest talk about their responsibilities. Which they totally accepted. The only way I could have been more thrilled is if it'd happened the first time.

So we have come to an understanding. I made my point. I only cursed Africa Time four or five (hundred) times and said the Serenity Prayer about 49587 times more than that. I'm still working on the serenity part. Whether this thing opens, and whether it remains open is out of my hands at this point. But it is reassuring to know that they understand its success is within theirs.

Let's Get Some Perspective

2009-11-18T02:09:00.000-08:00

The heat we experience in this country is unreal. For most of the year I can't brush my teeth without working up a full sweat. But Senegal is entering the "cold season." I have been sleeping in sweatpants and a hoodie. In just a few weeks we will be able to see our breath in the morning and I will have to take my bucket bath before dark or it will just be too cold.

My closest neighbor told me that the other day she woke up in the morning and was so cold that she rushed to put on socks and shoes. She then glanced at the thermometer on her wall which proclaimed the current temperature was... 77 DEGREES! She laughed out loud.

That's right, we are practically rendered immobile by a 77 degree morning. In our defense, that is a solid 30-40 degrees cooler that what we are used to. If it dropped from 80 to 40 degrees in Lincoln, I imagine there'd be some complaining... Last year I went home for Christmas in a blizzard. How I survived the temperature shock is still baffling. It all goes to show that the human body is incredible, Africa is hot and everything is relative.

Add It to the List

2009-11-07T01:55:00.000-08:00

I make lists. I make a lot of lists. I have been known to rewrite lists to make them look better and I will even admit to writing a task down on a list for nothing more than the satisfaction of then, immediately, crossing it off. Lists keep me sane. And post-its make it all possible.

I have carried over my compulsion for list making into the Peace Corps... some may even say it has escalated. Several shapes, sizes and colors of post-its made the trip with me to Senegal and they have served me well thus far (despite decreased stickiness due to unhealthy amounts of humidity and heat). I continue to color code and compartmentalize my life here.

Most of my friends and family back home have come to accept and embrace my affinity for and addiction to my planner, post-it combo. It took my new friends here some getting used to, but I think they too have come to accept it for fear of what I would be like without it:)

But the secret is out... now even my villagers have noticed!!

There is a man in my village named Ibrahima Balde. He works at the village level disbursing scholarships to kids at the elementary school through World Vision. He is educated, can read and write in French and he is even able to write in fairly impressive English. He is one of my main go-to guys, always helpful and very astute.

The other day I happened to be walking into my hut to grab something when I heard my name being called. I turned around to find Ibrahima charging up as though he was a man on a mission. I got excited. It was then that he pulled from his pocket a partially used, single stack of yellow sticky notes. For me. He was almost giddy with pride. And I was utterly confused. Had I missed something in translation?

Nope. Somewhere, at some point, Ibrahima came across a stack of post-its and wouldn't you know it? He thought of me! I am sure he was in Kolda at the World Vision offices or in my road town at the health poste and asked if he could have the random, lonely stack sitting on someones desk. But he knew that I would love them - and I do. I remain slightly alarmed at the transparency and predictability of my habits (I suppose that's why they're habits). However, it was also incredibly refreshing to have been here long enough and to be good enough friends with someone for them to instantly think of me when presented with office supplies (the true way to my heart - oh, how I miss Office Depot!).

Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde

2009-10-26T04:22:00.000-07:00

In the Kindergarten Circus I was a tight rope walker. I had a tutu and slippers and I had perfect balance... if I do say so myself.

Now more than ever, I feel like I am again walking a tight rope between my rapidly approaching life in America and current life in Senegal. I have five months left of my service. It may sound like a long time, but it is going to fly by. Just about everyone in my stage is feeling the pressure to come up with a post-Peace Corps plan. Here's the hard part...

I have enough work to keep me more than busy until the day I leave this country. I have trainings to do, meetings to run and materials to prep, and i probably should have been done with all of them already. And at the same time I am trying to organize letters of recommendation, hammer out entrance essays and kiss my mom's feet for the amount of work I am dumping on her as my personal assistant. Finding a balance between the two worlds is becoming increasingly challenging.

Emotionally, I am all over the place. I think about America all the time, but I am geniunely excited about and proud of my work here. I worry about getting in to school while I am in the village and worry about the village while I am in Kolda working on applications for school. I miss my family back home, but I can't help but realize that I only have five more months with the people I call family here. What's a girl to do?!?! I tell myself to chill out and enjoy the time. As my best friend puts it "Savor!" Believe me, I'm trying!

In the meantime, I have a bit of a split personality - perhaps more so than usual. Things really are going well... I just have to remind myself of that more than I would like to admit. I'm actively channeling my inner circus performer and hoping my balance holds out just a little longer.

Mariama Lives On

2009-09-24T09:58:00.000-07:00

To date, I can identify myself as any number of things: daughter, sister, student, teacher, graduate, dancer, licensed driver. Some of these titles required tests, interviews, even the processing of official government documents. But if you know me well, you won't be surprised when I say my most prized title is that of 'Aunt'... and I didn't even have to apply!

My nieces, Eve and Marlee, are the coolest people I know. And being away from them for two years is one of the hardest parts of my Peace Corps service. Before coming to Senegal, I was actively campaigning for supreme title of 'Coolest Aunt Ever,' which is in serious jeopardy at the moment. And while there are plenty of babies here to play with, it's just not the same.

When I arrived in my village 17 months ago, my village father's younger brother's wife (you follow that?), Djonfollo, was pregnant. I watched her go through her entire pregnancy (her first ever pregnancy) and at 8.5 months she lost the baby. It was devastating for her and made me miss my girls even more. She got pregnant very soon thereafter and has been ready to burst for a few weeks.

And nine days ago she gave birth to the smallest baby girl I have ever seen!

I had left my village to visit my closest neighbor for the afternoon. No more than four hours later I was back in my village. I barely made it past the first fence when I was informed of the baby's arrival and shuffled into the women's hut to see her.

While the baby was cute, I was much more astonished and amazed at the condition and demeanor of the mother. Please keep in mind that less that three hours prior (it could have been 20 minutes before I got back for all I know), this young girl gave birth in a mud hut 18km from the closest medical facility where she lost her first child no more than 12 months earlier. And there she was, sitting up, smiling and wondering when I was finally going to get back. Should I ever be blessed with children of my own, I have NO intention of being that calm and collected post-labor! Oh, yeah, and I was BEYOND THANKFUL I happened to be gone during the birth so I was not asked to help or dispense medical information in any way, shape or form... I am NOT a doctor!

As soon as I had a moment to process what had just happened, the real news was announced. The baby was going to be named Mariama Sabaly (that's my village name)! And they were SO SO SO SO excited to tell me! You would think I had been gone for days. The whole village had already weighed in - apparently everyone agreed this was to be the baby's name. The village Imam (religious leader) had already been consulted about it even. Who says you need cell phones and internet for information to spread like wildfire?!?

In the Pulaar culture, a person named after someone else is called their 'Tokora.' So I have now had an African baby named after me (and I am so thankful the poor thing was given my Pulaar name and not my American name - that's just cruel). Only the real kicker is that babies here are not given their names for seven days after their birth. Usually their first name is given by their father and their second name is given by their grandmother. In this instance, she was only given one name, seven days early, by an entire village. And I can't ignore the fact that neither the father nor mother was truly given any real say in the baby's name. It was a done deal.

What I will say is that I have felt like a member of my community since I got there, nothing more, nothing less. I know people in Thiewal Lao genuinely care about me. But I am a guest. No matter how well I integrate or participate in their day-to-day activities, I am still a white, educated American female who is only experiencing what they call life. But as cheesy and mushy as it sounds, and if only for the very moment when I was given a Tokora, I felt like a member of the Sabaly family. Mariama Sabaly will remain in Thiewal Lao long after I return to America and part of me is touched and comforted by that.

So I am now an American African Aunt. Every morning I greet my family and make a b-line for baby Mariama (finally someone in my family who speaks worse Pulaar than I do). I start my day by holding a beautiful baby girl. And just like in America, when the baby poops I get to hand her off to her mother.

Waterfall Wonderment

2009-09-07T10:19:00.000-07:00

The south eastern region of Senegal is called Kedougou. It shares a border with the Guineas and is home to mountains and waterfalls unlike anywhere else in the country. Since I got to country, I had heard how phenomenal the falls were and I finally found the occasion to make the trip...

After five hours of biking in a downpour, I lost my grip and flew over the handle bars. I landed on my left knee.

I woke up the next morning to find I grew a rosy-red saddle bag from what we are assuming was a spider bite. It then spread and consumed my entire right thigh.

And we crossed the river first on a "bridge," and the second time we opted to go with the flow.

And you wonder what could possibly be worth all this hassle?

Spending two days playing in the waterfalls at Ingley, that's what!
Matt, Roxy, Kay, Annicka, Jordan and I worked hard to get there and played hard too! I can't say I'll ever make the trip back, but I am so happy I went... worth every bump, bruise and bite:)

2009-08-30T07:06:00.000-07:00

It is the rainy season. We get lots of rain. In fact, we get rain almost every day.

There are things that come along with lots of rain. Things like lots of mud and vegetation and bugs. My door swells so it won't close. The seasonal variations of "hot", "hotter" and "hottest" just become "hot and wet" or "hotter and wet" or "hottest and wet" (what I usually just describe as "miserable") in the rainy season.

But I have experienced one rainy season and survived so I was prepared to make it through one more. When the steady rains started a month ago I was ready for the mud and vegetation and bugs. I knew what to expect. What I didn't remember was the MOLD!

The mold is taking over my life!
Ok, that might be a little dramatic. But it is certainly alive and well.

When I got back to village after two weeks out of site, I found my favorite CamelBack backpack covered with green fuzz simply from hanging on the wall. Wet wipes and some serious time in the sun took care of the problem.

I then went to hang up some dirty clothes on a rope in my hut until I wash them. When I lifted the tarp to hang them up I found the same green fuzz meandering across some socks, a pair of pants, and a t-shirt that was not worth salvaging.

My latest concern is that my quick dry towel is already a foamy green color - dangerously close to the pale green shade of mold that's been popping up everywhere. I just have to believe that the makers of the Original PackTowel know what they are doing and I'm not drying off with a moldy towel every night.

I don't recall such aggressive mold last year, but I'm doing my best to keep it at bay. The sun helps dry everything out - when it is shining. And I have made an effort to do laundry more often (ok, correction: to have my laundry done for me). And that's about all I can do.
So don't feel too bad about the random vegetable that's been in the crisper too long. At least your walls aren't growing fur!

REALLY BIG BEETLE!

2009-08-20T01:24:00.000-07:00

(and it flies with precision accuracy right toward your face!)
oh, yeah and it was in our regional house...

What did you say?

2009-08-17T07:27:00.000-07:00

Fact: When teaching a foreign language, repeating the same word or phrase LOUDER does not actually help comprehension.

I have been frustrated on numerous occasions over the last 15 months with this very same technique as I attempt to learn better French and Pulaar. When I am at a loss for the correct translation, an alternate explanation - versus an alternate decibel - would be appreciated.

And yet, despite my recent adventures in learning a foreign language, I caught myself adopting the LOUDER is BETTER philosophy on several occasions this past week as I taught English to 80 middle school kids in Dakar. Talk about a hypocrite!

Every summer the US Embassy hosts summer English camps as an extension of their Access English program in the schools. Peace Corps Volunteers have the opportunity to work with these middle schoolers for one week in the summer to help maintain the progress they've made over the last 3-4 months of formal English classes. At the end of next school year, 10 of the participating students will have the opportunity to go to America to study at a public high school for one year. It is literally a life-changing opportunity and one that is not taken lightly.

One the other hand, camp was a ton of fun for students and Volunteers alike. Our job was to get them to speak in English as much as humanly possible for 5 days... FINALLY, something I am qualified to do linguistically!!
We kept it simple. Simon Says, Pictionary, Olympics and BINGO all had their place. We gave them "American" names and we were blown away by their knowledge of American history and all things Obama! (The Senegalese are very big fans of the current President, and that comment spans all age groups). We finished the week with a Talent Show and snacks like PB&J, rice krispy treats and we even found Cheetos at the one big grocery store in Dakar. It was a huge hit!

I am sure that more than half of what we said was lost on them - even if it was said loud enough to be heard:) But it was a great week, albeit tiring (I am not used to structured activity - something I need to readjust to quickly when I get back to America), and summer camp remains a staple of growing up... in any language.

I May Be Getting the Hang of This

2009-07-16T08:30:00.000-07:00

Well, let's be honest, I came to Africa over a year ago not really knowing what I was getting myself into.

After two months of training, I still had no idea what I was doing.

And then I was placed in my village, Thiewal Lao, deep in the bush of Southern Senegal. From the first day it has been made perfectly clear what I was brought there to do. The only problem was that I had NO idea how I was going to make it happen. So I started making it up as I went.

My task: complete a rural health poste.

I started talking to people. I practically stalked the members of the local government. And layer by layer I started getting the full story. On the west side of my village there stands the rough shell of a building. It has walls and a roof and a long history of lies, greed and all-too-typical scandal that I was given the task of rectifying.

So here’s the background to what has been my primary project:

In 2004, an international NGO was solicited by the local government to build a much-needed health facility. The NGO handed over millions of CFA to the local officials who handed the money over to a contractor to do the project.
For those of you who are counting, four HUGE mistakes were just made.
1. The NGO gave out money (a lot of money) with no system of accountability in place and a year later stopped doing work in Senegal.
2. The local government no doubt skimmed a portion of that money before handing it off to a contractor with no system of accountability in place either.
3. The contractor was chosen by the NGO, both of whom were based in the capital city of Dakar, more than 14 hours away from Kolda.
4. The contractor started the project having no doubt skimmed a portion of that money and then continued to steal project funds over the next four years as he started and stopped progress on Thiewal Lao’s health poste construction because there was no one to stop him.

Then I showed up.

And when I started talking to people I realized that none of them were talking to each other. The local government, Ministry of Health, other local NGOs and community members were all working independently of each other with little to no progress.

If you’ve read my blog you know that months of begging, insisting, pleading and even crying through formal and informal meetings with World Vision somehow established a working relationship that has resulted in the full funding of the completion of the health poste in my village.

You would think this is the good news, but I have known they were going to fund it for several months with no actual progress on the construction.

But that has all changed.

On July 8, 2009, a tractor arrived with every single nail, paint brush and piece of plywood needed to finish the project! This present came complete with a foreman and crew of four masons. They began work on July 9th at 8am and have been working every day but Saturday, since. Not only do they work quickly, but they are very good at what they do. The foreman supervises their work demanding quality. I meet with him every morning and evening to go over what was accomplished and what is coming up next. The crew calls me over every time I am within ear shot to show me their techniques and (probably more so) to see if I can do it too. If this whole saving the world thing doesn’t work out, I may have a future in masonry!

So it is happening. My villagers have stepped up too over the past few months, long before our crew showed up. They have formed a Health Committee that will oversee the proper function of the facility. Health outreach volunteers representing ten surrounding villages have been chosen and began training to connect people to the health poste.

And I have never been more popular in my life:)

We expect to have construction done by September 1 and there is no reason we shouldn’t be open and functioning by the end of the year. The Ministry of Health is on board. Not only does it mean that more than 10,000 Senegalese will have better access to medical care, but it gives the Volunteer who will replace me next year the resources to reach out to all these people and work on education and prevention now that the infrastructure will be in place.

So I am stressed. The project is going well, but it is not done yet. I will hold my breath until then. Because the economy is so bad, solar panels and a well have been cut from my budget so I am anxiously working to find funding. And we are in the heart of the rainy season which generally just makes things a little more difficult.

But I am thankful. I am thankful I was given such a defined purpose. I am thankful for the people of my village who are willing to work to better their own lives. I am thankful for the support I have received from other PCVs and friends and family back home. And I am thankful that this thing might actually get done during my service!

So that’s what is going on with me.

You can see pictures of the progress at www.peacecorpspav.shutterfly.com in the “Health Poste and School” Album.

I Use a Night Light

2009-06-27T05:07:00.000-07:00

When I was young I could NOT go to sleep with the closet door open and I could have become a professional long-jumper with the practice I got leaping in and out of bed so as to avoid the monsters living there. I was absolutely convinced I was not alone, yet perfectly safe - apparently I also thought monsters couldn't turn door knobs and had stubby arms.

I'd like to think I have mostly outgrown these rituals, but given the events of last month, I have no qualms announcing that I now use a night light and have resumed my long-jump tendencies (I should clarify that the "night light" is actually a hardware store-quality flood lamp requiring no less than NINE batteries to operate, generously sent by my brother's wife's mom. It is so bright that if you look hard enough, you may even be able to see it from America. I keep it on the brightest of three settings.)

Just as I did when I was a child, I know that I am never alone in my hut. I live with any combination of lizards, spiders and small flying things all the time. I have even managed to co-habitate with a mouse, occasional swarm of ants and a bat who makes a nightly visit. I think I have been an exceptionally good sport about every one of my "room mates," but the line has been crossed. I am NOT ok with my most recent visitor, and it had better be gone by the time I get back to my village. I gave it three weeks to get lost while I went to Barcelona on vacation and I am coming back with a chip on my shoulder and newly-purchased insect killer spray in my hand!

My typical routine in the village after dinner with the family is to go into my hut, lock the door, brush my teeth and read on my back stoop. Sounds nice, doesn't it? Well, it was until the most scary, aggressive bug I have ever seen dropped on my foot and continued to terrorize me for the next four nights! If I saw this thing in my house in America, I would move... to another state. And so would you.

This creature was a super-hybrid of all things moderately scary. It had eight-ish long legs like a spider. It had two large pinchers like a scorpion and ran in a hap-hazard, unpredictable manner like a cockroach. Here's the difference: all the aforementioned bugs want to be about as close to you as you want to be to them. They have no desire to share your space. This super-scary hybrid monster, however, CHASES YOU!!!!! I am not kidding!!!!!! It dropped on my foot, I fell off my stool, got up, ran outside to my backyard, and that S.O.B. FOLLOWED ME! I ran inside my hut, IT DID TOO! I ran back outside one more time before I did the most cowardly thing of my life... I ran, long-jumped and expertly landed in my mosquito net where I clothes-pinned myself in until the morning. I spent the entire night probing my flashlight around my hut and caught glimpses of the thing everywhere.

Needless to say, I was exhausted the next day. I desperately tried to explain to my family what it was. Naturally, they suggested all the distant relatives: scorpion, spider, snake, etc. I assured them I had NEVER seen such a thing and NEVER want to again.

That night, I started my post-dinner routine and the jerk jumped me before I even got to brush my teeth! Only this time, I went straight for back-up. I grabbed my sarong, ran out my front door and summoned my ENTIRE family. Six of us proceeded to methodically take every last thing out of my hut until only the bed and one truck was left (I should be honest that my family did these things - I stood behind them with a flip-flop in hand trying not to pass out from anxiety). When my dad moved the last trunk it made its move and five attempted swats later, Djonfollo killed it with her shoe... and then I hit it 6-18 more time to make sure it was really, really dead.

Here's the real kicker, its name is one of three words that I cannot say properly in Pulaar. In order to ever tell my family there is another one, I have to say the word incorrectly, which in turn they laugh at for my failed attempt. WHICH I HAD TO DO AGAIN THE NEXT NIGHT!
Again, it attacked. Again, I ran out panicked. Again, we cleared out my hut. And again, another one was killed. My nerves were shot. I was scared of the dark and I hadn't slept in two days.

For those of you who may have lost their faith in me for being so scared of a bug, rest assured that no more than five minutes after my family left the second night, I killed a scorpion by myself on my way to the douche. And you had better believe that I made every member of my family come back into my hut and look at what I had done. Best part; I think they were a little bit proud.

My greatest hope is that these things die in the rainy season which has since arrived. I feel fortunate that my childhood imagination prepared me for the scary reality of my adulthood and if the terrifying monster thingy hasn't yet left my hut, at least my night light will keep me company.

The First, The Last, The Only...

2009-06-01T11:04:00.000-07:00

Take a good look because you will never see this again. Two days ago I was braided for the first time in my village - a feat they've been working at since my arrival more than a year ago.

Me & Djonfollo - happy and grateful for her time & masterful braiding ability...

How I really felt.

Approximately one month ago I got a new neighbor about 6km away, Amanda, she's great! Two days ago she came out to Thiewal Lao to chill for the day and wouldn't you know it... she showed up with corn row braids. Since I arrived in country, Volunteers have claimed that braids have the benefit of being cooler (as in temp), reducing the need and frequency of washing one's hair and/or dealing with it in the heat and it makes villagers happy in our constant effort to integrate. All these things are well and good, but I have actively avoided both conversation and activity which would lead to my hair being braided, and I have been very successful thus far.

My aversion to braids is personal in that, personally, I think I look like an idiot. But beyond my own aesthetic issues with the hairstyle, I am still very sensitive about the amount and frequency with which I am losing hair. Since about the second week in country I have been battling premature hair loss. Some says its diet. Same say its Mefloquine - malaria prophylaxis. Some say its stress. I think its probably a healthy combination of all three unhealthy realities. But I use leave-in conditioner, no longer use ponytail twisties and have avoided braiding all in an effort to save what hair I have left.

But after Amanda showed up with braids having been in site only one month, the peer pressure reached a whole new level. I know enough of the language to be able to catch the sly side comments - even Senegalese use guilt! And after at least four hours of suggestion, praise for Amanda's hair and outright begging, I gave in. I said yes. And I instantly regretted it with every pull and tug. I could hear hair snapping in half like a marching band drum pounding in my ear. In about an hour Djonfollo was finished. My villagers thought I was the most beautiful person they had ever seen and 26 hours later after I arrived in Kolda for a meeting, I took them out... VERY carefully. I washed my hair, put on twice as much leave-in conditioner as usual and apologized out-loud to my hair.

Moral of the story: screen your visitors. and next time, I'm telling them I have lice!

Elbow Deep

2009-05-01T04:51:00.000-07:00

As a child I "finger painted" with popsicle sticks. I had no qualms about getting dirty, but preferred to be clean. And while I spent many a summer on my Uncle's farm, I can't say that cleaning up after animals was ever my forte.

But I have grown up. And two days ago I not only played in the dirt for four hours, but I also played in cow poop! That's progress, right?!

Meg and I recently lead 80 elementary age kids in preparing 900 tree sacks which will be outplanted in 2-3 months providing shade, nutrition and asthetic value to the school and health poste as they mature. The first step in this process... pounding, crumbling and for all intensive purposes, touching cow poop before you mix it with equal parts soil. This gives the trees a good home to germinate, and I was up to my elbows in it. I even have pics to prove it.

In four hours we filled all 900 sacks, seeded and watered them, and with any luck they will be ready to go in the ground just as the rains pick up. I've never done this before, but speaking as a resident from the Home of Arbor Day, I feel pretty good about our project, and chalk this one up to yet another character building exercise. Let me tell you - I am coming home with an awful lot of character (and really clean nails)!

The Witch Is Dead!

2009-04-22T13:18:00.000-07:00

Ding dong, the witch is dead. The wicked witch. The wicked old witch. Ding dong, the wicked witch is dead!

Senegal has recently experienced its annual election season for every public office in the land. And I am BEYOND elated to spread the news far and wide that the former Communitaire Rurale in my area (who shall remain nameless because even typing his name makes me feel nauseous) has been DEFEATED!!!!!!!

Now, one might question why I would care about such a position, and the truth is that in many ways I don't. Except that he is hands down, without question or reservation the single most awful person I have met in this country, and I would have to search the very depths of my heart and conscience to feel bad if he accidentally fell in front of a quickly-moving bus.

I know, that sounds rather harsh, but he was the bane of my existence for far too much of my service. His position gave him the leverage to make the health poste in my vcillage a reality quickly, but because I removed all avenues through which he could steal money, he has made every attempt to thwart my efforts. I live in a society that avoids confrontation at all costs, but even so I have been warned about his sneaky, slimy ways by villagers, teachers, my counterparts and even other local officials (who shall also remain nameless) since I first arrived. He was no doubt one of the people who stole money from the health poste initially, along with every other project he could get his hands on, and his lifestyle would legitimize that theory.

But his ego got too big even for himself! My road town just elected a new mayor and he relinquished his position as the long-standing Communitaire Rurale to run for the new Mayor position... AND HE LOST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
That means he has NO PUBLIC JOB, NO INFLUENCE and no way to make MY LIFE or the lives of my villagers any harder!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I fully acknowledge that I should not find so much enjoyment in another's misfortune, but he had it coming and I am so proud of voters for finally cutting the fat. Today is a good day.
And the snake can now slither into his hole and stay there. We've got work to do!

Keep It On Ice

2009-03-24T13:59:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I had a meeting with World Vision in Kolda. Today my Mom sent me an email asking how it went - because she is wonderful like that. This was my response... perhaps not what she was expecting:

I went to World Vision yesterday morning. I got there 15 minutes early for an 8:00am meeting (a genetic disorder I cannot drop to save my life and one which is entirely under appreciated in this country). I waited. I called my guy. The meeting had been moved to 10am.

I went to town and did some shopping in the market. Walked back.
I walked in to my guy's office and he offered me an ice cold Coke. To be cordial, I accepted. I don't like soda.

He then proceeded to dance an incredible jig around the purpose of the meeting - a meeting which he called - which was my health poste.
I refused (I promise I was polite about it) to talk about anything else until I knew what was up with my health poste. He did a few more spins and twirls before he stopped dancing and threw a big fat wrench in my life by telling me that the reason he was in Dakar for the last two weeks was because their head office in Germany has to cut budgets by almost 1/3 for the upcoming year and this means it is incredibly likely they can no longer fund my health poste.

I stopped drinking my Coke.
I also stopped breathing and sort of threw up in my mouth.

I suddenly knew exactly why he had wanted to get through his 5 point agenda before descending upon this topic, but there was no turning back. I didn't turn into fussy girl. I didn't turn into mad girl. I was just absolutely speechless. I felt utterly helpless.

For the last 12 months of my life I have been cultivating this relationship so that something like this wouldn't happen, couldn't happen. For the last 12 months I have put my faith in a faith-based organization to come through for my village - to not let them down AGAIN. And now, as my heart sank into my stomach, my mind kicked into overdrive trying to figure out how I was possibly going to raise the almost $18,000 I would need to fulfill the promise I made to my villagers - which was that I was not leaving this country until the health poste was open.
THOSE IS BIG WORDS!
And I was and still am prepared to back them up, but it had never even crossed my mind that I would have to do it alone. I have a freaking contract with World Vision for crying out loud. I played by the rules and did everything asked of me.
This can't be happening.

My guy had no idea what to do or say. He called in his boss who said the same things. They started pulling up and printing off emails showing me that it was not their fault that budgets were being cut in the health sector. And I just sat there. I had no idea what to do.

And so I cried.

Only this time (for those of you who recall my previous strategic implementation of crying) the tears were real. I felt sorry for myself. I felt heart-broken for my village. I suddenly missed my family. And once I even glanced at that slippery slope I was tumbling toward the fact that my thighs are too big and I shouldn't have colored my hair in 10th grade - you know, all things relevant. I truly felt like my world crashed. So they said in unison that there was one final conference call later that day and that I should come back tomorrow morning to see what comes of it.

Sure. I'll just got home, get some rest and come back tomorrow. No problem... except there was a big problem!

I was handling it fine, albeit a bit dazed, until the gas ran out on the stove last night as I was cooking eggs, and I lost it. Game over. Tears. Snot. More tears. It wasn't pretty.
I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do next if the money was gone and I am really bad at not having answers.

So I didn't sleep, got up early to try and remedy the dark circles and puffy bags I was rocking under my eyes from exhaustion and hysterics, and went to World Vision.

I walked into my guy's office and he... offered me an effing ice cold Coke!

My heart sank again. Not a Coke! The last time I got a Coke my world disintegrated.
Then he told me I was going to cry again - not a good prediction to come from a professional partner.
And then he told me they were able to borrow from another section of the budget. My health poste was going to be fine. And so was I.
Contractors, masons and World Vision will be in my village Saturday at 11am to make a final list of needed materials and start work next week. Period.
I think I slightly offended them by not crying this time around. I told them I was too emotionally exhausted. I think they were too.
And the next time I drink an ice cold Coke will be... NEVER!

And that is how my meeting went with World Vision yesterday:) Thank you for asking.

Ghost Town

2009-03-22T04:50:00.000-07:00

Today is Election Day in Senegal.
The last month has been filled with rallies, late-night drumming and loud speakers, candidate t-shirts, and more late-night drumming as local campaigns gear up for today.
Politics is on the collective mind, and, within the last week, is also all over our Peace Corps Safety & Security Director's desk. As of late, our cell phones have been bombarded with update after update of reported riots, violence and warnings related to the elections. We have just had a travel restriction placed on us by both the Peace Corps and Senegal Government. And this morning I ventured into town to get some veggies and found nearly every boutique, stand and store front closed and padlocked. Preparing for the storm? I hope not.
I know I am a world away from home. But after experiencing the campaign and election of President Obama, (albeit from across an ocean) I guess I just had it in my head that the Senegal election season would be less of a production. We are currently hulled up in the Kolda regional house with no intention of leaving the rest of today - though I am not convinced it wouldn't be fine. Being here this long, I sometimes forget that I do in fact live in a third world country with potential civil unrest. This evening could be interesting, but nothing like Grant Park! My hope is that it is also nothing like the LA riots.

Going Nowhere Fast

2009-03-06T02:52:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I made my big escape. I had been held hostage for three days in Dakar due to a transportation strike. That's right, all the drivers in Senegal decided to stick it to President Wade on the same day... and then for the next three days. Boo!

I arrived at the main garage in Dakar Monday at o'dark thirty with my game face on; ready to withstand twelve hours of dirt-in-your-face, middle of the back seat, sweating because the windows don't roll down, travel. I immediately took note of how crowded it was, but thought nothing of it. However, when I rolled into the corner of the garage that sells tickets to Kolda and was not IMMEDIATELY bombarded with potential sellers, I knew something was up. I couldn't buy a ticket to save my life. I couldn't make anyone take my money... unheard of!

I tried to stay optimistic. Two other volunteers showed up en route to the North and thought they were going to get out. We sought out other volunteers from across the country to gauge the movement of traffic toward Dakar. We also watched a platoon a red beret soldiers show up and fan out throughout the garage and surrounding streets - not exactly reassuring. And at 10:30am, the three of us left, in a taxi, not to our final destinations, but to the regional house where we slept and watched six hours of The Office. There was nothing else to do. The entire country was at a stand-still.

The next day we got reports of groups pulling cars off the road who weren't obeying the strike. Rocks were thrown. Not good. We decided to not even try to get out and enjoyed an evening at the beach - we were just making lemonade out of lemons, right?!?!

The last official day of the strike, several volunteers finally got IN to Dakar, but nothing was yet getting out. So I patiently waited and the morning of day 4 I returned to the garage holding my breath, crossing my fingers and saying a prayer that I would get out... and I did. It was an uneventful albeit long trip and I am back, happy to be here and not leaving any time soon!

Truly Inspired

2009-02-10T05:58:00.000-08:00

My best friend here in Senegal has wanted to bring computers to the students she works with at the middle school in her village, Kounkane, since she arrived. The 1,100 students in her school represent more than 35 villages from all over the area. Since Kounkane is located on the main highway through Senegal, they are fortunate to have electricity, and occasionally the internet connection even works.

Four days ago she was presented with an opportunity to secure computers from a shipment that is coming to Senegal if she is able to raise the funds. So she wrote a blog, made a post on Facebook, sent a few emails and maybe even said a few prayers that the money would come in time.

There is no doubt that times are tough. People don't have piles of cash laying around... they might not even have a change jar. But in 24 hours she was able to raise $1,125 from an eclectic group of long-lost buddies, family friends and total strangers. Some gave $10 and one gave $500, but the amount doesn't matter. She made a plea and it was graciously answered with well-wishes and encouragement. We are all still reeling from the generosity.

So now, I am doing my part. Please feel no obligation to give. If your kind thoughts and prayers are all you can send, she will still be grateful, but she is now only $400 away from a fully-funded project that seemed all but impossible just a few days ago. If you are able to give, please go to: http://partners.guidestar.org/controller/searchResults.gs?action_donateReport=1&partner=networkforgood&ein=04-3529016

Click the "Donate Now" button and follow the directions. All donations are tax-deductible.
REMEMBER: You must designate the donation to "PCV Emily Morris in Senegal."

Thanks for even considering and cheers to computers!

What a Day (or half of one)

2009-01-28T05:29:00.000-08:00

So it is currently 1pm in Kolda, Senegal.

I have been up for seven hours and ridden a roller coaster of emotions that has left me drained, yet thankfully positive, and the day is not even half over. This country is killing me softly.

I got up at o' dark thirty to be the first one at the bank because I had about 12 cents to my name. Since it is the end of the month, the bank is ridiculously busy with people getting money wired in from France and Spain. So I was first in line, and out the door no more than 10 minutes after they unlocked the doors.
Yeah!

Then I went to the Post Office where I had a very pleasant experience with the man there who gave me a package from my mom's best friend. And it was a seriously good package. THANKS!!
Yeah!

Then Meg and I found a new bean sandwich lady and they were amazing! And we all know how much I do like my bean sandwiches!
Yeah!

Then I went to the other side of the Post Office where I wanted to mail my Valentine's Day cards. The guy behind the counter wanted to RIP ME OFF hard core. And I wasn't having it. My friend Ibu even came over and because the other guy outranked him, he couldn't say anything. I was so mad. The Post Office should be the ONE place the color of my skin should not matter - its a government office for crying out loud. So I grabbed my letters like a child, wagged my finger at them, and huffed off. So dramatic. I was punishing no one but myself, and I knew it.
Boo!

So I walked across the street where I met a very nice Wolof man (and there aren't very many of them in Kolda) who sold me green and yellow paint at a fair price and made me smile again.
Yeah!

Take note, it is only 9am at this point!

I then walked to the World Vision office where Jess, Kirsten, Meg and I were supposed to have a meeting. I got there with time to spare just to find out that the meeting (that we all went out of our way to get to having only been told about it a day ago) is actually tomorrow. No skin off my back, but Jess and Kirsten had to get back, and they can't come tomorrow.
Boo!

I used the opportunity to probe about my health poste which nearly gave me a heart attack! I was told that the Chef de Medecin in Kolda just left town for EIGHT MONTHS!!! And nothing can happen in the medical world of Kolda without his permission.
My World Vision guy saw my heart fall into my stomach as he said it and quickly added that a temporary replacement is arriving today and that the Chef gave official approval of my health poste prior to his departure.
At this point I began breathing again!
I then asked WHEN construction will start. To which I was told "before June" (the date I have been assured it will be open by). So I asked again, WHEN? And I got the same answer.
Now, I know I am getting a BOATLOAD of money from these people, but I am SO sick of non-specific, non-commital answers.
So I got fussy.
And the Senegalese don't know how to handle fussy American girls.
So he told me to WAIT.
He fumbled for his phone, made a call and quickly amended his response.

I WILL HAVE MASONS IN THIEWAL LAO BY FEBRUARY 28, 2009!
And that's all I wanted to know.
Yeah!

So once I caught my breath, settled down, salvaged my working relationship and got over myself, I calmly thanked World Vision and quietly left.
That wasn't so hard, now was it?!?!!?

I've now been to the market where I had a lovely time with the ladies at the vegetable stands. I've gotten some work done and eaten a very healthy, vegetable-packed lunch and think I am now going to bed.
Thanks for listening to my rant. The drama is oh, so ridiculous. I am WAY too emotionally involved, and I think I am entirely ok with that.

I hope you all have a calm, uneventful day.

Due to Weather

2009-01-10T02:06:00.000-08:00

Over 33 hours, four states and two continents I cried approximately nine times in public. In airports, actually, very busy and densely crowded airports. Not the mild, twinge of sadness kind of cry, but the gasp for air, slightly choking kind of pity sob that attracts attention in such places as very busy airports.
I went home for the holidays, back to America - land of the free and home of the delayed departure. The phrase 'due to weather' ravaged my brilliantly constructed itinerary and threatened to ruin perhaps the greatest surprise of my life: surprising my Mom for Christmas with a homecoming from Africa. I narrowly escaped the Detroit airport five hours before it closed and spent the night with 50 of my newest friends in the Minneapolis airport after we were thrice denied The Good Life 'due to weather.'
I suppose distance makes the heart grow fonder, but international flights just make it act irrationally. I was begging, praying and bargaining with the Gods and/or NWA officials to get me home and 13 hours after my scheduled arrival I was in Omaha, along with the freaking cold weather, ice and snow. Not quite life as I've known it on the equator, but it looked pretty good to me.
So I made it, baggage and all. And my Mom was surprised, only because we lied shamelessly to keep the secret. But it was a perfect trip home, and maybe I even appreciated it more due to the weather.
Happy New Year to Everyone!

Obama Does Kolda

2008-11-10T11:44:00.000-08:00

Yesterday we received the newest group of Peace Corps volunteers in our region. I am officially no longer a Freshman. It's a great thing. I spent the morning shopping with two of our new crew helping them negotiate prices on trunks, cups, mats and tarps to fill their huts when they are installed in two days.

As we were searching for rope we caught sight of a stand of notebooks - they are everywhere as school is just starting. It's no Office Depot, but it gets the job done. It took a second glance to notice that I was staring at Barack Obama on the covers either addressing a crowd, a close-up smile or the classic off-in-the-distance stare. I didn't know what to say.

I had spent the previous week in the capital of Senegal, Dakar, where I was greeted with chants of Obama's name in passing, conversations about how and for whom I had voted, and even got to watch his amazing speech at Grant Park as it was happening (at 5am!). But Dakar is a large city with satellite TV, newspapers and national radio. Kolda is and has none of those things, but Obama's face and faith made it all the way here.

But my real moment of pride and zen occured just minutes later. I have a guy at the Kolda Post Office, Ibu, who likes to speak to me in English. It is terrible English, but he tries. He always has a new word to tell me which he has looked up in the dictionary. I had gone in to mail three letters and quickly finished my business without seeing him. As I was walking out the door, I caught sight of him waving me over to the window. Without any greeting (greetings are absolutely customary in Pulaar), he says to me nothing more than "Congratulations." Naturally, I asked for some clarification to which he repeated his well wishes followed by his approval of President Obama, and demands to know if I voted for him (keep in mind this is all in English... good English... he has been practicing and waiting for me to come in). Of course, I tell him that I voted for Obama, and feeling slightly silly, said "thank you" for his approval. At this point all three men behind the counter were nodding in unison to add their excitement too.

I kindly thanked them and left with the most incredible sense of patriotism and pride for my country. I passed on purchasing the Obama notebook, but I will never forget how excited Ibu was to tell me in my own language that he was proud of my country too!

I Just Can't Help Myself

2008-10-17T01:07:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was a big day. My boss, APCD Mamadou Diaw, made the trek out to my village to lead a meeting with my villagers to identify needs, wants and desires to formalize an action plan for the remainder of my service. Yeah! It went incredibly well, and, even more so, was an incredibly validating experience in that nothing discussed was new information to me so maybe I have done an okay job assessing my community. Maybe I do know the language well enough that major topics weren't lost in translation. And maybe, thankfully, I have earned the trust and respect of my village. So yeah, it was a good day.

However, in preparing for this meeting, I was saddled with the responsibility of planning, purchasing and transporting enough food to provide lunch for the participants. Not a new concept for me, but everything is different in Senegal. My moms and I planned for them to prepare rice with oil and boiled veggies of whatever variety I could find. So we planned on 30 people - the number I had given to my dad, the village chief, along with the task of extending invitations; a responsibility he interpreted as inviting everyone he saw from five villages. What can I say, he got a little excited. I made the bike ride to my road town of Dabo with one of my dad's brothers and purchased the appropriate amount of food. I also acquired an unwanted amount of attention and excitement that couldn't have moved faster through my sorority. I dropped more cash on this lunch than many of these people see in a year, and villages 30km away were talking about the grand fete I was throwing by the end of the day.

Now, the morning of the meeting arrived and slowly people just kept coming. I hit and surpassed my goal number of 30 participants, and I could see my moms' eyes getting bigger by the minute...

And this is where my Event Planning instinct kicked in. Clip board in hand, I sent my brother to the next town to get more rice, my other brother to another town to get more meat, and my little sister to the bitik (read: the guy's hut in the next compound) to buy enough tea and sugar to keep them occupied while the women scrambled to make more food. All I was missing was a head set or walkie-talkie. And once I hit my stride, there was no going back. My boss arrived, and I was offering water to the driver sub-consciously. I had the women cooking giving me updates on progress every 30 minutes. I was taking copious notes while trying to greet all the villagers. All this in a community whose language doesn't even have words for things like organization, efficiency or coordination.

In the end, we fed more than 80 people that day. I lost count at 84. My moms led a team of rice making machines and the villagers were beyond grateful. My boss was happy. I was content. And everyone was full. I make a conscious effort not to approach things the same way here as I do at home for the sake of everyone involved, but I would like to think that even this laid back population of Pulaars responded to my fury of productivity in crunch time. And if not, I surely maintained my role as the crazy toubab - who at least can throw a kickin' party.

Friendly Skies

2008-10-02T16:16:00.000-07:00

I have a bat. I have had a bat for some time now. He arrives each night around 6:30pm and kindly leaves in the morning. I wake up several times each night from the sound of its swoops in and out of my hut, but never see more than its shadow with my book light. I sweep up its leftovers each morning and with only one incident to mention, we have an understanding... don't EVER dive bomb me again and I will refrain from broom-in-hand attacks/terrified, uncoordinated fits of arm swinging and ducking.

I had designed a brilliantly complex and elaborate two-part framed screen which I was going to use in deterring it. I priced out the materials and everything. However, I began to think that perhaps there was an easier way to "encourage" my flying friend to get the hell out of Dodge. Inspired by my host mothers' hut, I purchased thin, midnight blue fabric (so as to disguise its presence at night - I wanted the marigold yellow, but thought that might be slightly less than discreet) and sewed a generous hem at each end. Through the top I strung rope and hung them from the roof beams of my hut over my doors and in the bottom I added metal weights to keep them from moving in the wind... and restraining ill-fated attempts from suicide bomber bats.

It took me three hours to sew four hems by hand, but it was worth every stitch. The first night in use my bat arrived on time but got caught up in the fabric. The jerk made it through the gauntlet, but was so confused, flustered and probably pissy that it immediately found its way out and has not been back since. So while I am currently here on a quest to break down the walls of society, maybe it's okay to hang some curtains.

And for those keeping score, that would make the tally:

Senegal: 3829 Me: 4

My Career is Over...

2008-09-15T03:19:00.001-07:00

That’s right, my blossoming career as a left knee model is finished before it even started. Goodbye, Gilette for Women. Au revoir, Skintimate Shave Gel. I spent the better part of August back at the Thies training center (hence the absence of blogs – I had a real lack of material) and have since returned to the Kolda region and my village of Thiewal Lao, but not before the tragic (though secretly incredibly anti-climactic) incident. In an attempt to transport an embarrassing amount of baggage on my bike to my village, I, perhaps, may have possibly loaded my hiking pack (which was on my back) and my bucket (which was on my bike rack) a teeny, tiny bit too heavy. And about 13k in to a 15k ride, which I attempted at 12:30pm under what felt like the hottest sun ever, while fasting for Ramadam, after not biking for a month, I made the fatal error. On the up-pedal at a particularly rocky section of the path, my bike pedal hit a small stump which caused my front tire to wobble, my hiking pack to shift left and my whole body to seemingly jump after it as I bit it big time landing left knee first, ego second, about five feet from my overturned bike and bucket. While my pride was hurt more than anything, I soon became aware of the layer of skin missing from my kneecap. This sort of injury, were it to occur back in Nebraska, would warrant little attention, but here, in the height of the rainy season, where mold is king and skin infections are its legion of warriors, the former site of skin became a swamp of yellow pus within 24 hours. I know, appetizing, right?

Armed with Hibiclens, Q-tips (thank goodness for care packages), Neosporin and enough band-aids to keep Johnson & Johnson in business until the end of my service, I waged an all-out war, and believe I have won. While I don’t think I am in danger of losing a limb any longer, I believe it’s time to throw out my dreams as Tina Turner’s left leg stunt double. Lesson learned… all forty seven of them!

Street Cred

2008-09-15T03:17:00.000-07:00

My village, Thiewal Lao, like nearly all villages in Senegal and much of West Africa, is currently observing Ramadan. What this means is that every day for 30 days every healthy man, woman who is not pregnant and young adult over the age of about 14 wakes up at 5am to eat a meal of rice with either leaf sauce or kosam (milky yogurt) before the sun rises, and goes back to bed for an hour or so. From that point on, they abstain from eating or drinking until 7pm when the sun goes down and they break bread (or at least cut it into even pieces), drink coffee and eat their “lunch” meal, the leftovers of which will serve as breakfast the next morning. This is followed by an hour or two of rest before they eat their “dinner” meal around 11pm. And the next day it starts all over again.

In an attempt to earn some serious integration points, I have chosen to participate (mostly), but I just can’t do it like the Senegalese. I have chosen to drink water throughout the day, for no other reason than I would die if I didn’t. I thought that was a good enough reason. I am discreet about it going into my hut to chug in private, but I am awed by the women in my village who spend six to eight hours a day working in the rice fields without drinking a drop. Additionally, I can only seem to eat the first meal, “lunch” after breaking bread and before I go to bed, neglecting the 11pm feeding. I just can’t do it. They start eating at 7pm and it’s like their stomachs have been growing all day. I get a few bites in me and feel like an inflated Violet from Charlie & The Chocolate Factory. My family is a combination of concerned and stunned that I can’t shovel it down like they do, but I’m rolling with it. I have managed to lose eight pounds in seven days which is fine since I made it my secondary project while in Thies to eat everything in sight! Nonetheless, my villagers are not only impressed with my participation in their religious practices, but incredibly proud and touched. It is a great feeling and equally good conversation piece, and I can’t wait until it’s over:)

Git R Done

2008-08-28T02:39:00.000-07:00

Seeing as how I have been in country for almost six months, I thought it might be time to get some work done! And at this particular moment I am feeling slightly overwhelmed at the amount of work I have seemingly heaped on my plate. But then again, what is new?!?!? This is what I have been up to:

It was very obvious from the beginning that the reason I was placed in my village was to jump start construction, and therefore completion, of a half-built health poste. Upon arrival in my village I spent three weeks talking to literally every person and asking them a range of questions from what kind of food they eat, to how many kids go to school, to the most obvious question... what are the greatest problems/needs in this area? With no exception, EVERY man and woman was able to articulate the the single greatest need was an accessible medical facility. It made sense.

My village of Thiewal Lao is located 15km north of the road town of Dabo. The "road" to Dabo is, as previously mentioned in my blogs, a crazy concoction of landscape that makes any kind of travel difficult, especially for those seeking medical attention. What's more, Thiewal Lao sits in the middle of the Department of Dabo, so more that 30 villages are travelling even further to reach Dabo's health poste which lies on the outskirts of the area. Any medical needs exceeding minor skin abrasions must be referred. Women are not able to get the prenatal care they need, serious injuries become life-threatening en route and traditional medicine methods are relied upon in the absence of modern medicine practices.

This need was so poignantly articulated becuase they have had time to think about it. The greatest tragedy of all in this is its history. Four years ago the local government received a large sum of money to build such a facility. And for two years construction crews started and stopped progress. After two years of no completion, the original contractor from Dakar ended up stealing the remaiing money, pulling his crews and leaving a half-built structure to remind the people of my village what they are missing.

But today is a new day. Each year each village chief ('jarga' in Pulaar) is given an opportunity to meet with the sous-prefet (like a mayor or governor) and submit letters of petition addressing needs, concerns and requests. Shortly after my arrival, my jarga had his meeting, submitted four letters of petition, and the sous-prefet actually READ them! AND the sous-prefet also picked up the phone, called the national police who went out and found the original contractor and gave him an ultimatum. He could return to Thiewal Lao and finish the original work at his own cost, or go directly to jail. He chose to send a crew. Now, this whole exchange may sound cool, but it is additionally absolutely unheard of in this culture where confrontation is avoided like the plague.

Now, the only snag in this is that the s ous-prefet didn't tell anyone what he had done, so when two guys showed up from Kolda to work on the health poste I was beyond confused. I had been in Kolda myself and returned home. About four hours later, my family casually dropped the news that these two guys had showed up with 1.5 tons of cement and were working. I still can't figure out why my family wasn't jumping and screaming this at me as I was riding back into the village, but nonetheless, I jumped up myself and sprinted over to my half-built health poste. And sure enough, I found two men, a mattress, and a literal TON of cement. I was so flustered by the time I got over there that I was mumbling in three languages and not actually saying anything. After a minute or two I politely excused myself and said that I would return shortly. I went back to my hut, got a notebook, composed my thoughts and slowly walked back to the health poste where I was much more successful in my line of interrogation. But I still did not know where they had come from at this point. In a desperate plea, my closest PCV neighbor agreed to join me in a meeting the next day with the sous-prefet just to make sure I didn't miss anything in translation.

In less than 20 minutes in his office I got the story, could finally be happy about the construction (especially because I don't have to find funding for that part of it now) and made it clear that we all MUST communicate with eachother... something that is not emphasized in daily business. And since then I have discovered that the NGO I have been working with, World Vision, has had money sitting in the bank waiting to be used for the health poste should the original construction be completed. Are you kidding me?!?!?!? Was ANYONE gonna tell me?!?!? What this means is that by the new year we could have a doctor, two matrones and two medical personnel operating a functional health facility that will benefit more than 10,000 people. It is incredibly overwhelming and even more exciting, and just getting started.

This facility will give me an opportunity to address myriad a health related issues, and, if done correctly, create an organized structure to my village that will influence changes in so many other areas as well. This is just the beginning, but its a good one!

On My Way to Work

2008-07-11T09:43:00.000-07:00

I have previously held a 9-5 job. Each morning on my way to work I munched on a baggie of dry cereal while listening to the radio for the 13 or so minutes it took me to drive from my house. This routine is not unlike that of millions of other gainfully employed individuals. And despite the obvious changes to my routine having arrived in Senegal, it was not until today that I made the specific comparison between this routine and my current commute.

This morning I had a meeting at the Health Post in Dabo, my closest road town which is about 15km from my village. I usually bike this distance in just under an hour, but having received considerable rains yesterday and again last night, my road was impassable via bike (I amend that statement: I was not able to bike on the road… the Senegalese are MUCH better at riding through any puddle or mud pit you throw in their way. I am still working on this skill). I expected this, and woke up early enough to be able to walk the three hours to Dabo by 9am for my meeting with my professional counterpart at the Health Post.

Comparison #1 – I just added 167 minutes to my commute time to work.

En route to my 9-5 job, I was seldom distracted by more than ambitious joggers, a few cute kids trying to cross the street or the occasional awkward moment when you stared just a second too long at the person in the car next to you. Again, not an incredibly original scenario. However, this morning, just after the sun had come up, no more than 15 minutes outside my village, I entered a heavily wooded section of my path to Dabo. In the absence of a radio, I had become engrossed in singing my own version of song lyrics when I was overtly distracted by a group a six monkeys who seemed to fly out of a tree, bolt across my path and stop just short of completely vanishing back into the woods so that I could glimpse their shenanigans briefly before they really did disappear up another tree.

Comparison #2 – Animals who typically require some combination of netting, fiberglass or even massive reservoirs of water to separate them from me at the zoo, just cut me off! Back home they would have caused a 10 car pile-up.

As a child, I was called the bag lady. Not only did I always have at least one bag with me, but it was always FULL of whatever I deemed important (or would fit) at that particular moment. My mom was kind enough to entertain the compulsion through my childhood, which has now matured into a quest for the perfect bag for every situation. On any given work day, you could easily find my work-out bag (a huge LL Bean boat tote), my backpack (though not incredibly professional, it had all the right pockets for my laptop and accessories which went with me to work everyday) and some version of a “purse,” though I don’t like that label, which could vary from a hiking day pack to my favorite black leather shoulder sac. This was at a minimum. However, when trekking three hours through the busch, one needs to downsize. And while I have cut out most of the baggage, I have added my bucket. My fist week in Kolda I purchased a 15L purple bucket with a lid that now accompanies me every time I leave my village whether strapped to my bike or in hand. It’s waterproof. It can hold a lot. I can do bicep curls while walking… you know, all the important stuff.

Comparison #3 – Some things never change… even in Senegal I still find the need to always be prepared, if not with the right bag, at least the right container.

Cornhuskers 4 Ever

2008-07-11T09:42:00.000-07:00

Now, just stay with me on this one…
There is no doubt that this experience is the hardest thing I have ever done. There are moments, if not hours, everyday that I spend trying to figure out what exactly I am still doing here. And then, at the very moment I need it, I seem to be given the smallest of signs (either that or I am so desperate for purpose that I will make something out of anything – which I am totally ok with) that calm my concern and lay to rest any doubt… at least for the time being.

As I have previously written, we are in the heart of the rainy season. As I write this paragraph, rain is pounding down outside, and I am praying that we don’t lose power as we usually do with mass amounts of rain. Literally, everyone who is not employed in education, medicine or transportation is spending some portion of their day working in their fields. Several weeks ago, as if overnight, everything turned the brightest shade of green I have ever seen, and just now I can start to see the first crops popping out of the ground while rows and rows of seeds are still going into the ground.

Behind my hut in my village there is a square area that I believed to be a holding pen for cattle initially, but has since been seeded. I hadn’t thought anything of it until I went for a walk yesterday morning by the rice fields, called “farro” in Pulaar. I took the scenic route back to my hut (then again, just about everything is scenic about my location:) and cut through the small area behind my hut. And not until I was half way through the row did I realize that I was walking through… CORN! Now we’re not talking about Nebraska sweet corn… hardly a distant cousin, really. Nonetheless, of all the things the Senegalese are planting; millet, peanuts, cotton, rice – all things that will bring far more money or sustenance later in the year, they chose to fill the small space behind the girl from Nebraska’s hut with corn!

If for only a moment while I stood there surrounded by corn stalks, I could rest easy in knowing that the Cornhuskers still have my back!

You Don't Know Beans

2008-07-03T06:38:00.000-07:00

You could say that my village is a bit “scenic” in its locale. Thiewal Lao is buried 15km in the busch. I am slowly learning to enjoy the eclectic terrain that separates me from the main road including dirt, clay, rock, sand and a peculiar form of salt flats. At a steady pace, I have narrowed my bike time to about 50 minutes from my hut to the road barring any natural disasters. And approximately three weeks ago, I experienced my first natural disaster (a disaster only in terms of my transportation needs).

“Ndunngu” – Pulaar for the “rainy season,” has arrived. For three months, and three months only, we will get consistent rain fall which will not only flood the fields making it the single most profitable time of the year, but also flood the roads. Specifically, the rainy season has flooded MY road. My road of dirt, clay, rock, sand and salt, following each rain, is simplified to flowing water and mud. And my 50 minute bike ride has now periodically become a three hour walk/wade to the road.

Concurrently, each Saturday my road town, Dabo, hosts a “lumo” – Pulaar for “weekly market.” Each Saturday men and women walk, bike and bus themselves to Dabo to sell everything from vegetables to tools, and clothes to goats along the road in small huts. It is not only my one chance each week to buy vegetables, but also, as I have discovered, is my chance to eat a bean sandwich. Bean sandwiches have very quickly become my treat to myself. Not only are they NOT rice or millet or any other empty starch, but bean sandwiches have coveted protein and taste amazing too.

Last Saturday Thiewal Lao received copious amounts of rain. My plans to venture out to the road were squandered, and my prospects of a bean sandwich all but eradicated. Dramatic, I know, but the little things DO matter. Nonetheless, I took this all in stride and ended up having a great day in my village. However, I woke up Sunday and my head was just not in the right place. Period. I missed my family. I missed my friends. I missed ice cream. I missed not sweating. It was a slippery slope my mind was on, and I was sliding fast. For reasons I cannot explain, I decided that the single, solitary thing that could fix my mental state was… a bean sandwich. With the road to Dabo still flooded, I decided to WALK to Dabo (that would be 15km to the road and 15km back), much to the dismay of my villagers who were convinced the crazy white lady was actually crazy now. I put on my GoreTex shoes (thank you REI) and started my trek. Three hours later I surfaced in Dabo, bought my bean sandwich and a litre of water, and immediately started walking three hours back to Thiewal Lao as I savored every last bite of my beans. Dramatic, I know.

In the meantime, with six hours on my hands, I sang an incredibly random assortment of songs, soundtracks, theme songs and product jingles (Almond Joy is a tricky song to get out of your head once it is there). I had a few chats with the man upstairs, if you know what I mean. I walked in silence for part of it; actually a lot of it. And I got my head in the right place. By the time I returned to my village, not only was I ready to be there again, but my villagers were so excited that I didn’t die en route that you would have sworn I had been gone for weeks with the welcome reception I received.

So, 6 hours + 1 bean sandwich = happiness… at least in Senegal. I don’t think I will find that kind of math on the GRE, but it is one of many equations I am slowly learning to solve.

Senegal: The Best Diet You'll Never Go On

2008-06-14T07:24:00.000-07:00

I have always felt inferior to those who, when working out, get those obnoxious, gynormous sweat rings, or have the ability sweat through a shirt in its entirety. Back in the States, I felt like no matter how hard I exercised whether it be running, aerobics, lifting weights, it didn’t matter, I could never walk out of the gym - not even Husker Power - with what I felt was enough evidence of my effort (I am going on the record as fully admitting my sick need to compete in every facet of life – I can’t help it).

Nonetheless, since my arrival in Senegal, I have found it impossible to not sweat… all the time. I have successfully worked up a full-on, drops-running-down-the-side-of-my-face sweat in doing nothing more than brushing my teeth. They say that the body’s internal temperature rises slightly after eating while the body is digesting, and in Senegal, you can actually feel the increase.

Approximately two weeks ago I started jogging very short distances early in the mornings before the sun is even thinking about being really hot. And approximately two weeks ago I discovered that I, too, have the ability to sweat through a shirt in its entirety. I have been in Senegal for more than three months now, and, to date, have knocked off 25 pounds. Now, don’t go getting alarmed. I am neither starving, malnourished, hating the food or in any way unhealthy. It has been a gradual, surprising and altogether unintentional process mostly the result of snack food being more than an hour bike ride away through the busch, and the ability to actually prepare food for myself more than 70k away. It makes 8pm ice cream runs 6 blocks away to the grocery store seem light years ago.

And all things being equal, I argue that anyone who sweats this much deserves to see some results. I currently have a friend who is kicking butt and taking names with Weight Watchers back home - totally proud of him and his efforts. But I submit that my 25 pounds have been the 25 easiest pounds to lose, and have no doubt that, upon my return home, will also be the easiest 25 pounds to gain. So while I am having fun with this whole clothes are too big, new me thing, I wouldn’t recommend buying a one-way ticket just yet. Enjoy some ice cream for me and embrace the air conditioning while you’ve got it. If you need me, I will be here… sweating and loving it!

SCORE!

2008-06-14T07:17:00.000-07:00

Current Score:
Senegal: 374 Me: 1
To keep in the spirit of the national sport of Senegal, soccer, I confess that there are moments of every day in which I feel like my Peace Corps experience is a bit of a shut-out; like I am a lone opponent against the entire force of the Senegalese National Team. Don’t get me wrong, I am so glad to be here. I am learning lots and getting excited about the work I will soon begin. But everything is difficult and everything takes a considerable amount of effort. It is easy, on a bad day, to feel defeated.

But last week I launched a ball from midfield and sank it into the top right corner of the GOAL. Score one for me. For more than a month I have wanted a bookshelf for my hut – nothing fancy, just a place to put things, off the floor. The second week in my village I had asked the local “handy man” in my village to make one for me; a task I thought reasonable. Upon completion, I was not impressed, kindly did not accept the product and continued wanting a shelf. I was even willing (and against all faith from my villagers) even able to build it for myself. But just finding the necessary materials for such a project is an undertaking. So until this point I had admitted defeat.

Then last week, I woke up at about 1am (you should know I sleep outside my hut in my backyard) and just knew a storm was about to hit. You could just feel it. I literally shot up, grabbed my pillow, sheet and alarm clock in one fell swoop and ran into my hut. I barely cleared the door when the rains and winds blew through like a freight train. It was an amazing display of nature – and not being used to the nature here yet, it scared the living daylights out of me. Needless to say, I was unable to fall asleep for the next three hours.

So I read for awhile. And then I cleaned for awhile. And then I realized that I REALLY wanted that bookshelf. So with the cardboard box which I used to transport my books and binders to Thiewal Lao, some plastic rope and duct tape (there really are 1000 uses for duct tape), I fashioned a hanging bookshelf. It is not pretty. It may not last more than a few weeks. But it is a place to put things. And I made it, by candlelight, in a fit of anxiety at 2am during my first encounter with Senegal nature, and I think it is pretty freaking amazing!

And so it is the small things that make this long, hard, really incredible experience possible. It is the hanging bookshelves in life that make all the difference at 2am when nothing else can calm your nerves. And it is the people in your life who whole-heartedly appreciate the inner beauty of your totally horrendous creation that remind you that two years is only two years when you’ve got some place to put your things.

On the "Road" Again

2008-05-04T05:26:00.000-07:00

This video represents approximately 30 seconds of a 15 hour ride en route to my site. Nuf said.

What identity?

2008-05-04T04:40:00.000-07:00

So for those of you who may have forgotten or never known, my name is Mary Margaret. This is a name that for the last 24 years I have used exclusively on official documents. To the rest of the world I am Maggie. The Peace Corps, being an United States government program, requires a few pieces of paperwork and subsequently, I suddenly became Mary to the other people in my training group who didn't know me as anything else. I still forget to respond to Mary sometimes like the first day of class when they take roll and this girl doesn't say 'here'.
And as I started to get used to this new phenomenon that is my name, I was given a Senegalese name: Jenaba Balde. For several weeks this name was the only thing I could recognize coming out of my host family's mouth (that has since gotten much better)!
In just a few days I will go to my site and receive my permanent Senegalese name.
All this I can handle and even laugh at, but yesterday I was mistaken for a buillion cube. Yes, my American name of preference, Maggie, is coincidently similar to the seasoning of preference in Senegal, Maggi cubes. The Maggi brand of buillion cubes is easily the most recognizable brand in Senegal - not even Adidas has a leg up on this one. Their yellow and red logo is plastered everywhere and they use the seasoning in almost every meal they make. It is more than a staple of Senegalese cooking, it is a symbol of modern living for this culture.
So yesterday, a man visiting from a small village walked up to me during training while I had on a name tag and asked me - in Pulaar - if I liked Maggi. And in perfect Pulaar, having abandoned all semblance of self, I made my first real joke in another language: A linguistic break through and personal realization that in a third world country it doesn't matter what they call you and sharing a name with a sodium-heavy seasoning may just be the break I have been looking for.

Outta Left Field

2008-05-04T04:22:00.000-07:00

Let me preface this moment with a fact: all emotions are exponentially magnified in Senegal. It is possible to be indifferent at times, but when your body gets an inkling of something specific, it is all or nothing. One does not shed A tear, one does not slightly giggle and one does not get somewhat annoyed... or maybe that's just me! This past week in language class we learned the future tense of verbs; a useful skill. And I was soooooo proud of myself for saying in Pulaar I have one niece (present tense) but I will have two nieces in about 20 days (future). I know, it's tricky. I thought this was a harmless sentence.
One more fact: my niece is the coolest person I know. That is not saying anything less about the rest of you, she is just actually that cool.
So later that night I stayed up late reading and at about 12:30, as I was flipping the page, I suddenly internalized the sentence I had previously constructed that day and absolutely lost it. It was the kind of choking, coughing, gasping gross sob that really makes you feel pathetic. I could only pray that my family did not hear me because I was not going to be able to spit it out in English what my problem was, let alone Pulaar.
And two minutes later, I was done. Like I said, uncontrollable emotion, or none at all. I realized in one single moment that not only am I missing out on two amazing years of Evie's life, but the new baby (recently dubbed "baby without a name") will not even know me. These were all things I had known, but it doesn't make it any easier.
The moral of this story should be that it is wonderful to know you have people who love you. But to be honest, I am just as sad for everyone who hasn't met Eve. Does that make me a bad person, or an overzealous aunt?... or both!
So to Evie's parents, all the grandparents, her many aunts and all the other fortunate people to get to see her before I do, give her a hug and when the new baby comes remind her that aunt Boggie will be 'right back!'

The Next Step

2008-04-29T11:59:00.000-07:00

In just 10 days I will make my final move in country to a small village of 378 people called Thiewal Lao located in the south of Senegal near the regional capitol of Kolda. I will be living in the village chief's compound and am the first volunteer to live in the village... there's a first time for everything! We are incredibly fortunate to be in the south because the fruits and vegetables are everywhere, unlike in the north. Last week I actually ate four mangos and six cashew apples (PS - cashew apples are easily the coolest discovery I have made thus far in country) in one day right off the trees. Despite the obvious cause and effect concerns from such a sugar intake, it was easily one of the best days I have had and plan to replicate it as often as possible.
The adventure really starts when I am dropped off in my village to figure things out for myself. I feel great about the language skills I have, but am fully aware that I know absolutely nothing. And I don't think that my extensive vocabulary describing the furniture in my home is going to come in handy on a day-to-day basis, but I am learning much faster than I ever imagined possible... so here we go!

Through My Eyes

2008-04-05T07:03:00.000-07:00

My "window" in my bedroom.

View of main porch from my room

My kitchen.

My bathroom - affetcionally called "the hole."

Just getting started...

2008-03-23T09:21:00.000-07:00

I am secretly trying to compose this email in both English, French and Pulaar but I am not sure that I can even pull off the first one at this point. In the town of Thies they mainly speak Wolof which I know a VERY small amount of at the current moment. I speak English about 50% of the time, 30% I spend speaking French and the other 20% I am pretending to know Pulaar which I will use when I am at my site of service in south eastern Senegal starting in April. We are all so tense trying to figure out which language is going to come out of someones mouth at this point that we do not even recognize english half the time!
The family I am living with is so kind to put up with me as I stumble through every day... I am a little surprised that they have not sent me back yet. We are all just big bumbling idiots who literally do not know how to wipe our own butts yet... aah, the adventures of a squat toilet and bucket baths with the bugs!!!!
This is by far the single hardest and most amazing thing I have ever and may ever do and it is just getting started. Will add more later, but I am out of time for now.
A jaaraama