Goodbyes: Part 2 -or- Hellos*

The gris-gris was the last thing that I truly felt I needed before leaving Senegal. So after my final days exploring Dakar I made sure to give myself plenty of time to get to the airport so I wouldn't miss my flight. I didn't! But... I arrived in New York and found myself herded into a line with people from my flight and a bunch of people getting back from the Olympics in London. After spending a few hours in that line, and borrowing a very confused woman's phone (Who the heck doesn't have a cell phone these days? ...this guy.), I learned that a "storm" was preventing my flight from taking off, the next possible flight would be a full day after my original flight was supposed to depart. I wasn't getting a room because the flight cancellation was weather related. So began my quest of first getting a hold of my parents who were supposed to be picking me up. This meant trying to get some American money, which I failed miserably at and was forced to call my parents collect from a pay phone. Thank goodness they aren't all gone yet. After I got all the new flight information to them I set out on my quest for a way to spend my evening. I was fully prepared to spend a night in the airport terminal, but decided to try getting a hold of another RPCV in New York.

My computer battery had died to the point where I had to plug it in to use it and the plug that works in America was in my checked luggage, which was still checked. A kind Italian woman noticed I was frustrated with my situation and offered that I use her adaptor. I was somewhat embarrassed that an Italian woman was helping an American get the right power adaptor while in America, but I thanked her profusely and began the search. Facebook messages were the first things sent out, then I pulled out my sheet of notebook paper with a bunch of phone numbers I had copied from my phone before leaving Senegal and booted up Skype. After a couple tries I managed to get the phone number of an RPCV who was more than willing to put me up for the night. He told me what to tell the Taxi driver and I was off... hoping they would accept my credit card. It wasn't a far drive at all, and I recognized the neighborhood according to the phone description, I figured I was close enough and was panicking about the ever-increasing price of my cab drive and what would happen if my card were declined, so I stopped the car and got out. My card was accepted, and I was lucky enough to be less than a one-minute walk away from his house. Once there I had my first shower in America and he decided to take me out for a night on the town. So many lights, we wound up in Times Square somehow, I ate some food, there were so many lights, we went into a couple bars, loud music and so many lights. I'm pretty sure he was purposely trying to overwhelm me... I just kind of turned off I think. The next morning was much calmer, we had brunch and then it was time to take me back to the airport.

I made it to my gate with plenty of time, especially since my flight took off a little late. That meant my flight landed quite a bit later. By the time I got off the plane in Atlanta my flight to Chicago had already left. I went to the gate it was supposed to be at anyway, knowing it was gone, and talked to the guy there. He was very nice and said, "Ah, I see you've changed your flight to Milwaukee at a later time."

"I have? Okay."

Milwaukee is a lot closer to home than Chicago anyway, much more convenient. He gave me everything I needed, and I asked if he knew of any phones around that I could use to call the people picking me up. I was planning my next collect call to home when he pulled out his cell phone and let me use it, such a nice guy. I got a hold of my mom, "Oh yeah, that was me," she says. She saw my flight out of New York was going to be late, called up the airline, give them the sob story, and had it all arranged while I was still in the air. It was like magic. When I landed in Milwaukee I didn't even bother looking for my checked luggage, I just went to the customer service counter and told them that it was probably in Chicago. As I was getting that worked out behind me I heard, "do you see him anywhere?" I turned and saw my parents looking at the crowd around the luggage claim right behind me.

I simply said, "I'm over here," and I was back home.

Goodbyes: Part 1*

I gave myself plenty of time to say my goodbyes; some prefer the "quick like a band-aid" approach, I decided to spread them out over several weeks for my own mental wellbeing. First up were Saraya and the Peace Corps radio show on Giggi Sembe radio - 96.6 FM for anyone passing through the area. Saraya is also currently home to a few PCVs and one of my favorite host families. After meeting up with a couple of other volunteers we made our way to Cissokho Kunda for a delicious Maffé (peanut sauce) lunch. We then had a casual afternoon, stopped by the Health Center, and prepared for the radio show.

We had a few announcements about upcoming PCV projects in the area and a general heath theme for the night and tried to pick out a good mix of music for the show. Sometimes we have themes for the music too- I did a Beatles show one night, which got a lot of comments about how "strong" the music is. At the end of the show we always have a portion where the hosts greet anyone they want. Some volunteers would list a bunch of people - I always kept it simple and greeted my family, my village, and all my friends there. This night was trickier; I decided to say a big goodbye to anyone listening. I thanked everyone for their amazing hospitality over the past 2 years, no matter what village I found myself in there was always someone around to lend a helping hand or even just to chat with. Honestly, it felt a little like I was on auto-pilot while I was saying all of this. I found myself assuring them that I would never forget my time here and that I would miss it a lot. I ended with some blurb about I would not forget the language, maybe a little, but not all of it then just started saying Thank You in as many ways as I could think of until I ran out of breath. Then I got to end the show the way I always did, with my favorite way of saying good night, "Allah mu killing killing kuning," which translates to, "May God wake us one-by-one." There is kind of a double meaning to it - the obvious is that hopefully we all wake up, less obvious is that if we all wake up at the same time that probably means there is some kind of emergency that we don't want to be woken up by.

This was probably the first that my limited time left in Khossanto became real, and it wasn't a great feeling. I stayed in a daze the rest of the night; I think a couple of the newer volunteers weren't quite sure what to do with me. They assured me that I had said a good farewell, and I hardly remembered what I said in that moment so I took their word for it.

The next day before getting on my bike and heading back to Khossanto I made sure to stop by Cissokho Kounda one more time and thank them for the shelter and all the meals over the past two years. As I walked in the compound the mother and father of the household were there shelling peanuts together, the very two people I wanted to see. I had timed it out perfect. I said good morning, squatted down, and told them I was going back to America as I shelled a few peanuts. They asked when I would be back and I had to explain that my "contract" was over. They have been host parents for several volunteers - they are used to the system. It was a strange feeling, I never spent all that much time with them, but in that moment I could see in their faces that they truly missed every volunteer they had met. There was definitely a pride in them for all of it, and a tiredness as well. We just sat with each other for a bit, not saying much at all. There was another volunteer with me who had only been in country for a few months, afterwards he commented on that feeling as well. It was subtle but very much there. I said my final goodbyes, received some final words of wisdom, and headed back to Khossanto.

Shortly after that came my last bike ride from Khossanto to Kédougou. I made sure to bring along my camera so I could snap a few pictures of my key landmarks along the way. The Biskrem stop in Bembou, the big tree on top of the hill by the "halfway" road marker, the BIG hill by Diakhaling and the rest tree at the top. I even managed to set-up a few self-timer shots along the way. My mom warned me on my first trip abroad that she didn't want to just see random pictures, she wanted see me in these places; I've tried to get good at taking pictures of myself and make that happen. My most important stop on this bike though, was Pondala. It was another volunteer's site who had gotten there six months ahead of me and I spent a few days here earlier in my service to help her with a world map mural. Her host father was the village chief, and a very nice man so I would make a point of stopping there on most of my bikes through to say hi. They were always good for a refill on my water bottle, and if my energy was particularly low I would take them up on the offer of staying for lunch. The longer I stayed though the harder it was to leave, especially in hot season. I just had a normal visit once I got there, played with the children for a while, said hi/bye to Puppies (the name of their dog, the volunteer who was told them a baby dog is a puppy in English, and the name stuck), then as I was getting myself loaded back onto my bike I mentioned that it was going to be my last time passing through Pondala. We all got sad for a bit, then excited about the future. It was an easy goodbye. This family had hosted three volunteers themselves so they were used to the process, they were just surprised that I was leaving so soon... never mind the fact that I stayed a few months over my two-year contract. It was a bittersweet, job well done - another chapter wrapped up.


Next was the big one, the one that I was looking forward to the least - Khossanto, my home for over the past two years. I was pleasantly surprised that after my deadline for setting up metal detectors nobody else asked me to do it. Makes me feel some respect, which feels nice. In the days leading up to my departure I was basically making my rounds through the village. Sometimes I would bring my camera to capture some moments; other times I would purposely leave it behind to just be in the experiences. I made sure to visit as many people as possible and just have conversations. They weren't all goodbyes; I wouldn't even always mention that I was leaving. For the most part I tried to keep things relatively normal. I spent a lot of time at the Health Post, especially after dinner - we always managed to have great conversations, and sometimes I would even get practice some English.

My days were spent trying to plant a bunch of things at the Middle School to make some kind of outline of a garden. I was leaving at the start of rainy season and was hoping that I could get things started there so they would get nice and big over rainy season and get too big for any animals that broke in to eat up all my hard work. Frankly it was kind of a last ditch effort, so I may simply have planted some tasty treats for the cows, donkeys, and goats.

One of my more significant goodbyes was with a man named Backary, the blacksmith. He was friends with the first volunteer in Khossanto and was one of the first people who had the patience to work with me when my language skills were lacking. I had him make me a series of knives during my time in Khossanto as souvenirs. He was so generous and happy to oblige that he never asked for payment. I had to try hard to give him some money for the work he did for me, and even then he would never let me pay him as much as I thought he deserved. Whenever I was angry, stressed out, or simply overwhelmed I would head to Backary's workshop and I could just watch him work. We would always say hello, but if I wasn't very talkative he would not press it and just let me watch him work the metal. When I wanted to talk he was always happy to have a conversation as well. Without being able to spend time with him I'm not sure how I would have gotten through the more stressful times in village.

For my last full day in Khossanto I made sure to stop by the big Cissokhso Kunda. This particular compound was the home to three brothers, all their wives, and children. It was a huge space with new buildings that they had moved into close to a year ago. I guess it used to be their family's farm field, but as Khossanto grew they decided to start a new, larger one farther outside the village. Then as the family grew they decided to move their homes to that spot. I always liked spending time out there because there were a lot of children in my favorite age group there who were very fun to play with. After spending a good amount of the afternoon with them I decided to do a lap of Khossanto one last time before dinner. I started along the outskirts of the village in an area where people always told be Bassari lived (The Bassari are another ethnic group who were converted to Christianity as opposed to Islam, they still maintain a good amount of animist traditions and have no issues drinking alcohol). I had never noticed anything obvious to indicate they were there before, but this particular day I found myself walking into one of their parties. It was a small party, but everyone had clearly been drinking palm wine, so I'm pretty sure I found where the Bassari live. One of these men came up to me as I was walking past and started up a conversation. He had heard my goodbye on the radio earlier and just had to let me know how great he thought what I was doing was. I was kind of taken aback because I liked to assume nobody listed to the radio show, when the reality is that almost everyone is always listening to the radio. Once that sunk in I just got really happy that this man was repeating a lot of the things I said, which means most of those people listening could probably understand me too. That interaction gave me a real warm fuzzy feeling for the rest of my lap of Khossanto, plus it was a beautiful evening. I finished up my walk at the Health Post because I wanted to be sure to make sure to say something to them sine I wouldn't be coming over after dinner like usual because my host family wanted to have a "party." For their goodbye at the Health Post we all said that we would see each other before I actually left so we wouldn't have to say a real farewell. I think we were all tricking ourselves with that.

After dinner the party started. I think certain members of my family wanted to have a huge party with tons of people and music that went to all hours of the night. What happened was a lot more casual, which I personally liked. A lot of people stopped by and said their goodbyes; my host dad had his radio going since he couldn't get a big one. I pulled out my camera and everyone had a great time. I dressed up in the boubou that I wore when I installed, bringing everything full circle. It was a fun night that did wind up going much later than anyone usually stayed awake.

The next morning I was up bright and early to make sure I didn't miss transport with my luggage. I got the last of my things out of my hut and wanted to do one last sweep of it all when my host father came in. I was a little angry about it because I just wanted to have that moment to myself and not have to deal with anyone. Once he made it into my room he just stood in the middle and clearly didn't know what to say. I showed him all the stuff I was leaving for the family, a lot of clothes and a few other odds and ends, and he was just blown away with how much I was leaving. I told him to make sure that he split everything between everyone in the compound and he assured me he would. Now, the two of us didn't always get along for various reasons so when he said, "You have to forgive me for everything I've done," I was blown away. That is a fairly common thing to say with a big goodbye like this, but the way he said it... I felt like he meant it. I was blown away; all I could say was the equivalent of "okay." After that we left the hut, which was no longer mine, and it was time to say goodbye to my host mothers. This is when emotions started getting tough to control - nobody wanted to be the first to cry. I asked them to pass my goodbyes along to the children, who were still sleeping, and I left the compound. My host father insisted on walking me to the garage, where all the public transportation stops. At first I was thankful for this... then he started announcing to anyone in earshot that this was me leaving Khossanto, I wouldn't me coming back, it was a little too much for me with my emotions already way out of whack. A couple friends showed up as I was getting onto the transport for one last goodbye and we were off. Fittingly, as we left Khossanto a light rain started to fall, I probably should have cared more about my luggage on the roof.

Fo siloo dool - until another road.

I planned on taking my time once I got to Kedougou to wrap up a few last minute things I wanted to do, and that is just what I did. My first day there I just kept myself as preoccupied with other things as best I could. After the first day I started going through my things, some which had come from Khossanto, and the rest that I had been keeping in Kedougou. I needed to decide what I was keeping as souvenirs, what I was leaving behind, and what I needed for my travels. I like to give myself some distractions though, so while packing I also worked on finishing up a video for the 2011 Summer Camp.

When the video was finished I burned it to a DVD and made my way to Baba's house. Baba is the former camp participant turned volunteer that helped me a TON preparing for the camp. He did a lot of footwork for me. I used that opportunity to say my goodbyes to him and his family as well. While I was living in Kedougou for the weeks leading up to the camp his family helped me out a bit, and gave me something to do during Tabaski, the holiday that happened to be in the middle of that time. I thanked him for all of his help and we agreed that I would try to call him from time to time so I could have someone to practice my Malinké with. I also make sure to get some goodbyes in with Ibou, the man I worked most closely with organizing the camp. We played phone tag for a while, but eventually managed to meet up quickly at his office. We had a very nice talk and I told him about the DVD I gave Baba. We chatted about changes to the camp and plans for the future; and changes there were since it was decided that the PCVs were going to do a camp separate from his group. Happily there were no hard feelings about any of that. The future looks bright for everyone.

Of the goodbyes in Kedougou there was one standout, the housekeeper for the Peace Corps house. When I first got there we couldn't really talk at all, but by the time I left my improvements in French made it so we could chat. The day I was leaving town she made a point to say goodbye as I was finishing my packing. I think she even left and came back after remembering that I was leaving soon. Each of us thanked the other for many, many things and she told me to make sure to greet a few returned volunteers I was close with once I got back to America. As the final goodbye we did a left-handed handshake. Even in America we generally shake with our right hands, but in Senegal (and many other places) the left hand is considered exceptionally dirty. The point of shaking with the left hand is that at some point we need to meet up again in order to fix that mistake, unfinished business. She is one of those people I wish I could have spent more time with which probably made it all the more meaningful. I'll never forget her face as we said our goodbyes, and the feeling I had when it was all over. It was a mixture of pride, sadness, and excitement. A few hours later I was on the bus for my last ride from Kedougou all the way to Dakar.

By the time I got to Dakar I had only left myself a few days to get through the COS process... about half the recommended timeframe. I'll keep the story short, because it really isn't exciting, but I pulled some kind of miracle and made it happen. During this time I was in Dakar COSing the Summer Olympics in London were starting and a group of us went out to a bar to watch the Opening Ceremonies. That was a fun night, interesting to see which countries the Senegalese cheered for during the Parade of Nations. The Olympics also made for something to do in the evenings, looking for somewhere to go that would be showing the games. I've always been a fan of The Olympics anyway; let alone watching them in another country.

I had planed some time after COSing and before my plane to America to do a little traveling. I was hoping to take a ferry to Ziguinchor, which I was picturing as a mystical land full of Mandinkas and I could speak my local language to everyone. Well, by the time I got to the ferry all the tickets were sold out, and my window of opportunity had passed. Clearly two years in Senegal made me better at planning things than ever. I could have bought a ticket, but the return trip would have made me miss my flight; the option of public transport was there, but I really did not want to deal with that. I wouldn't have been able to enjoy my time there. So instead of Zig I decided to explore Dakar and wandered around some new areas that I had been hearing about. I got to see a whole lot of Dakar, and gained a new appreciation for the city. On one of those trips, while on a bus, I got a call from the Kédougou Peace Corps House - the housekeeper. She had noticed my sheets in the laundry and wanted to know if she could keep one of them for her son, "as a souvenir." Of course she could, I had no problem with this since I brought my cowboy sheets to Senegal it only made sense to let her 3 year old get some use out of them.

I also made sure to get my gris-gris made during these wanders. A gris-gris is a kind of charm, prayers wrapped in leather made in to something you wear. There are a variety of styles, most commonly they are on babies to protect them as little leather squares or triangles encasing a prayer written on a piece of paper. There are also thicker tubes that get worn like a belt that doesn't keep anything up. I always think of this style as being on the Senegalese wrestlers. I had been bugging a friend in Khossanto to help me make one for many months. Finally about a week before I left village for the last time he gave me an envelope with a piece of red string in it. This length of string has a series on knots in it for the different prayers meant to help me. I can't share the specifics of what they are for or it won't work. In Dakar I had noticed a market filled with gris-gris so I made my way there with my piece of red string, a bit of the armbands we made in honor of the Kédougou house pet dog when he died, and a cowrie shell I bought in Kedougou that I had carried around for a while and made my own little prayer on. About half an hour and one conversation of the past two years of my life later I had my very own gris-gris. It fits a little loose on my arm right now, but I'm planning on building up some muscle upon my return to proper nutrition on a daily basis. The man who made it for me teased me a bunch because it would never have fit on his arm. It's amazing what a little protein on a regular basis can do.

It’s Been A While

Around Thanksgiving I made a decision to go home for Christmas and New Years. Originally I thought this would be awkwardly close to the end of my service, but I followed the example of another volunteer and did it. Besides, my original plans to go home in September fell through and there was something I just couldn’t pass up.

Heading Out

One night a bunch of the family (a couple aunts, a few cousins, their kids, my parents, and me) decided to go for a ride in the old Winnebago to see the Christmas lights, coincidentally located at a park on Lake Winnebago. The highlight here was the Reindeer. On a bit of a whim, after that we decided to drive about a half hour to see the light show in a nearby city (almost wrote village there) to see their light show. Word on the street was that it was pretty awesome. Well it was, so many lights timed to music. Music that was broadcast using a little radio transmitter so that we just had to turn our car to a certain station. I know there’s nothing new about this technology (drive-in movies), but it’s still really cool especially with all those lights.

For me, coming from Senegal, it quickly turned overwhelming. So much power going to those lights, we have easy enough access to all that power that we can just put on a show with it and not worry. Everyone’s houses were still fully powered all day long. Even the major cities in Senegal can’t do that. To get the timing just right so many people and machines had to be working together to make that come out. It wasn’t just the effort and coordination to put on the show – but us, watching it… there. Frankly, we could have easily fit ten more people into that Winnebago and still be comfortable… heck, that’s not even including the bedroom area. Gas is cheap here, but the thought of buying that much to head that far without a packed car is almost unthinkable

The kids, one of whom I’d just met days before because she was just a swollen tummy when I left, were definitely enjoying the show, but somehow seemed under impressed. Risking sounding like an old curmudgeon, that Nintendo DS seemed to hold their attention a lot better. In my family compound you’ll have 30 kids crammed around one 13 inch TV just to watch the news. Somewhere between that; Alvin, Simon, and Theodore’s hosting; and the Carol of the Bells (My personal favorite non-religious Christmas song) I had to basically turn myself off in order to avoid a complete overload/breakdown. I had gone to this place where I realized that almost every aspect of my day to day life in America is unthinkable to most of the people I’ve spent the last 21 months with. Do I feel guilty? Should we all? No. I wish I could show people from my village, that it would be easy to have someone come visit – but it’s not, and people here are happy anyway.

All-in-all America was worth it. I got to see the family, which is a big deal… and a big ordeal, but so much fun. I managed to fit in a couple good Goodbyes - both unfortunately too soon, one long overdue. I comeback refreshed and with a renewed perspective about what it is that I’m doing here. It was a good choice.

Baseball, by the Gou Crew

To hit fast-forward a little bit here now- I came back to the West African All-Volunteer conference. Thanks to budget cuts across the board it was just another something that all of PC Senegal felt required to attend while a handful of volunteers from nearby countries got lost in the mix. It’s a great idea, don’t get me wrong, I’d just like to see more of what’s happening in other placed instead of continuing to hash over what’s happening in Senegal.

After All-Vol was the West African Invitational Softball Tournament (WAIST), earlier than usual thanks to the upcoming presidential elections. Basically a weekend of theme parties and Peace Corps teams playing dress up even for the games themselves. This year my team’s theme was Baseball – easily underrated but awesome (thanks Bonnie and Mike). And finally after that there was COS Conference (Close of Service). That was just a lot of me thinking, “Really? Already?”

After COS Conference it was time to finally head back down to Kédougou where I spent a couple days getting my life in some semblance of order. When I was all set to head back to site I found myself stuck in the middle of a transport strike and therefore unable to take a car in order to bring all my gifts back to village. Luckily someone was headed my way in a Peace Corps car (which NEVER happens) to check out possible sites in my neck of the woods. That’s right, I’m finally getting neighbors as I leave. Now I can finally spend a god chunk of time back at site… Nin Allah Sonnta.

My host dad was happy to see me come back

Taa Bota!!*

There are two events in village that always send me into an emotional reaction that I don’t quite know what to do with. The first of those is a death - particularly the way women react. There is an almost ghostly wail they will go into, fairly often they are able to work themselves into such a frenzy that they will start to shake uncontrollably. I can’t help but feel for them in this display and for the loss of this individual as a whole. It is consoling that everyone knows that death is a pert of everyday life and that the wailing is, to a certain extent, what you are supposed to do. Everything just builds, like crying at a funeral; it’s almost impossible not to, even if you hardly know the person.

The second, for me at least, is infinitely more terrifying in its unpredictability and the palpable fear in the air. If you understand Malinké you may have already guessed this one thanks to the title – it’s fire. Khossanto just put one out and I decided to start writing this post as a way to calm me down.

In America, nine times out of ten, by the time you know there is a fire somewhere the fire trucks have beat you there (or in some cases led you there). You can watch in awe knowing everything is under control simply hoping that everyone is okay… and even that can be stressful. The village has no fire department, no running water so no fire hydrants. What Khossanto does have are wells around or past the 100ft mark and buckets or tubs like what I do laundry in to carry the water.

Anyway, today is Tabaski – the best descriptor I’ve heard is that it’s sort of like a Muslim Christmas here in Senegal. The Family killed a nice big ram and we will be eating most of it today for lunch. So everyone has their shiny new clothes on and we just got back from prayer service. One of my host sisters is getting her hair finished up at the last minute when another host sister comes rushing into the compound. We’ve all already felt the energy go up nearby and started hearing people yelling by the time she gives the call to arms, “Taa Bota!” (literally: Fire Left!).

This seems to happen every couple months in Khossanto, so unfortunately the feeling is familiar. Everyone rushes to their water and hoofs it over to wherever the fire is. I never keep enough water to actually do anything and I never want to get in the way so unfortunately spend too much time just pacing around my compound looking for a way to help. I’ve found a good spot for me to help is by lifting the large tubs onto people’s heads (if I were to do this I’d spill more water than would make it to the fire to be honest), the next step I’d want is to get a rope and bucket and be at the well pulling water for everyone. Usually the fire is out before anyone needs to go pulling from the well, but this one was by far the worst fire I’ve seen in village and smoke was still billowing when all the water was out.

Luckily there is a well in my family compound so all of the panic just comes rushing right into where I live. People are yelling in search of more water, there is the general din of people yelling where the fire is, my host dad is yelling commands to do things people are already doing, everyone’s trying to make sure all the kids in the compound are accounted for – among all that panic people also realize that the fire could spread. This is kind of a big deal since everyone has thatched roofs, fortunately this is actually a fairly easy task as long as you have around 10 people. The thatch is supported by a lattice of bamboo, which in most cases are simply sitting on top of the walls of the hut. Somewhere in my host dad’s yelling of commands he decided it was time to move the roof of the little hut we have in the corner for the goats so I pitched in with that real quick. Thankfully that turned out to be unnecessary.

One reassuring thing is that once the fire is out, which always seems to happen so suddenly, is that EVERYONE is talking about what happened… learning from their mistakes. In this case there are 2 stories that I heard. The less popular theory, which came from a seemingly more reliable source, is that someone took the coals from making tea and tossed them into their corn. Rainy season has been over for a little bit now so all the corn is pretty dry, so supposedly the corn started on fire then it spread to the roof of the hut in question. The more popular belief is that some kids were preparing tea with a big propane tank between to closely placed huts and turned the gas up too high. Either way it led to a huge fire.

That already seems like it happened so long ago today; life is back to normal here… well, as normal as it can be on Tabaski. Soon everyone will eat sheep until we pass out, then wake back up get dressed up in the fancy party clothes and greet everyone we know.

 Happy Tabaski!

Sanji Kiliŋ*

Today marks one year since the day that I landed in Senegal along with the rest of “The Super Stage.” An event auspicious enough that my neighbor’s goat gave birth to not one, not two, but three kids under the bench behind my hut where I’ve taken to reading in the evenings. My contribution to the celebration will be a series of random tangents on my mind right now.

This morning they started laying out the foundation of the new Mosque in Khossanto. A cow was killed in honor of this occasion – I like to pretend it was for me, but I never did get my hands on any of that meat like I was promised. In addition, lets just say that a groundbreaking just wouldn’t be the same without arguments about both the location and size of the mosque by the village elders. It was a great show to be honest.

The Elders

I’ve built trenches (Brumes & Swales) around the few green things in my back yard to make watering my them with my bucket-bath water easier… so far so good.

The Latrine ants have stepped out of like for the last time! Bleach has made its way onto the playing field and I will be reviewing my IPM noted from training.

On a recent visit to Mamakhono I got at least three different people telling me, “I kurrata!” aka “You’re done,” as in you know all there is to know about Malinké.

Tonight, after giving my host dad a kola nut that I didn’t want I risked a conversation with the man. It came to a point where he clearly did not understand what I was trying to say so I mentally rechecked my language and tried again. He still didn’t get it, at that point his friend chimed in with, “He said he wants to see the place. What, do you not understand Malinké?” Take that Mr. “You don’t understand anything.”

I was showing my pictures to a guy who’s been living in my compound – he came across on of my graduation pictures where I’m with my parents he made two comments.

1. My dad and I have similar faces 
2. My mom is “Trés Belle.” That’s right mom… watch Beauty and the Beast if you don’t understand. 

A little after the graduation photo comments he detailed is plans to go to France for three months, pick up his woman friend, come back to Senegal, and when she wants to marry him he’ll pull out, “Sorry, I’m a Muslim, my family won’t let me marry a Christian.” (Sorry Mom)

Today I saw an airplane in the sky; it was weird that it was weird.

A bee stung me two days ago – that hurts! I still have a reddish spot and it’s all itchy. I left the nice tree I was sitting in because of the whole swarm coming after the stung one thing.

I biked a new way back to site from Saraya – It was amazing. Dear Adventure Racing friends come visit… actually, anyone come visit, I won’t make you bike if you don’t want to.

Albuquerque

I’ve now been in charge of a radio show all by myself. Well, someone else was there, but I wrote the script all by myself and did most of the talking and worked the soundboard (that’s what it’s called right?). I like to think that I have fans.

Dear everyone, if I see another map without a title or compass… so help me…

I think I found a home for the trees in my nursery that haven’t been eaten yet. I just need to find them protection and water.

Recent text (speaking of trees) received that made me do the happy dance: “I got you 1 orange, 2 mandarins, 1 grapefruit, 1 avocado, 1 pomegranite.”

AIDS causerie led by a woman, in Malinké, for a classroom of teenaged boys in my village. AWESOME.

Well, I’ve lost my train of thought and I really want to finish my book tonight. Thanks for reading, Year One done!

Because it's cute

Korité*

Well, I made a big deal out of staying in site for this party, I should probably let you know what happend on Korité (Friday 10 September).

I woke up early knowing that they probably let me do any work on this party day and tried to quietly move my newly aquired soil under my shade structure before breakfast. After I was successful with that task I had breakfast as usual, the went out to sit with my host father, Niama. Since the night before he had shaved his head for the big day, in doing so I had some trouble recognizing him at first since he looked significantly younger. While sitting there with him trying to get an idea of what was in store for me today I became very self conscious about my personal “challenge” of not shaving for the month of Ramadan. So after some Nescafe I excused myself to take a shower. Not only did I scrub extra hard with my loofa as instructed by my host sister but I also treated myself to the free shampoo sample that came with my bar of soap a few months ago (I was saving it for a special occasion). But this all started with the shave. Using good ol’ Dr. Bronner as my shaving cream and my hands being the closest thing I had to a mirror I managed to get rid of all my facial hair with no major issues.

After the shower I fumbled around in my hut for a while because I didn’t want to get all fancied up too early. In the process of getting ready slowly the neighbor boy burst into my room catching me in my boxers; he reacted as though I was naked and basically ran away. I thought it was hilarious because he has seen me in my pajama shorts which were basically the same and he never had a problem there, I will admit, these particular boxers are in the flesh color tone range. After that excitement I decided to put on my fancy pants but procrastinated more on getting my shirt on to complete the outfit. It didn’t take too long for one of my host mothers to stop by and tell me that everyone is going to Mosque RIGHT NOW. So I threw on the top, got out the door, did a little modeling for the family, and was led to the mosque by my oldest brother.

I wasn’t fasting for Ramadan (my family just keeps giving me food, I can’t let it go to waste!) and I never pretended to be Muslim so I was expecting a place in the back of the mosque. Nope, once we go there I was given a spot just a few rows from the front next to the youngest son of the Village Chief. Not only that but one of the old men around me gave me his prayer mat to use for the service and there was another man who gave me his prayer beads at one point and tried to teach me how to use them. It was pretty nice of them, and that prayer mat is one of the softest things I have touched in country. The service - like most religious services it’s fairly easy to follow along and eventually you’ll find the rhythm. In this case there was a definite of words that would make everyone change positions (stand, bow, kneel, touch forehead to ground, etc). Every once and a while we got to do my favorite one (I wish I could take credit for this explanation, but I heard it from someone, I just don’t remember who) which consists of cupping your hands in front of your face, saying your prayers into the cup you just made, and finally washing your face with your prayers. The mosque itself was not the grand mosque that you picture, it was more comparable to a large garage and was ridiculously hot. One man too it upon himself to stand next to the man leading the service and fan him the entire time, another man took it upon himself to photograph the entire service in the most intrusive ways possible. I’m sure he got some great shots, but boy did he know how to get in the way and be distracting.

After Mosque I was taken to my community counterpart’s family compound by the neighbor who had caught me in my underwear earlier. I met some more people there who had a lot to say about Famara and not as much to say about Shekho. It was a pretty food time, not to mention the tastiest meat sandwich I’ve ever had in Senegal, I dodn’t know this was even possible. The meat was cooked well, seasoned right, and actually actually meat - not organs. Where did these spices even come from? Amazing.

Thus begins the day of food. Well cooked, good cuts of beef were all over the place (when I say good cuts I’m not necessarily talking about anything you’d find in a grocery store, it’s probably still pretty close to the scraps by American standards). Three lunches and a bunch of snack times later I needed to take a break and have a little gemalschgaming - even laying down was painful for me I was so full. A gemalschgaming, by the way, in this case means a walk to aid digestion and it is another inside joke, sorry (Thank you Ali and the Engle family for this word that has filled a void I didn’t realize existed). This walk aligned nicely with a tradition of going around and greeting everyone else in the village. What I was not warned about though is that children expect gifts/money when they greet you. I didn’t plan out my month at site very well and was down to 475cfa of cash in my possesion… 400 of those cfa were reserved for the purchase of bread in the morning so I would survive my bike back into Kedougou. The remaining 75cfa just wasn’t worth giving to only one kid, and besides I also wanted to keep it in case I needed to buy a sac of water on the way. There were a lot of disappointed children who greeted me on that walk. I’m sure they assumed I had money but was just withholding it, but it is considered better to lie in a situation like that and say ‘I have nothing’ than to say ‘I’m not going to give you anything’.

The gemalschgaming was a pretty great time - more people know who I am (and that I’m not Shekho), I got another (less sincere) offer of Malinké lessons for English ones, and another visit to Lengkhoxoto. That was the highlight for me, there were only 2 men sitting under the tree at the time, but after a short talk and an explanation of why I was walking around they wound up thanking me for stopping by. It felt really good. From Lengkhoxhoto I headed to the blacksmith’s place. His name is Bakary Kamara and has been one of the most understanding people in Khossanto when it comes to my language acquisition and the what I’m going through in general.

I wound up greeting every person notable to me during that gemalschgaming and I wasn’t even trying. I accidentally did what I was supposed to do because I ate far too much. I left my village the next morning very happy with the status of everything, looking forward to meeting the new volunteers who were coming to visit, and just about bouncing off the walls for summer camp to happen.

The Neighbors
(some of them - the boy on the left is my buddy that
saw me in my undies)

Let’s talk about today…*

Today was one of those days where I really needed Cake’s song “Sheep Go To Heaven” to help make me feel better. If you don’t know it I recommend you find it and listen to at least the opening lines. If you choose to go through the rest of the song (and why wouldn’t you?) keep in mind that I live with both sheep and goats (along with other farm animals, and yes Zach, I realize it’s an allegory).

To get the full story I guess we need to start with last night… well, I guess for that one we need to know a little about yesterday afternoon. I’ll start there:

Even though it is Ramadan I still get to eat during the day for a couple reasons (1) My light complexion apparently means I can not possibly survive a day of fasting, and (2) Most of my host family is not fasting due to age, work schedules, or pregnancies so food still gets made anyway. All the same, I still like to eat my lunches secretly in my hut so I don’t go rubbing it in for anyone who is fasting. Also, it’s kind of fun because I get my very own bowl since the ones I normally eat with are off farming, that means no need to build rice walls between my part of the bowl and that of the dirty, dirty child squatting next to me - the dirtiest one just doesn’t get it though and keep taking from my section, and it’s food I’ve already mixed to the consistency I like. I’ll let him know what’s up soon enough. After my lunch I read/nap, it’s a great system I’ve got going for me.

I’ve gotten off track. So I was heading to my hut from a morning of Malinké acquisition to hold up in my hut for “secret lunch’ (with super secret hot sauce!). Upon entering the compound I hear the distinctive “Iburahiiiimaaa…” of my host sister (actually a host aunt) to which I have started responding to by mimicking the call with her name (Kouta) as opposed to the traditional response of ‘Naamu” (A Mandinkified verstion of Arabic for “Yes” if I haven’t been lied to). She seems to get a kick out of it, and I’m happy to have an inside something of my very own with someone in the family. With greetings taken care of she dives right in to her point - I can’t leave for Saraya or Kedougou as I had planned. I need to stay in Khossanto for Korité (The party at the end of Ramadan). I really wanted to do that anyway so that was all the push I needed, “Awa, after Lunch I need to go for a bike to get cell phone reception and call my neighbor to tell him that I’m not going to Saraya to do the radio show tomorrow.” It’s the first Peace Corps radio show out of Saraya and I really wanted to be there, but there will be a bunch more of those and only one more Korité. Plus they said I’d get to eat cow, a bull in fact, and I need an excuse to wear my fancy Senegalese clothes.

So after secret lunch I did just that. The plan is - Thursday: No Radio/Saraya, Friday: Korité/Pray/Food, Saturday - Go to Kedougou and buy a bunch of phone credit to sing my mom Happy Birthday, Sunday: New volunteers head down to Kedougou for demyst (and hopefully Leah too).

Fast forward to after dinner when I decided to sit with my host dad who tells me that Korité is going to be Saturday. HOLD UP… after cross referencing with Kouta we decided that the celebration will be Saturday. This means I can go to Saraya for the radio show tomorrow (today as I’m writing)! Sweet. I’d better go to bed quick and rest up for the ride in the morning.

Now we’ll get today started, and why I need some Cake. I’m all kinds of excited so waking up at 7 is pretty easy to do. I’m trying to take it slow and make sure I don’t get rained on the whole way like last time when my host dad comes to my door to tell my that Korité will actually be on Friday… so, I’d miss it if I went to Saraya. If’ you’ve been keeping track I believe we just crossed off Plan C; luckily though it just reverts to Plan B - and I don’t have to tell anyone about any changes in plans!

No I’m bound and determined to make this day a productive one. First thing on the list, go to the Health Post and ask the ASC about Khossanto. Well, he’s gone for Korité and not coming back before I have to leave for Kedougou. Oh well, whatever, I’ll just find Moussa (my adult host brother)and get that tree he want’s planted in the compound taken care of. Well, I can’t find him so I’ll just hang out with the neighbor boy for a while… Actually, he showed me a GREAT potential gardening spot that I want to use for the school. That was a good thing in the morning.

Then it was time for Secret Lunch, after which I decided to shorten my siesta by a bit to ensure getting some work done. I headed back over to the neighbors’ compound to ask about getting my hands on a wheelbarrow to get soil for my personal tree nursery and gardens. I’ve been asking, trying to get this to happen for at least a month now and I’ll be darned if it’s not going to happen today! He had told me he knew where dirt was last week, so when I asked for a wheelbarrow he was very suspicious of where I was going to get this soil from. So I took him to take a look at the stuff I had picked out, it was rocky, but everything is rocky around here and the soil was nice and dark. He instantly said it was no good, I asked if it was because of the rocks and he informs me that it is because I would have to sift it… I’m a little impatient due to a lack of sleep, and he might be a little irritated because his stomach apparently hurts (unless he was lying to get out of work) so I probably shouldn’t have said out loud, “Right, we have to sift it because of the rocks.” I’m thinking he picked up on my attitude and spit back with a little ‘Chekho (My ancien) did it this way,’ which I think he’s realizing irritates me even more. But, no biggie, I just need to find someone with a screen to sift it with, shouldn’t be too bad. Oh, but wait, he has a place with good soil for me.

He led me to the other side of the village where we poked at a pile of rocks with a mostly clay/loam soil that was the color of sand. Not nearly as good of a soil as the other pile. Then we moved on to a decent soil with just as many rocks as the first pile, but a spot he had found so that was better (even though the first one was closer to home). Finally he takes me to the pen where his family keeps their cows at night where we both agree this is good (Basically it was a pile of manure that I really wanted to mix with the soil already in my yard to make pure awesomeness, but I needed to keep my cool). “We’ll do it at 4,” he tells me after I have to remind him that it has to happen today.

At 4 he actually came back and we grabbed my shovel and pick and made our way to the pile of manure, broke it up a bit, and confirmed it was good stuff. Then he informed me that the sun was too hot and we would come back later with the charette (a cart made to be pulled my a donkey or horse) to pick it up. I laughed a little because I didn’t believe him, but what am I going to do, I really need to use his charette so I agreed. He started to pick up the tools so I told him to just leave them since we would be coming back later in the day to pick everything up, now we have collateral involved and I am bound and determined to make this happen today.

Now it’s nap time because I realize I’m unreasonably cranky… no nap, but a tea break, kind of the same thing… but opposite. While waiting for the tea I came to terms with the fact that my white skin means I’m going to have to be assertive with certain people to allow me to actually do any physical labor. Also, the default assumption is that I don’t know how to do any physical labor and need to be taught, and finally that I am probably going to have to work using this same level of determination and slight trickery in order to make things happen on a schedule I can agree with. I’ve gotten the word ‘after’ said to me a lot and need to start reminding more often or butting my foot down with more people to keep myself from getting too angry.

In a personal triumph the neighbor boy returned later with the charette and we got the stuff into my back yard. So, knowing that Korité’s date is unclear to say the least I got to work trying to get my soil mixed and where I want it… then it started to rain.My initial calculations were a little off and the sprinkle was more of a downpour for the rest of the evening. I sat the storm out in my hut working with some bamboo pieces for the garden and almost laughed myself into tears with how all of my plans for the day had somehow fallen through.

When the rain broke I went back to work with the soil (not mud thanks to a woven mat that I threw over it). Long story short I might have caused some structural damage to my shade structure and I won’t be surprised if it isn’t standing when I get back from Summer Camp. I’m a little worried about it lasting the night to be honest with you.

Night time bucket bath.
Dinner.

Both unremarkable, but they happened. I went to remind Kouta about the radio show tonight and she made me come in, sit, and eat some tasty leaves mixed with dried fish. Tasty until you hit a big pocket of the fish. Anyway, she got the radio set up and reminded me about my fancy clothes.

I had given her my swearing-in outfit to get washed - I’m sorry Aziz, Lamine, and the Senegalese Fashion Police, they weren’t even clean when I got them and I trust her to do it right. Which she did, and spent the first half hour or so of the show ironing my clothes and getting all the creases in the right places.

Now the radio, as much as I wish I could have been there for the first show I think I’m more happy that I got to experience it with part of my host family. Now, when I actually go in to help out I have a good idea of how they’ll be reacting. I have experience with both sides of the show now, and I can’t wait to greet them from more than 40 km away!

With that said, they were really excited to know the people who were talking on the radio since they have met all the Malinké volunteers, they laughed at the jokes and danced to the American Music (looking to me to make sure they were doing it right). They were probably more excited than I was to hear my name mentioned on the radio, once as a recording of me, and another shout out from the volunteers who made it to the show.

I really do think this radio show is the start of something really cool for Saraya, if nothing else a lot more people with get an idea of what the Peace Corps is and what we are here to do.

That’s how it is, a day of small disasters topped off with an optimistic peak into the future. Donding donding.