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.

Régléing Machines*

While hiding from the sun in my hut after lunch the other day I was interrupted from my nap by a neighbor, Saibo, tapping at my door. I took my time getting out there to see what he had for me, but when I did I couldn't help but to laugh out loud... to the point where I made Saibo laugh, although I think he was nervous laughing. What he had waiting for me I had not yet seen in Senegal, a metal detector - now, I normally think of old men on the beach with metal detectors but I immediately knew this thirty-something man was going to take this machine (his word choice) to the jurra to find gold. The problem with his plan for this new toy was that the instructions only came in English (well done whoever managed to market that in Senegal).

That's where I came in. I warned him that I didn't know much about these machines, but that I'd do what I can. I had to ask for more information though; where did he get it (Kédougou), how much did it cost (a lot of money, especially in Senegal), and a few other things while I familiarized myself with the metal detector. Well I paged through the book, pushed a bunch of buttons, made it beep, my personal favorite was this calibration thing where I had to move it up and down over the same spot for a while. When I felt confident that it was set up I tossed my keys and class ring on the ground, and Saibo pulled out the gold he had collected processed the day before. When it was behaving somewhat predictably I passed it over and told him to keep playing with it and made no promises that I had actually made it work right. I consider him a friend, so I trusted that he wouldn't blame me if it didn't work right and we moved on with our days.

I didn't think too much of it, but then the next day another two machines showed up on my doorstep to be set-up along with the news that Saibo apparently had a big find the night before. The rumor was that it was plenty more than the metal detector cost him. With that the flood gates opened, I'm pretty sure the last few days I worked with most of the metal detectors in and around Khossanto. People were stopping in from neighboring villages to see me. It got to the point that earlier today I had to start telling people that I wasn't going to réglé (French, to set. Very common word here) any more machines after today. I was in someone's compound with 5 men and their various metal detectors, half of which didn't even have directions in any language. One of which had a huge battery pack and just a bunch of dials and a headset, no readout screen anywhere. I honestly wouldn't have had any clue what to do with it if I hadn't dealt with the other machines over the past couple days.

Something pretty I found along road

By the time I got through all the machines the head of the household we were in was acting as my translator - most of the men there were Bambara, from Mali. The language is closely related, but my limited vocabulary (and I assume accent) made it somewhat difficult for all of us to fully understand each other. I did my best to let him know that I don't want to be dealing with a bunch of people asking me about metal detectors during my last couple days in village. It sounded like he explained it very well; we'll see just have to wait and see how well that works... I also need to make sure to warn my new PCV neighbor about this situation. Once you say yes it's hard to say no... I may have started something here.

Full Circle*

A few days ago I hopped on my bike to go on a bush path I'd never been on before to go to a village I'd never actually been to before. I have meet several pretty awesome people from there, but I'd never actually gone. There were a few reasons I did this - there was the phone call I got that brought (what I will diplomatically call) a series of miscommunications to a head, my having repeatedly said the phrase "I need an adventure" on a fairly regular basis lately didn't hurt either. With that I'm going to take a tip from The Song of Ice and Fire and lead off with a map (really any fantasy novel, but this series is tied to Senegal for me. Also, if anyone messes up the fifth book for me...). Yes the map should be before this even, but I'm calling Artistic License and putting the crude and potentially very inaccurate thing here.

Once upon a time I went to meet my neighbor in his millet field he'd brought me to the week before on the road to Bambaraya... I wound up at a dead end in some random guy's cornfield just as a storm rolled in. Ever since I realized where I went wrong I've kept my eye on that road just waiting to show it who's boss. With that in mind I was on point with my morning routine in preparation for a biking day and made it on the road shortly after breakfast. Wait too long this time of year and you might kill yourself in the noontime sun.

This bush path (basically some single track for those who have that lingo down) very quickly reminded me of just how big a fan I am of Beladougou - Beladougou is the name of the old-timey Malinke "Kingdom" that Khossanto is a part of. Political boundaries sometimes roughly follow these lines but usually combine things as well. Everyone knows where they stand as far as the kingdoms go... I know that I'm in Beladougou and that all the other volunteers (up to very soon) that speak Malinke are in Dantila. This really has no bearing on anything; there are more Danfakhas (family name) in Dantila and more Cissokhos in Beladougou. The language is also a tinsy bit different, we use the x (kh sound) a little more in Beladougou I'm told; I've never had trouble understanding anyone, it's every once in a blue moon I'll actually hear a difference in a word. When I try to translate Beladougou I'm stuck mixing in French-ish and making it "Beautiful Land," I've never asked but my guesses to the actual meaning are "Everyone's Land" or "The Land That Is (There)."

Anyway, this particular path (and really everyone that isn't the main road through) highlighted the things that make me feel like Beladougou is a unique place in Senegal. We may not have the waterfalls that are in the South of the Region, but it does have terrain and there's also the Gold. That last one brings in a lot of interesting people. I like to pretend I live in the Old West, which makes my cowboy bed sheets that much more appropriate. The views can be great in some places making it look like the hills go on forever, and some valleys seen downright magical... unfortunately the distance views weren't all that great this time around thanks to the winds "from Mauritania," as one man put it, that bring dust from the desert. It's like a really foggy day, except that it's hot-dry season.

First I found myself in a small village called Bambaryanding (that was a joke because the -ding makes it mean Little Bambaraya). This would have been a great place for me to go when I was feeling bad about my language abilities. All I did was ask for directions and those women doing their laundry were blown away. "Turn Right?" was the question that brought the house down.

That right turn brought me to Bambaraya, where I stopped in at the school to get the scoop on the village from the teachers. From there I made my way to the Village Chief, who was unfortunately out of town so I talked to the guy that's in charge when he's gone and left him a Volunteer Request form. Those awesome people I mentioned at the start of this post are from Bambaraya and had been asking for the form for a while now but I haven't had any to give until now.

Find the baboons.

After taking care of things in Bambaraya I headed to the Arrondissement of Sabodala (roughly Beladougou). From there I went straight to the health post to see a familiar face in the nurse that was in Khossanto for most of my service (not the infamous one from that last post, still not sure what the plan is there by the way). He helped me plan out my next few stops, fed me, and offered a place for me to spend the night. He also shed some light on those miscommunications that helped instigate the trip.

Sabodala is a little more used to seeing toubabs. This is where the actual mining companies are, so they see a lot of Australians and Canadians. They don't speak the local language though, so when I walked into the health post, on what happened to me a big baby vaccination day, and got the all-important "Khossanto ngolu be dii?" greeting right... well I got a reaction. Once you get that greeting right "you're done" learning Malinke, and they didn't even expect me to speak it at all. The women loved it, and some of the kids did too. There was a group of babies though who say my white skin and long blond-ish hair and it was like the boogey man had come for them. I'm pretty sure I made a couple pee on their mothers.

It was great to see the nurse there again; he was very helpful at the start of my service. I think he's the first person my host father introduced me to on my first day actually. It was also amazing talking to him and seeing just how much both my Malinke and French have improved since I saw him last. It's nice to have a conversation and not come across a word that you need to have explained to you.

After lunch there he suggested that I go to this small village right next door, Madina Sabodala. There I found the first female head community health worker I've met in country. She was really helpful and called over the village chief and we had a really good chat. It was a very interesting little village surrounded by a lot of big things with the mining companies around. If I had to come up with a word to summarize that chat though it would be "Trees," they want tress, all kinds of trees.

After that I went back to the Sabodala health post and spent the night there. The next morning at the warning of the nurse I went to meet with the Imam (village religious leader) instead of the chief. Apparently recently the village had a little march in opposition of the chief... so talking with the Imam was the less controversial route to take. After a bit of a search I more or less just happened upon him where someone was starting to build a new hut. We had a quick talk since he seemed busy, but he did provide a bit of a tour of the village for me while he was walking around trying to find water. My summary of Sabodala is that it's a strangely large village that doesn't quite know what to do with itself. Hopefully it doesn't go boom then bust like the old west.

With that I took my leave of Sabodala and headed to Branson. There's a pair of villages tiny that are at the halfway point where I stopped to get a drink from my water bottle... which I did NOT find strapped to the back of my bike where I put it. This isn't just any water bottle here mind you; it's a metal one from America that I had wrapped in fabric to make what my village likes to call an "African Fridge." I've been excited about having that back in America, and the fabric on it was a gift from volunteer who left a while ago. All that plus the fact that I would get severely dehydrated if I biked all the way with no water (and I wasn't sure about the ability to buy a bottle of water in Bransan) made me decide to head back toward Sabodala to pick it up off the road. After suspiciously eyeing everyone I passed on the road I found myself back in Sabodala where no one had seen my water bottle. Dejected, I headed to a boutique and bought a bottle of water. While leaving town a man that knows me from Khossanto was very confused when he saw me leaving for the second time, so I explained the situation to him. He reassured me that I could buy a new bottle when I get to America, to which I tried to explain the nostalgia in that bottle. Then I provided my theory that the bottle had dropped at the edge of town where some bratty kids asked me for a gift instead of greeting me and they took it. I told him that if he sees my water bottle he should take it and bring it to me. I really don't think that's going to happen, but how awesome would that be?!

Back at that halfway point I was greeted by a rather large herd of children who had just gotten out of class as I refilled my water. I decided to ask what they were learning, to which I was told what class each and every one of them was in. Once that was all straightened out I was allowed to leave as a dozen or so of the kids ran with my bike to the edge of the village. Those children were so excited just to talk to me, and not a single one of them asked for a gift... I was laughing as I left. That made up for the frustrating morning.

A few hills later and I a massive view, well I think it was at least thanks to those desert winds, I arrived in Bransan. There I found a charred health hut... one person described the mystery fire as the bamboo fence and shade structure having caught on fire, another said that the fire started because the solar was set up wrong and something happened with the fridge. Either way the building was unusable. I was then directed to the community health worker's brother's shop where he put in a call and called him in from a village nearby and about a half hour later I was talking to him. He, by the way, is the one who provided the poor wiring theory so I tend to believe that theory more.

I stayed with him through the heat of the day getting a feeling for the place. I found this to be a really interesting village, there was a pretty substantial Pulaar population but pretty much everyone could still speak Malinke so I had no troubles getting around. It peaks my interest especially because I've wanted to get a little handle on Pulaar basics for a while now, all kinds of excuses have made that impossible.

Speaking of random pockets of Pulaar, my next stop was Dialokhotoba where everyone's default language was Pulaar. Most could still speak Malinke, and many were ethnically, but the Pulaar had won out as the dominant language. It's also worth mentioning, the -ba of Dialokhotoba makes it mean Big Dialokhoto... which kind of feels like an inside joke because the only other Dialokhoto I know is along the National Route and significantly bigger. That aside, this village has a lot going for it. The community health worker came highly recommended, but unfortunately wasn't there. The reason he was gone was to get medical supplies from Kedougou (a good sign). What I was pulled in by was the primary school, not only did they have their own garden that the teachers started and worked in with the students but they also used it in their lesson plans (math for example was quoted by a teacher) AND put the produce into school lunches.

The one teacher who gave me the tour mentioned that this was the first year they used the produce in lunches and he also noticed that there were fewer students missing class because they were ill. He admitted this could be nothing but a coincidence, but it's still a good thing. I'm trying to figure out the best way to take a field trip there with a few teachers from my village to see what they are doing, unfortunately water's run out and the garden is not green at all right now. On top of that the women’s' group saw the garden and said, "Hey, we want to do that to!" So they did, with the help of the teachers.

I took the teachers up on the offer of a place to stay, and they took me to all the notable people of the village the next morning. It was very helpful since a couple of them only spoke Pulaar. I actually had to cut that short since there are a lot of notable people there so that I could leave and not be on the road come midday. On the way out of village I stopped to chat with the first guy I had talked to when I came into the village and asked him the best way to get to Diakhaling. I was right in my guess that there would be a bush path somewhere nearby. He gave very good directions and the bush path was pretty straightforward. Another really fun chunk of single track that will be crossing a few rivers once rainy season comes. It did go through a section that was more or less a bamboo forest. I love Beladougou.

I came into Diakhaling through the jurra, or artisanal mining site, giving that Wild West feel to the whole thing. I surprised myself by maneuvering through town and getting myself to the correct road and just having to confirm that it was the right way, not straight up ask for directions.

This last stretch of biking had me organizing all my thoughts and impressions of the last few days... and boy, was that a jumbled mess to deal with! Part of the reason I did this trip was in preparation for the new volunteers coming out here. I wanted to provide them with a little more insight into the area they are coming into. This got me thinking about how I felt when I was in their position - justifiably terrified. Now look at me, making maps, going to villages I've never been to before, introducing myself to the notables, all in the hopes of helping alleviate some of that anxiety for the two new volunteers that I was feeling two short years ago. So many languages! I did most of the trip in Malinke, but French came out a lot when talking to the health workers - and I did improve my Pulaar a little bit (I figured out how to say "this road?").

As much as I had thought to myself "I wish I'd done this sooner," I can't actually say I have any regrets. Hindsight is always 20/20 and I had my reasons not to do something like this until now and they were fully justified. With that, around 100km later, I was back in Khossanto having gotten a view of the beautiful land of Beladougou with just enough time to pull water and shower before lunch.

Full Circle.

Life as a TV Show*

Khossanto's Health Post on a slow day

Ever since IST (In Service Training) when Spence asked, "Do you ever feel like Peace Corps is just playing with you?" He asked this both in general and to me specifically. It seemed like up to that point in my service I was always either the most isolated volunteer - Announcement of everyone's IST home stays: "... and David, you're off somewhere by yourself..." Hannah's response: "story of his life." - or somehow overlooked - the language seminar when I was in the hospital. - I've toyed with the idea of my life as a TV show ever since.

Lately I've taken a liking to thinking of the different Health Centers, Posts, Huts, and hospitals throughout the Region of Kedougou as different medical TV shows. Originally I liked my village, Khossanto as Scrubs - a bunch of young new doctors just getting started, fun times ensue. Saraya I thought would be Grey's Anatomy - more of a hospital with those complications, and according to Leah, "some drama and pretty people." Kedougou was E.R. just because it's the big regional hospital and I don't know much about it. I thought Ninifescha could be House... it's a bizarrely placed awesome new hospital that smells like an America hospital and probably gets some weird things even though no one really uses that facility. So there's Fongolimbi and Salemata left and I don't know much about either; and the only TV show I can think of now is MASH and nowhere is a combat zone.

Anyway, Saraya and Khossanto switched roles the past couple weeks. In Scrubs form the Saraya Health Center had yet to hire a new cook for their health workers so they all took turns cooking. Obviously Leah volunteered for her own day. Lunch was Peanut Sauce (Maffé) and for dinner an Alfredo Pasta. Apparently she wont be having any troubles finding a husband now. I told her to set up a bracket... I don't think she's going to.

Not to be left without a show; the youthful, pretty health workers of Khossanto ramped up the drama yesterday to bring it into Grey's territory. As an additional disclaimer here I'm just telling what I know to point out some complications in the system not to call anyone out. My opinion is everyone made some mistakes, and it's tricky because I consider myself friends with everyone involved and hope to not be caught in the middle - bottom line, no judgments.

A villager's child is sick, so he brings the infant to the health post on a Saturday. The doctor (not actually a doctor, but that's how the village refers to him. I think he's maybe somewhere around the level of nurse?), who lives at the Health Post, says, "It's the weekend, I'm tired, come back on Monday." The villager is of the opinion that the infant is urgently sick and insists with no results, so he goes to the PCR (local government guy) for some help. He apparently manages to get the okay to be seen by the doctor.

Now the doctors are busy... constantly... these guys are working at least 12 hour days most of the time and even on weekends they have to take all injuries, and there are a lot with all the artisanal mining around, and try to turn away sicknesses unless they are urgent. The logic is that if the person is sick on the weekend to the point that they think they need to come in that they were probably sick enough that they should have came in sooner. Basically these guys are on-call literally all the time. Overworked is an understatement in my opinion; treating things as black and white, like the injury vs. sickness rule, can lead to issues no matter who you are.

The villager apparently never bought his ticket to be seen (it's unclear if there was anyone there selling tickets) so the infant was never seen. After "a few hours" of waiting he went to the doctor to see what was up. Things are blurry here, I think it's because everyone realizes they made mistakes so details aren't shared. The rumor is that at some point things escalated to something physical. Someone described the villager as having the doctor in something like a headlock... I'm guessing it was something more along the lines of an angry hand on the shoulder. This particular villager is a massive man and that would be TERRIFYING with emotions running high. A few children also suggested that rock throwing happened, but that's kind of an angry child's go-to when they are angry so they could just be filling in gaps with what they would do.

At this point the doctor goes and reports this to the Gendarme (think police) in a nearby village to file a report. The villager may or may not have had to go there to resolve that, either way things calmed down... except that it's all that anyone can talk about. Nobody loves hopping on a soapbox more than my host father... shouting... outside my door while I'm trying to nap through the part of the day that is over 105º. I'm kind of sick of hearing about it frankly, I'm not hearing anyone learn any lessons. The teachers are trying to get people to understand that the villager assaulted a government worker; villagers insist that the doctors are there for the entire village's health needs... all day any day.

Anyway, this morning the doctor was instructed to head to Saraya (the Health Center) to deal with whatever reporting needed to happen there. Meanwhile the remaining doctor (still not actually a doctor), who is actually paid by one of the commercial mines to do things in villages they affect, has to deal with all the injuries that come in (and soapbox standing villagers) on his own. Frankly, after the whole assault thing the doctors aren't really sympathetic to the situation anymore and the infant's need to see a doctor was kind of forgotten... that is until sometime this afternoon when the infant succumb to whatever illness it had.

That evening the second doctor was asked to go to Saraya. I think this was both to answer more questions for the Health Center and for his own safety... but now we have no one at the Health Post in Khossanto. I'm hoping this will get the village to see that you can only push so hard until you break something, what I think they are mostly seeing is that when things get complicated the doctors will just "run away." Unfortunately for the first doctor, if this isn't handled well he's not going to be able to work in Khossanto again, or anywhere in the region really the way news like this can travel. I don't know what's going to happen, and that's kind of scary. Like I said before, I consider everyone involved a friend - hopefully I'll seem them all again.

Gold Rush*

Last week I had my very first hut sleepover! Despite my writing this on Valentines Day, there was nothing romantic about it… it wasn’t even to visit me, bringing out my Eeyore, it was just to check out the gold mining going on all around my village. All joking aside it was a good visit and I’d love to have more (hint hint everyone). 

Right now there is a whole new rush to a village right nearby called Sambaranbougou. It started up sometime in November and is continuing to grow and it’s causing a lot of changes for me. First I’d wanted to put an Ag volunteer there and now with the gold rush security would be an issue (nothing with security has changed for me so don’t worry). The most obnoxious change has been in transport, which up to now has been pretty regular; when I missed cars it was usually my own procrastination. This caused a day of lost time and I even accounted for my own usual tardiness in the plans. Cars headed my direction are now filling up faster so I have to make it to the garage even earlier than I’m used to (but still in the afternoon, allowing plenty of time to come up with a procrastination project) and cars that used to go all the way through my village are now going to Sambaranbougou , the road to which does not pass through Khossanto (though there is a handy bush path). There is the option of getting off at the turn off, but that’s still a good 30-minute bike ride. This was the option we took. It was a great plan until Martin got a flat tire right around sunset – I biked ahead to get a spare tire I had in my hut. When I got there and told my family about it they were a little on edge that I had just left him “in the bush,” I assured them he was on the road… this is, by the way, coming from people who freak out if you cell phone is on while there is lightning around just to give you perspective. He was fiiine.

The next morning, with a fresh new tube in his bike, Martin and I bike the 25ish km to Sabodala to check out the commercial mining operation there. They were our big donors for the summer camp in August and had given me an open invitation to check out what their doing, so our resident geologist (Martin) and I cashed that in. We spent most of the day with their Environmental Manager but I still didn’t know what kind of questions to ask. We say “The Pit” which was very impressive, but the nature lover in me saw this big hole in the ground and the giant hill next to it and wasn’t very happy. In their defense they were clearly using ‘first world’ standards for safety and environmental practices – even down to making everyone buckle-up in their cars. I know there’s a need for mining, and I don’t know enough about any details to say that I am for or against it; it’s still hard for me to see people making such big changes to the environment, no matter how responsible they are. Martin, having been to active mine sites before, informed me that it was pretty par-for-the-course and seemed fairly impressed by their standards himself.

I did not take this photo

My thoughts quickly turned to all the water they use. So much, so fast that simply pulling from the ground water isn’t fast enough. What does that mean then? Well, they took two intermittent/seasonal streams, built some earthen dams, and voila! Lakes. Right now their names are really boring so I’m going to call them Big One and the Little One (not that far off from their actual names). Actually, any time now they’ll be finishing up another dam to create a medium sized one. To make Medium One they had to move a tiny village (we’re talking like 8 families) to higher ground. If I have anything to do with it, and I wont, it’s going to be named after that village – I think Big One can have the same naming scheme actually. Dear mapmakers, keep that in mind.

This whole operation started in the late aughts so these new lakes are still pretty young and don’t really have their shorelines worked out yet. To complicate their establishment they have no real input in the dry seasons, and a pretty major pull in the mines, so levels fluctuate a bunch. Actually, Little One might wind up drying up before the rains come. When the rains do come their streams do connect to the big one that is the border with Mali so there is a fish population as well as crocodiles and birds and terrestrial animals have definitely found and started utilizing these water sources. Their youth and fluctuating shore line has yet to make noticeable changes to the flora in the area; we were told the dams, and therefore lakes, would stay when the commercial operation closed so they will have plenty of time to find their footing. This creates a very unique water resource in the area that includes at least one “permanent” stream coming from Big One.

Honestly I’m conflicted on this. The bottom line is what kind of impacts is this new set of ecosystems going to have on the area – there are positives for humans and nature, but there are negatives too. It all depends on management and it could go either way. I for one and very interested to find out.

Moving on, we were given a ride back to Khossanto and made our plans to check out Sambaranbougou and the artisanal mines the next day. We almost made it out of town in the morning when a friend of mine told us that no one would be working; someone had died out there. Obviously shocked and concerned I asked what happened. All I was told is that he had a sickness and was a guy from Mali. We made the best of the day and were able to see everything that an artisanal miner does right in Khossanto, except the digging in the ground part.

This happens all day every day somewhere in the village so I’ve got a pretty good handle on what they do at this point.

1. Dig and bring rocks back to your compound
2. Hammer said rocks into pebbles. 
3. a: Pound pebbles into powder, some choose to use a special iron pounder. b: Pay a small amount to have the pebbles ground to a powder by a machine. 
4. Use water to wash the powder down a ramp covered in carpet squares, which will catch the heavier bits, including gold.
5. “Pan” what comes off the carpet squares for a preview of what you got. Optionally set this aside to pay special attention to the higher concentration of gold. 
6. Get as much water out of the sand collected from the carpet squares without drying and add mercury (you know, that dangerous element in some thermometers, they call it “Produit”) and grind that into the sand with your hands until you cannot tell it is there. 
7. Add water again and agitate so the mercury, which will have grabbed all the gold, consolidated into a bead while carefully pouring out the excess sand and water. 
8. Pour the mercury/gold bead into a small cloth and squeeze out as much mercury as possible, leaving a mostly gold nugget in the cloth. 
9. Press out as much mercury from that as possible, that stuff is expensive and you will not be getting it back after the next step. 
10. Take your nugget to the buyer who uses a special torch to burn off what’s left of the mercury (usually in a place that makes it really easy to breath in the fumes) then weighs the gold and pays you accordingly. 

As with any commodity the price varies and changes, but I feel pretty comfortable saying people are getting about 20,000 CFA/gram (about $40). I don’t however feel comfortable saying what an average days work gets, but it is apparently worth it. 

That night we found out another man from Mali died in Sambaranbougou. This time I was a little more persistent to get information about what kind of sickness it was – he was coughing, had a fever, and was maybe throwing up. These may be the symptoms for a lot of diseases, but I’m going to be extra aware of anything like that happening to me. So far so good and I haven’t heard about anyone else passing away. Between it being Friday (prayer day) and news of this new death it was clear no one would be working out there the next day so Martin decided to head back to Kédougou and my little gold rush came to an end.

Occupy Khossanto*

I really didn’t want to get out of bed this morning. My breakfast porridge is coming later, now that cold season has kicked in nobody wants to get out of bed, even to make breakfast.  It’s SO cold - like all the way down into the 60s.  I get to snuggle up under all my sheets and blankets (Thanks Jay this is the only time of year I can use it), and I’ve always liked being under the covers.  It’s a welcome change to sleeping with no sheets and starfishing so that no part of my body is touching another.

Breakfast came nonetheless and I was forced to start my day, which was in fact a fairly rough start.  Roughness aside there certainly was a lot more noise than usual coming from the Case des Tous Petits (think pre-school then take away all the money) than the toddlers usually make.  That’s when I noticed host siblings had an urgency in them that usually isn’t there when they said they were going with the other students.

Turns out they went on strike!  I was annoyed at first because there are already so many reasons that the students don’t get enough time in school – teacher strikes, holidays, the whole affecté thing where teachers are not necessarily from anywhere nearby – but I had nothing better to do since everyone I work with was either taking part in the strikes or trying to resolve the situation so I went to check it out… from a safe distance.

I’m not going to lie and say I’m super informed about all of the Occupy Place demonstrations, but much like the “Arab Spring” the name seems apropos.  As I asked around to get the reason for the strike, that’s the word they used… well the French word, I got a few nonsense answers like because there’s no fence around the school.  I think that her dad was just talking about having to go cut bamboo for the school fence so she had it in her head. What the real reason the students took to the street was because of the dust. Give me a second, I’ll explain.

The road through Khossanto is just a dirt road, but it is heavily trafficked by transport heading to and from the gold mines.  Many of the vehicles seem fairly oblivious to the fact that they are going through a village and speed right through, even going so far as to swerve around the speed bumps.  Not only is this dangerous, I’ve been informed that someone was killed last month biking just outside of the village, but it also kicks up a lot of dust which gets everywhere – even when I have my hut all closed up an amazing amount of dust still makes its way in.  Another concern is the status of our lungs thanks to all the red dust in the air with all the schools (primary, middle, and aforementioned pre) are along that road… as is most of the village honestly.

By the time I got out there the students had stopped three tanker-trucks heading towards the mines and 3 pick-ups heading to Kedougou.  By the end of everything there were a few more bits of public transport and mine cars caught in the line.  I had seen a group of older students head to the meeting place with the PCR (local government official) so I decided to find somewhere high to get a good view of the street. Right when I got into position is when the Gendarme (police) showed up… with their riot gear.

I’m all about better safe than sorry, and the Gendarmes were definitely peaceful, as were the students, but I was worried their jumping into riot gear might scare the students into making a stupid mistake and throwing one of those stones they had used to build their road blocks.  They didn’t – everyone was very civil.  The students would yell and make noise ever so often, but it all seemed good-natured.  Villagers were let through the line if they needed, I heard one woman offer up an “Allah mu al deema,” “May God help you all.” That’s not in our sarcastic context but an honest wishing that the students be helped.

As I asked around everyone seemed to agree that the dust was an issue and that with this much traffic the road should be paved.  It would change Khossanto a lot – it’s just unclear how the project would be funded.  I’m fairly positive it’s not on the government’s short list of roads to pave.  Although the mines would benefit from the road it’s my opinion that if they were willing to pay for it the work would already be done.  Who knows what’s going to happen though, as the crowd dispersed I asked a friend if it was finished, “It’s not done yet, next Monday.”

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!

Crème Cassia*

I could waste a bunch of time explaining why I haven’t updated in a while and apologizing and all that… M buŋ, I refuse. I was busy / lazy / who cares. Here’s a fun thing that happened recently.

Mandinkas go patriotic

The 4th of July means party times in Kédougou. Lots of good food (said first because I and a new volunteer were in charge of it), a “4k” run with the community and volunteers, friends coming down from all over the country, and of course Fireworks (thanks to volunteers around Dakar). The fireworks this year included something akin to the “Saturn Missile” and on the bigger end, for those in the know, more on par with the Fisk fireworks of my childhood.

If all that wasn’t enough of a scene most people also dressed up to a certain extent. Kédougou region volunteers tried to stick to a trailer park theme since the hotel of choice in Gou was closed for repairs. The goal was mesh tank tops and jean shorts, the market was tricky to work with, but we managed. My favorites though had to be the Kolda girls as the patriotic Disney princesses. It’s amazing what you can get a Senegalese tailor to do.

Once the festivities were over I found myself helping out with a Neem Lotion Tourney, which did not allow me time to head back to my village first. I wound up spending a couple extra days in Kédougou (It has come to my attention that I might not have provided pronunciation: Kay-Do-Gu) working on things for Summer Camp. In fact it was a surprise camp meeting the day I planed to leave that sent me into a state of confusion that caused me to stay an extra night in Gou (short for Kédougou). The next morning, after a farewell smoothly, I caught a car to Saraya (Sar-ee-uh / Sa-rye-ah depending on who you want to make fun of, I tend to stick with the former). The change in departure for me wound up convincing another volunteer, Kate, to join in on the tourney; which, by the way, was headed by Leah (the one and only, part of the Mandinka Trio of yore). After lunch at Kate’s place we hopped on out bikes and met up with Leah and Ian at his village, Missira Dantila, for a neem lotion (Crème Cassia) demonstration:

“Do you all know the Palu?" (Malaria is Paludisme in French)
“Yeah! You get all hot, and your body gets all sore. You get very sick, it’s not good.”
“Can you do any work?”
“No!”
“So your men can’t farm, women can’t cook, and your children can’t go to school. It’s not good.”
“It’s not good a lot.”
“So how do you get it?”
“When the rains come, and the mosquitoes come and one with malaria bites you.”
“Right, so how can you prevent it?”
“Sleep under a mosquito net!” (Mosquito nets have been drilled into people for years as THE way to end Malaria).
“But what about before you go to bed? During dinner and while you are sitting and chatting, do mosquitoes bite you then?”
“Yeah! It’s not good, we can still get Malaria… in fact that kid has it right now.” (For now the government provides free malaria meds; I wouldn’t worry about her, she was getting treatment and didn't look bad enough to be worried.)
“Well here’s how you can make your very own mosquito medicine:”

One of these girls has Malaria...
it's the one in the middle.

1. Boil two handfuls of neem tree leaves until the water turns green.
2. Cut one big bar of soap into the smallest pieces you can into a tub.
3. Strain the leaves out of the green water and add the hot water to the tub of soap pieces.
4. Stir it really really hard until all the soap is gone.
5. Add 100cfa (about a shot glass / tea glass) of oil and stir.
6. Once cooled, apply to skin as a lotion.

The mob moves in on the fence

This is when we hand out samples of the lotion we just demonstrated, which can get tricky, we kind of started a riot in Missira Dantila… Elbows were thrown, free samples stolen, mothers covered in green foam… My personal favorite though was the woman who stole the bucket with about half of the sample in it and proceded to run through a hut and climb over a fence to get away from the mob. Once there she tried to vend the samples to other women from the opposite side of the fence. Her plan worked well until some of the other women realized they also could climb the fence and get to the bucket directly.  This wound up being a good opportunity to discuss the marketability of Neem Lotion in the village... once all the lotion was gone and we came out of hiding.

After Missira we spent the next few days doing the demo in other villages. I helped out with Samecouta, Nafadji, Baitilai, Faraba, and Kondokho. There was a plan to do it in my village, Khossanto, as well; God did not agree and after waiting all afternoon for a car to take us there we headed back to Kédougou. I had wanted to just bike the remainder of the way back to Khossanto by myself, but once again camp issues came up and I found myself needing to return to Gou.

On a more permanent scale, in each village we did a demo we also left our tag - A spray paint stencil of how to make Neem lotion in 6 easy steps (see picture from earlier with Malaria girl). Four colors to each step, it’s pretty ingenious in my opinion… idea by Kellen, execution by Sully, fun for all ages.

Because it's been a while... Baby in a tux!