Waiting

I now have something of a routine, as I've been in site for almost three weeks. Mostly I don't do a whole lot. In the morning I greet people, and maybe go to the boutique to buy some beignets (a lady named Amy, one of the boutiquiers, makes them fresh every morning - millet beignets are delicious!) and hang out with the family. Sometimes I stay at home and read, sometimes I wander the village and chat with various families. Lately, almost everyone clears out of town for the day, to sift through the earth for stray peanuts. The women are especially adament about this. They want the extra money to buy new clothes and meches for Tabaski. "Meches" are hair extensions that the women weave into their own short hair, to make long braids. It's a lengthy process, and in the afternoons almost all the women in the village can be seen sitting in the shade, braiding each other's hair. Tabaski - a big Muslim holiday - will be celebrated soon, shortly before Christmas I believe, and involves killing a sheep (in rememberence of Abraham, who killed a ram instead of his son) and apparantly new clothes as well. I do not have new clothes or meches, but I think I will bust out the old Korite outfit and take lots of pictures of everybody looking their best. Meanwhile, time passes slow in the village. In terms of actual work I have none, except what I make for myself. Due to the water shortage in Keur Ali Gueye, I thought encouraging people to have small container gardens makes more sense than a large-scale gardening project. So, I have three tires in my backyard, planted with collards, onions, and carrots respectively. We'll see how it goes. People don't seem too impressed so far. They are impressed, however (and a little bemused) that I insist on going to the well myself every day to draw water, instead of letting my little sisters do all the work for me. I carry my two yellow tubs to the well and wait my turn to step in and add my meager muscle to the pulley rope, drawing up water. The women laugh, but I refuse to give up, and lately they've been saying, "Abbi men na!" - Abbi can do it! - which is clearly a big surprise. I only fill the 20-liter tubs a little over halfway, but I carry they home myself. On my head. Actually, it's much easier to do that than to haul them home by hand; my back is much stronger than my arms. Anyway, as you can probably tell, I'm quite proud of myself for doing the work. The one break from the daily visit to the well came last weekend, when I was sick for the first time. This is not fun. I stayed in bed for two days, feeling wretched, but after that things got better, and now I am back to normal. Well, as normal as someone raised on American food can be while existing on a Senegalese diet. Each Tuesday, I head to Nioro for the market to buy vegetables. It's a busy place, as people from villages all around go there once a week for their shopping. Also it's perhaps the only time I will ever be mistaken for being Japanese; there are some Japanese volunteers there as well as Americans, so children's shouts are split between "toubab!" and "japonais!". A refreshing change from the norm. Otherwise, I spend my time hanging out in the village, talking to people and trying to get a feel for what activities they may be interested in. Already I have found some families with whom I am comfortable, so I go there often to chat. Sometimes we drink sweet tea, which is quite a ritual in itself: they heat a tiny teapot on a brazier, fill the pot with tea leaves and sugar, and cook it until it's very concentrated. Then, then fill a shot glass and proceed to pour the tea in a high arc from one glass to another, back and forth, creating foam on the top. By the time it's actually served the tea is thick and heavily sweet, hot, and you slurp as you drink it. Tasty, though terrible for the teeth.
I forgot before to post my new mailing address. I love mail! Here it is:

PCV Abigail Fay
BP 2089 Ndorong
Kaolack, Senegal
West Africa

The guys at the post are really nice; they're used to Volunteers.