Sunday, June 29, 2008

Wet

I awoke this morning to find that my village had become a swamp. To backtrack: since my last dramatic installment (the wind that blew my roof off, with enough rain to soak my bed but not penetrate far into the soil) there has been no rain to speak of. The fields waited, dry, and the men and boys returned to relaxing. There were many cloudy days, but no rain. Then finally, the day before yesterday, it happened. It was the late afternoon when the clouds started gathering in earnest, congealing into heavy, bruise-colored clumps low on the horizon. That day, the village children paraded through the streets, singing - so I was told - to bring on the rain. And it woked! At the beginning, there were only a few timid drops, and people went on with their chores, pounding millet and stripping nebedaye or baobab leaves for dinner as usual. But graually, the rain gathered force, until it came at last in an impressive waterfall that ran in thick rivers across the packed ground. Thunder and lightning added drama to the already-thrilling scene; the excitement in people's faces was contagious. Everyone grinning from ear to ear, whether they were dancing in the shower (like many of the giddy children did) or just sticking their heads out the door to watch the droplets fall from the straws of the roof. I stared out at my backyard, which gathered water at a surprising rate, washing swiftly over the grassless ground, over the flimsy green trunks of my recently-planted trees, and splitting to avoid my compost pile. After the main deluge had reduced to a tolerable trickle, I went outside to join the neighbors. Everyone was standing around on bits of high ground, watching the water run downstream towards the fields. My counterpart was so excited, he called me over and grabbed my arm to point out into a field behind the village, where we could see the sheen of water gathering. My host mom was laughing; many of the kids ran in wrapped in towels from where they had bathed in the downpour. Nothing but happiness all around. The frosting on the cake, for me, was yet to come. Only minutes afterward, the sun burst out from behind the westward clouds, creating an enormous, gorgeous rainbow in the east. It was a perfect arc, touching the ground on both sides, with all the colors bright and beautifully clear. One of the most flawless rainbows I have ever seen. The rain came again that evening, and the next day people headed out to the fields. I, too, went to work, visiting the nine farmers to whom I gave improved seed to test this season. I made sure to distribute the seeds last week, so everyone has what they're assigned, and they saw my germination tests so they know what to expect in that regard. Dotted all over the land were sillouettes of people, walking behind seeding or tilling machines, or urging on their work animals - horses, cows, and donkeys. I visited some of the fields that will be seeded with Peace Corps seed this year, so I can make notes about their performane during the coming season. But most people are busy with sowing peanuts at the moment, as that is their primary crop. Last night, then, came the real deluge. It rained so hard and so long, it filled up each of my buckets half-way! This also created huge expanses of standing water in the lower parts of the land, along the roads and in the depressions around trees. Walking out this morning, I heard the humming of frogs, who have appeared in legions overnight, and saw the puddles all around. Everywhere I walked were tiny, spring-green shoots pushing up through the wet sand. Birds fluttering and chirping everywhere! As I said, when I went out this morning, it was no longer into the dry Sahelian brush; it was a vertiable wetland. Now the real work starts for us all.

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Photos and friends

Note: these should really be looked at up bottom to top; they were added in reverse. Enjoy!
Hugging a majestic baobab tree in Toubakouta.

Heather and Adam enjoying the lunch they bought for the village. Noos yu bare! The goat was cute, and also delicious. Very oily meal; they used seven liters.Janet Lane comes to Senegal! Her new book, "Emerald Silk" was excellent. It has now joined the hallowed shelves of the much-frequented Kaolack house bookcase. Like to read much?My counterpart filling a shift in one of the village boutiques. I think it's time for me to display some images of a few of the fabulous people I work with. These are my two good friends Kate and Wanna, making lotion in my backyard:

Home is where the Hut is

It's funny, but actually I am more at home now in a village, carrying a bucket of water on my head, than I am in Dakar where there is television and restaurants open late. Coming back to the village after a long series of outside activities made me appreciate anew the unique place it is, and how lucky I am to be having this experience. There really is nothing else like it. As I walked the seven kilometers from Nioro to Keur Ali Gueye, I passed fields newly tilled, and the few patches of fallow land are covered in a fuzz of emerald grass. All these are signs that the rainy season has officially started. This was announced to me in a rather shocking way late Sunday night, when a storm of thunder, lightning, wind and rain began to rage. At first I felt cozy in my hut, but soon, I began to feel a dripping coldness, and realized that there was a huge leak in my thatch roof - right over my bed. The rain was really coming down, and the gale was blowing hard, so I really could do nothing but get up and watch my mattress become drenched by the steady stream of droplets from the ceiling. By the time it was over, there was only one relatively dry spot; the rest of the bed was completely saturated. As we discovered in the morning, the wind has blow off the top of my roof, creating a sizeable hole. So, we tied the straw down with ropes, and I bought some plastic lining that we'll install today. Hopefully that should keep me dry for the rest of the season.
The morning after that big storm, all the men and boys of the village gathered their seeding and tilling machines, hefted sacks of peanut seed onto carts, and hitched up all their horses and donkeys. All day there was a stream of the going to and from the fields, seeding this year's crop of peanuts. It's all done by manpower, with a significant contribution from the horses, cows, and donkeys. The village is pretty much cleared out by every male over the age of five until lunchtime, when they finally come home to rest in the heat of the afternoon. I have yet to try my hand at plowing or planting, as my time has been occupied in the village with a variety of little projects: visiting the gardens where two farmers want to install a live fence (we'll plant it after a few more good rains, inch'allah), monitoring my germination test (the millet came up fantastically well, the beans too; corn did fine but sorghum is pretty pathetic) and planting trees. With the help/hinderence of the inevitable mob of children, we have outplanted about ten papayas, a few nebedaye, some "dank" (a rather dry, bland, fibrous green fruit with a huge pit), and my host father wants to plant the jitropha along the side of his backyard field sometime soon. I have also put a tree every few meters along my own backyard fence which, when they grow big enough, can be used as posts to tie the fence to. At the moment people use dead wood, which often falls down, as we discovered during another windstorm. Two whole sides of my millet-stalk fence blew over that time. Also, the NGO Tostan is doing a project with twenty village women to start up a savings-and-loans club, so that is an exciting new thing to observe. As the rain arrives, too, so do the mosquitoes. Therefore, it's time to start combating the inevitable malaria. Several programs are in place to attempt to reduce cases of the disease: a group will come through the villages to spray rooms with insecticide that is supposed to last throughout the rainy season. Another group will hand out coupons for free mosquito nets to mothers of children under five, which they can pick up at Postes de Sante in surrounding towns. Hopefully I can also do a formation on making neem lotion, which acts as a repellent. In addition to that, I must soon distribute the improved seeds to my village's chosen farmers, and start monitoring their fields, as well as setting up demonstration plots of new techniques to try. So, there's plenty going on! Also, the bookmobile project is getting going. I have meetings coming up about that in the next few weeks as well. As soon as the rains come, so does the work! It feels really good to be back in the village, though. I missed it, and always come back with a really positive feeling. Everyone is excited to see me, and I them; for now, this place is my home.
My annoying foot infection came back once I returned, though, so I'm still treating that. However, having it means I got a great insider's experience of traditional healing practices. My host father was very concerned about it, so he first gave me a red, white, and black thread to tie around my ankle, "to help pull out the infection". This was followed by two mornings of murmuring, spitting, and waving his hand over the wound; also, chewing up "nettattue" (I have no idea what this is; they look like little brown seeds, and are used in cooking) and patting the slimy mixture around the spot, "to draw out the fluids", and finally drinking several rounds of tea made from a leaf he brought me from the bush. Anyway, thanks to those treatments, continued hot soaks and antibiotics, the thing seems to be on its way out finally. I won't be the one to say those healing efforts didn't help it along!