Popenguene

Last weekend we had a brief getaway at the beautiful beach of Popenguene. We all piled into an al hum (they are basically small busses that will pack in as many people as possible. It's pretty amazing; usually there's at least one guy hanging off the back holding the door shut, and our struggled when going uphill, but we made it!) and headed out of Thies for the first time. After the craziness of training and constant existance in a bustling city, unloading into a quiet town with an idyllic stretch of beach was like walking into Paradise. As soon as I dropped my stuff off I got into my bikini and it didn't come off all night! The breeze felt so good on my bare skin, which usually sweats all day in clothes covering it from shoulders to calves, and the ocean was refreshingly cool during the day, and felt warm at night. I bobbed around in the waves, enjoying the freedom of being away from everything. Needless to say we had a wonderful time! One of the coolest things I saw was a group of fishermen on the beach, hauling in a net. It was maybe ten in the morning, and there was a huge group of people there helping to pull the net in, which was writhing with fish. They flashed in the sun, almost blinding. Once onshore, people grabbed armfulls of the dying fish and tossed them into sorted piles. The smaller ones went to the cluster of sea birds that hopped on the sidelines, waiting for handouts. After the mini-vacation, I felt totally refreshed and had a really good week. I reached the minimum language requirement, which is nice because now I can concentrate on improving rather than just making the grade. Somehow, the days positively flew by this week! I don't know where the time went. Lots of other Trainees are going to Dakar this weekend, but I'm staying in Thies witht he family. My host sisters braided my hair again this afternoon, and it feels so good to have the wind blow across my scalp instead of feel the sweat pooling on my neck. Tomorrow my sister is going to teach me how to cook ceeb u jen (rice and fish), a traditional lunch of Senegal.

Kaay Fecc

I am writing early this week since the Trainees have organized a trip to the beach this weekend, so I don't think I'll make it to an Internet Cafe then. This week has been good. We did several field trips to villages surrounding Thies, to practice Wolof and interact with the farmers. I know my language skills need a lot of practice, and despite the fact that people don't always understand me and I speak with terrible grammar, I really enjoy taking a break from the classroom to study in the real world. The big event this week was a "tam tam" dance organized by the trainers. We invited members of our family and some people dressed up in their Korite outfits (the only ones most people have, besides the clothes we brought from the US) to dance. The dancing here is hard to describe. As best I can tell, it is a group of drummers jamming, and the dancers try in effect to anticipate what the drums will do next, and match the rhythm with movement. This is not easy, as the drumbeat changes all the time! Also, I have news: the stereotype that Africans are dancing all the time is not true! The beginning of our tam tam was just as awkward as any American high-school dance, with people sitting on the sidelines staring at the empty floor. Finally, a few brave souls got it started, but we never once got everybody up to dance, and there were definitely more Americans shaking it than Senegalese. However, most of us didn't look quite as impressive as the few young women who hiked up their pagnes and danced in aerobic style. They leap up into the air, stamp their feet, wave their arms...it's really impossible to describe, but it is really intimodating to watch, because I could never move like that! One of the most striking things about the dance party were the colors. People came in a varity of clothes, but the Senegalese are not shy with colors. Some wear neon green or yellow, and look amazing in them, with the contrast of their skin. Others choose more subdued maroon or tan. Mix it all with the various shades of American - I wore red-orange, another girl green, one bright blue - and there is a complete artists' pallette, plus a few colors that never would appear in nature. I love the bold patterns of the fabrics, and the many styles of clothing. Really it can't be described, or even shown in a photo, though I took a few, which I willpost when I get the chance. And I would like to point out that I danced alot, sometimes all alone, and it was a lot of fun! In case anyone was wondering, the "electric slide" CAN work with a Senegalese drum beat, but most people were lame and didn't join in. Oh, well, I'm no stranger to being the only one having a good time on the dance floor.
Now would be a good time maybe to describe a typical evening. They are very short! I usually get home from the center by about 7pm (it takes about half an hour, since I walk) and then I greet my family, ask how their day went, and set my stuff in my room. If I have homework, that is the time to do it because there is a little light left and while we have electricity, it is not always reliable. Usually, if we're eating rice, which we often do, I help to clean it. One of my sisters does the cooking every night, but I like to help. So we sift through the rice with our hands, picking out any small bits of grit, chaff or little bugs that might be there. Meanwhile, attracted by the light, there are often dozens of grasshoppers zipping around - of all sizes and types - as well as little brown beetles that crawl all over, but are harmless. After picking out the bad bits, we wash the rice two or three times by adding water to the calabash-bowl and swishing our hand around so all the grains get scrubbed. I never rinsed rice at home, though they say you are supposed to, but here you can really see how important it is. The water is definitely not clear after the rice is washed! Sometimes we have fish and vegetables on top, other times the rice is mixed in with the sauce, and twice we had a meat stew with peas that didn't involve rice at all; we scooped it up with bread. Mostly my family eats with spoons, though sometimes the older people prefer their hand. After dinner, we head outside, where they roll out mats and nap where there is a cool breeze. This is usually around 9pm or so. Depending on how tired I am, I'll stay and talk for awhile, though it is hard to find the motiation to stay awake when everybody else is lying on the ground snoozing! Usually I am in bed by 9:30, to write or read for half an hour before going to sleep, and I start all over again at 6am the next day. My constant background noise is prayers from the many mosques, and also the sound of roosters and sheep outside the compound. On my walk in the morning, I relish the peacefulness and relative quiet, because the one thing you can't escape here is the noise. But, I'm used to that too.

Onions, chickens, and a red dress

Yesterday was Korite, the official end of Ramadan. I woke up fairly early (which is not unusual, now; what is very difficult is staying awake past 10pm! I feel like a huge loser, but I am so sleepy by 9:30 even, that all I want to do is go to bed. The family stays up much later, but they don't usually do anything like have long conversations, dance, or watch movies, and I can't bring myself to stay awake when all we are doing is sitting or lying around outside. It's something to work on.) so I could help prepare the meal. Clearly one of the highlights of Korite is lunch, which nobody has enjoyed for a month. In the morning, after breakfast, the men and little boys got into their fancy clothes and went to the mosque. The streets outside were full of these male groups in their colorful outfits. Meanwhile, I helped my host mother and sisters peel a mountain of onions and garlic cloves, which we later diced and made into a delicious sauce. My hands still smell slightly oniony, even though we washed with vinegar afterwards. After returning from prayer, two of my host brothers went out and came back with three or four live chickens, held by the wings. They made a huge racket, squawking and screeching, that was really horrible to hear. It didn't last too long, though, as they were taken behind the house and came back headless in a bucket. Later, my brother plucked them and handed them over to a sister, who fried them up in spices and oil. Lunch was couscous (Moroccan style, my preferance), with a thick onion sauce and plenty of chicken. Theoretically, during Korite people dress in beautiful clothes and go visit neighbors. This did happen, but not until late (though maybe it happens in the evening anyway, I'm not sure) because right after lunch a sudden rainstorm began. There was thunder and a veritable monsoon. Our courtyard began to fill with water, and lakes formed on the sides of the street. It poured like this for a long time, drenching everything not under cover, and flooding the dirt-floored compound. Luckily, nothing important got wet, but by the time it was over everything else was thoroughly soaked. This means I won't be watering my little garden plot this weekend! It was speculated to limit the visitors for Korite, as well, so I took a nap. When I got up, someone has swept the water from the courtyard and the puddles didn't look too bad, so a few of us changed into our outfits. My host sister, who is a tailor, made mine. It is a two-piece dress of rust-colored bazane, with a black lace trim. I think it's very pretty! After squeezing into my clothes (they're a tight fit, as is the style) I went out with my eldest host brother and his girlfriend to a friend's house, where we sat and chatted in an extremely comfortable living room while enjoying cups of monkey bread juice - guy - the fruit of the baobad tree. It's delicious stuff, almost like a smoothie. Yesterday I also tried two kinds of millet porriage, both sweetened, one with lait caille (like a thin yogurt) and the other stewed with peanuts and pieces of fruit. Both are tasty, but there was so much food, I couldn't possibly fit it all in! We definitely eat a lot here. I wonder how that will change when I get to the village. Anyway, that was my rainy Korite. It was good, though. And now that Ramadan is over, I will finally start to learn what Senegalese life is like the other eleven months of the year!

Sama Willas

Today we were finally given our site announcements! I am headed to a village of about 700 people called Keur Ali Gueye, in the Kaolack region. As far as I can tell, I will be 7km from the nearest sizeable town (one you can find on a map of Senegal) called Nioro du Rip. I am very excited! It feels so good to finally know where I will be living for the next two years. Life in a small village will take some adjusting - even less privacy, no electricity, long walks to the market - but I am prepared to figure those things out they come. Needless to say, there will be fewer blog postings once I'm at site! That won't be for another month, though. In the meantime, we are still training hard in Thies. Tonight most people are going out to a restaurant to celebrate our new sites. I'll be there!

Business as usual

It is just business as usual here at the training center. Class, culture, health, more class, technical, and lanuage class again. I have Wolof coming out my ears, though unfortunately not out of my mouth. Hehehe, I'm a genius - that is such an amazing sentance! Akon is currently playing in the background at the Internet cafe. The Senegalese-American (verdicts are mixed here as to his true naitonality) is ever-present; I hear Akon ALL the time. Luckily his music, from what I've heard, is pretty good. Though I wish I could listen to some Sugarland or something country once in a while. Really, though, Wolof is going well; slowly, but it's coming along. We finally did something agriculture-related this week: we tilled a little plot in the training center and sowed some crops to care for and observe for our next month here. We have millet, sorgum, corn, cowpea, and peanut, of which the millet and sorgum have already sprouted. They are just tiny green shoots at the moment, but pretty soon we wil have to weed and water them. Traditionaly, things are planted at the beginning of the rainy season, and whatever rain falls during those few months is all the water they get for the year, so it is important to have varieties that will finish their life cycle before it gets too dry for them. We visited a very neat, clean little village earlier this week to look at the ields in production. It was humbling, for me, to see how the farmers here have learned to grow food in, essentially, sand, or occasdionally clay. There is no rich, black soil here like we have back home. It is reddish, grainy and poor-looking, but nevertheless fertile. I have a lot to learn about farming here, that's for sure. Nothing is quite like the greeting we recievedin these villages. As our bus pulled up and we sweaty Americans spilled out, we were surrounded by children grinning and greeting us - I could respond to that, in part, with my clumsy Wolof - and then the women greeted us also, with huge smiles and excitement all round. It's something that just doesn't happen in the US, really, to have strangers welcome you and help you learn their lanuage, and really truly want you there. It is a good feeling. Today, walking with a fellow Trainee to the Internet cafe, an adorable little boy was goiing our way, so we started chatting (in French and Wolof) about little things - school, his family, our names. We just strolled off together, talking when we felt like it, and laughing a lot. That's the kind of thing that happens here fairly frequently. Some of the kids in my neighborhood know who I am now, and they'll call to me - "Fatou Diallo!" as I walk home. I regret that I don't have more time to spend with my host family. They are really great, but by the time I get home from training it is almost time for "ndogu" - breaking fast - and then I do homework usually, maybe sit with them for half an hour before dinner, and then it's off to bed. The weekends are my time with them, but also for myself, so it is tough to find the balance. Last week, I helped my sisters with the laundry. It's a grueling chore - they wash everything by hand, and scrub so hard the water makes a squelching noise through their fingers. I tried, but couldn't do it, so I rinsed and wrung out the clothes instead. They dry quickly in the sun, and then are ironed. I'm not sure exactly why they do this, but apparantly there are some flies that will lay eggs on damp clothing, which could hatch into larvae that burrow under the skin, but ironing kills them, which is enough to make me buy an ironing board! It's an old-style iron, though. They fill the iron shell with hot coals from the brazier, which they use also for heating water and other things. I'll have to try it sometime. Meanwhile, things are going well here. I am very busy! This Thursday our sites will be announced. It is exciting! I can't wait to find out where I will be for the next two years...

Training

(Drying laundry at the training center....scenic, isn't it?)

We finally finished our first week of training, and it is a grueling schedule. We start classes at 8a.m., but I try to be there by 7:30 to eat breakfast (which is tea/nescafe/hot chocolate, and bread. WAY too much rahter nasty white bread.) and settle in before we get into the grind. Wolof lessons are tough - it's been forever since I learned the basics of a language, and I'd forgotten how much I disliked it. But, all things considered, it is going well. I can now greet people on the street: "Naga def? Naka waa ker nga? Alhamdullilah!" and that's about the extent of my language skills. We are learning to make basic sentances now, which I try to practice with the family, but that is slow going. However, I am optimistic that I will meet the minimum language requirement for the Peace Corps. Meanwhile, we are also learning come useful cross-cultural tidbits, which we are trying to apply in daily life. This is easier said than done, I find, but I am determined to try! Eating etiquette is fairly straightforward: don't take all the vegetebles, don't reach across the bowl into someone else's area, don't sprawl so nobody else can fit, and don't ever use your left hand! Right hand only. For pretty much everything. Which at least is consistant! I need to work on paying more attention to which hand people are using, though, and really concentrate on which one I offer; at home, whichever hand is convenient is fine, but here using your left hand could be considered very rude. I have more trouble with the rules governing people's interactions. They all still feel awkard to me, and I'm never quite sure when I should wander away from people I've greeted, or whether they are still including me in the mostly-unintelligable conversation...my family is great about this, and they help me a lot, but on the street it gets confusing. Speaking of streets, the Peace Corps gave us our bikes this week. I never liked biking at home, especially not on the street, and here I enjoy it even less! I always feel like I'm risking my life whenever I swing onto that bike, and especially when riding down the road, and unsure of what the many other vehicles are planning to do. It really is the most practical way to get from my home to the training center, though, so I will figure it out. This afternoon I walked home instead, though, and that was nice. A lot hotter, and it took awhile longer, but I felt signifigantly less terrified. So I may walk a few days a week from now on. This first week we focused on learning the basics of Wolof (many different pronouns to keep straight!) as well as some general information about Senegal's government and ecology, and a basic overview of what we Sustainable Agriculture volonteers will be doing. Nothing very hands-on yet, but hopefully soon we will get to start our own garden plots and learn some other useful activities to prepare us for work in the field. And in two weeks, we'll finally have our site assignments! It will feel good to know where I'll be going, and I am impatient to find out, as is everyone else. But there is plenty to occupy us in the meantime! No cell phone yet, though I will try to get one soon. But I have loved both letters I got - thank you Heather and Arwen!! People should write me more letters. This was kind of a boring blog post; there is lots to say, but as to my activities I spend ten hours a day in training, which leaves time only really for geting home, breaking the fast, relaxing for a bit, watching T.V., eating dinner, and then turning in while everybody else stays up until I-don't-know-how-late. So that's my life for now. In a nutshell, it's good.

Wolof chez les Diallo

I am now settled into my new host family for the next two months. There are eighteen of them! Which, large as it seems, is not too unusual around here. They thought it was pretty funny when I told them I come from a family of six, and that's considered unusually huge in the U.S.A. I was only "Binta Faye" for those few days in my demystification village, and now I am "Fatou Diallo", until I end up with another (and this one I will finally get to keep!) Senegalese name in whatever place I end up. We break the fast now slightly differently: bread with butter, dates, and nescafé. The evenings thus far have been taken up with relaxing in the cooling air, chatting (or, in my case, listening to the still-incomprehensible conversation...in a few weeks hopefully I will be able to join in!) and greeting neighbors. At the moment, the womens basketball championship is on, so we have been watching that on T.V. in the heat of the afternoon. This morning I woke up at 5a.m. to eat a little, intending to try and fast today just to see what it is like. We ate a bowl-full of what is called "fundé". It is like a tapioca pudding made with balls of millet. I had some during demystification, but it was not quite as good as this, because it did not have the secret ingredient: lime juice! When you add lime juice it becomes irresisteable, and it is easy to understand how overindulgence could lead to a "jaay fundé" - big butt, which as I understand it is a positive attribute here, but still not something I aspire to! Incidentally, I didn't end up fasting today. They kept giving me food! I don't like to turn that down. As another side note, please excuse my spelling; we haven't started Wolof yet and so I have no real idea how to write it all out...plus this is a French keyboard and that further complicates things. Tomorrow, though, I start Wolof class! Already we learned a few key phrases and basic greetings in "survival Wolof", but now I'm in for the real thing. Not everyone is learning this language; there are several local ones being taught as well as French. Learning Wolof gives me no clue as to where I may be placed, since it is the most commonly spoken language in Senegal, so the suspense in mounting. While knowing French is very handy, and means I can converse with my host family pretty easily, as all the older members studied French in school, I am hoping it won't end up being a crutch I use when struggling with Wolof. Almost everyone here uses French to some extent, though Wolof is preferable; I'll just have to force myself outside of that comfort zone. From looking at my grueling schedule, I don't think I will have much free time during the next few weeks. We have something like six hours of language training a day! Still, I will try to write a few things when I have the chance. Also, I need to go shopping and especially have some shirts made! The ones I brought are just not suitable for this hot weather, and they tend to get dirtier than they would at home. Hopefully I can do all that this week, while studying, spending time with the family, and trying to stay sane in this new and very communal culture. There are so many wonderful things about Senegal, but none of them are really appreciable unless you get out of the American mindset. My host family is wonderful, and I hope I settle in and make some real friends among them soon. Only one thing annoys me about being here so far, and that is the word "toubab". Rough translation: "toubab" = "white person" = "person with money". Which I suppose is true (please refer to title of my blog) however HERE I don't want to be thought of as just another tourist. The adults don't say anything, they just occasionally stare, which I don't mind; it's the little kids who get very excited and will call out "Toubab! Toubab!" You can't get mad, really, because they are doing it out of innocence and interest in something new and unusual, and the word is not even an insult. It just gets old really fast. My new resolution, as of this afternoon, is to try and make a joke out of it. When a couple of kids called to me earlier today, I put a startled look on my face and said, "Toubab? Ou? Where? Je ne le voit pas!", while looking around in mock bewilderment. That got a giggle out of a couple of them, but only confused the others. Well, more on all that to come. I am headed home to the comparative luxury of my home for the next couple of months, to mentally prepare myself for tomorrow's Wolof lesson. Wish me bonne chance et bon courage!