A new home

Well, it's really started now. I am installed and (mostly) unpacked in my own place, in my new hometown. How to describe my first week there? I don't know even where to begin! So I'll stick to straight-up description. I now live in a hut, a pretty spacious one, in fact, and a backyard "douche" area that is fenced with "sakhet" - village fencing, which is dried stalks wired together so you can't see through them. Mine, though, are old so there are a couple small gaps, which means I try to bathe at night, which feels so wonderful anyway. Back to the hut. It came equipped with the following: a bedframe and a set of shelves where my clothes and books are now piled, several cracks in the cement wall that I will need to fix, a brand-new lock on my aluminum front door, some nice wall paintings done by the previous Volonteer, and two cats. My cat's name is Lola - also a souvenier of the girl who lived there before me - and her grown kitten "doom u Lola" (Lola's child). These two charming felines have made themselves right at home with me. Their favorite activities are tripping me by winding around my feet when I'm trying to dress, climbing onto my lap when I'm reading, hovering around the lunch bowl and occasionally trying to steal the fish, and eating lizards on my floor. At least I have no rodent problems! However, my hut is a favorite hiding place for frogs, who try to come inside to escape the heat of the day. I end up chasing several of them out in the mornings; they like to hide in the corners or under the bed. My backyard is actually really nice! My "toilet" is discreetly located in the midst of several bushy plants, some with flowers, one a producing eggplant and one normous basil bush. When I go out there the scent of basil welcomes me. Also, there are a few baby fruit trees (mango and guava) which I water each evening with the water I have left over from washing myhands or bathing. It's not too soapy, and I hate to waste it, and so far the plants don't seem to mind.
My new name is "Abbi Gueye", which is super-easy to remember since it sounds exactly like "Abigail", so I lucked out there. And my family is great, too. I live in the compound of my counterpart. My hut is one of five: one for each wife, one for the dad, one extra (or visiting kids, I think) and mine. We share the courtyard with fluxuating families of chickens, ducks, goats and sheep; next to my yard is a space where hay is piled and two horses and a donkey are hobbled. There's a cashew tree in the middle of it all where my dad ties his charette when it's notbeing used. The livestock only slightly outnumber the children, however. Xale yu bare! Of all ages and sizes, they are everywhere, all the time, and mostly adorable, though also very curious. It's commonplace for me to see crowds of kids staring into my hut, or following me to the boutique, or sitting on the mat where I am. It's cute, really. So, my week has been a little crazy, as this is the first time I have really and truly been on my own here in Senegal. I spend lots of time each day walking through the village, chatting with different families (trying to get them all straight) or sitting down to have a cup of tea with them, or help harvest peanuts from the mountains of plants that are scattered all around the village. This is the major activity at the moment. Everywhere you go peanuts, peanuts, peanuts, with women and children crouched around the edges of the pile, reaching in to grab a plant and pulling off the nuts. They do this all day long, and when all the nuts are gathered they sell them in town. It's not physically hard work, but tedious and so far never-ending. Yesterday I went to a peanut field for the first time to see how the harvest is done. My dad hooked his horse up to a kind of plow, while the kids (and I) hurried ahead to pull up bean plants that had been planted alongside the peanuts. The machine digs up the plants by the roots, and it's slow work. Once they've been uprooted, women followed along behind gathering the plants into piles which will be easier to collect and load onto carts to take into the village, where the peanut pulling will happen. There's something very satisfying about working in a field, sweating alongside everybody else and getting your hands dirty, seeing the fruits of your labor slowly increase before your eyes. It gives a real sense of accomplishment.
Mostly, though, I've spent my time wandering aorund, greeting people and introducing myself while trying to orient myself in my new home. It's a mid-sized village, with enough amenities to keep everybody happy. A man with a cart comes through every morning selling fish, and there are two boutiques and a tiny vegetable market. In the center of town is one well, very deep. The women pull water in the morning and evening, when it's not too hot, and carry full buckets of it on their heads. I've tried this but it's so hard! I'm determined to learn, but mostly they just laugh at me and somebody takes my bucket for me. I will do it myself at some point, though! It will take practice. The first time I took a bucket home I got soaked, so now I use "bidons" (yellow tubs with handles and lids) which are more convenient anyway, though also heavier. Everyone has been very nice to me so far, and I'm slowly making the rounds and meeting them all. Each morning I must greet the imam, the village chief, and my grandmother - luckily all of whom live near my hut. The rest of the day I divide among my family and the neighbors, sometimes talking, mostly helping with the peanuts and letting the fast-paced Wolof conversation roll around me.
This experience is different from anything I've ever done before. Nothing I have accomplished thus far in my life really could have prepared me for it, but I am happy to be here. There's so much to do! At the moment I am in Kaolack again. The Volonteers of the region are gathering here for a bonafide American-style Thanksgiving dinner at a restaurant in town. I'll stay here one day, then take a sept-place car down to Nioro du Rip and walk (or, maybe, hop on a horse or donkey charette) back home.

Kaolack

Here is a picture of the Sustainable Agriculture group, with Youssoupha our tech trainer. He is awesome - he bought us ice cream to celebrate the end of training! I am writing this from an internet cafe in Kaolack city. As you may have surmised by now, I made it safely here with all my things. So far I am loving it! I feel very lucky to have ended up in the Kaolack region. There is a real sense of community among the Volonteers here, and there are a lot of us, so it is hard to feel too nervous or lonely. Our regional house is small but still there's plenty of room for us to relax, which is a high priority for everyone now that we are done with training. Now, we make our own schedules. At the moment, the house is cluttered with people's stuff - suitcases, water filters, stoves, mattresses, all tossed into semi-orderly piles around the place. These will gradually diminish as people are installed, one by one, in their sites. I will be among the last; the Peace Corps car is picking me up on Friday to take me to my new home. I haven't had much time to mull over this, thankfully, since we have kept busy since our arrival yesterday. Kaolack's claim to fame (among its other charms, which I'm sure I will learn during my stay in this region) is that it can boast the second-largest covered market in West Africa. It is truly an experience unlike any other. The market spills out into the streets, with garish items for sale on every corner. There is some organization. It seems like the used clothes are sold in one area, fish in another, and vegetables in a third. There is even a "gris-gris" market. Gris-gris are a popular fashion statement among Volonteers. They come in many varieties, from what I can tell mostly involving a string or leather thong with beads or something hanging off, and they can be enchanted (I don't know if that's the right word...blessed, maybe?) to provide protection. I think you can request them for specific situations, too. Somebody mentioned once that a Volonteer ordered one specifically to get a good grade on the LSAT. Every little baby I've seen has one around their fat bellies, and sometimes in necklace form as well. I haven't bought one for myself yet, but if I'm anything like the rest of my Peace Corps coworkers I too will soon be walking around with gris-gris hanging off all my limbs. We new Volonteers are in the midst of our installation shopping spree, buying all the things we think we might need. As I know next to nothing about my site, I'm trying to cover all my bases. So far, I bought a few buckets, some plastic bowls and plates, a couple chairs, cooking pots and utensils, mugs and cups, a village broom (dry grass stalks bound together at one end; they work so much better than plastic brooms!), a woven mat, a mattress with foam pad, a gas stove, a strainer, sheets...and the rest slips my mind. I have a lot of new things, but I think now most of it has been bought, as the rest will need to wait until I actually see my hut and know definitively what I need. One of the cultural aspects I dreaded most before coming here was bargaining. Not being a naturally pushy person, I didn't like the idea of having to battle down a price, especially not knowing what the proper price should be. But - surprise! - I like it! Probably I still end up paying more than I should for some things, but bargaining is easier and much more fun than I ever imagined. You just greet the seller as you would anyone else, then ask them how much it costs. If you don't like the price (and I've heard some outrageous ones in just two days. Two-thousand cfa for that second-hand tee-shirt? You must be joking. Four hundred, maximum.) you tell them another one, and they'll drop a few cfa that way, but often you have to pretend to lose interest and walk away. Then, if they've decided they want your business after all, they'll hiss to call you back and you start bargaining again until you finally get the price you want. I feel so grateful to have learned Wolof, too. Everybody speaks Wolof and they are usually so surprised (I'm not good enough with the language yet to say they are impressed) that I can communicate, it makes talking the price down easier. I wish I could describe the bustle of the market. The narrow alleys, people crowded on all sides selling and buying, some carrying spectacular things on their heads, and everywhere loud colors jostling for supremacy. It's a sensory adventure, both good and bad, the bad mostly having to do with smells I'd rather not mention. But there is a spice section of the market, too, and walking into that fragrant street made me realize how exotic and wonderful this place is. There is a lot still to learn about Kaolack, but this is my regional capital so I will come here fairly often. Breakfast today was a bag of millet beignets and a chilled sack of bissap juice from a street vendor - so delicious! My plan this afternoon is to curl up with a book or maybe watch a movie, and basically gather myself for more excitement that will inevitably come when I venture back into the vibrant marche tomorrow.

It's Official

The papers are signed, selections of the ceremony shown on national TV, and the boubous packed away. As of yesterday when I swore to uphold and defend the Constitution of the United States, I am a fully-fledged, no-more-skirting-around-with-beurocratic-lingo Peace Corps Volunteer. We all dressed up in colorful clothes - mine is really pretty, a complet in tan-colored wax with big, bold designs in brown and red, but I can't put the pictures up yet because this Internet cafe has no disk-drive. Anyway, it was a nice ceremony. They kept it short and sweet, which everyone appreciated, as there was a buffet afterwards. A note on buffets: in the US, people are very good about standing in lines. We understand that if somebody gets there before you, the proper thing to do is wait for them to be served, and as long as the person behind you also follows this unspoken rule, everyone will get through the buffet line without incident. Forget about those rules. Americans are the easiest people to take advantage of in a foreign buffet. Everyone else is fighting for a place at the bar to order a drink, barging through your neighbors to reach a plate of hors d'oeuvres, and all-around jostling for position. Meanwhile, the polite Americans placidly wait their turn on the outskirts, until they get thirsty enough to be unnaturally pushy. It's amazing! I probably stood in the same place for half an hour waiting to get a drink, while some people were on their third glass. I learned my lesson afetr that and mobbed the poor servers carrying trays, along with the others who had clued-in, to grab snacks. Depsite the atmosphere - every man for himself in this buffet - I had a wonderful time. The food was delicious, and contrary to the actions of us all madly grabbing at it, there was more than enough. I stuffed myself silly, knowing that it's going to be a long time before I eat such wonderful things again. Mini-hamburgers, tiny cheeze pizzas, tomatoes stuffed with creamed shrimp, chicken dumplings, and the sweets: jam-filled crepes, fudge brownies, and creme puffs. Oh, I'm salivating again! The party was at the Ambassador's residence in Dakar. A very elegant place, though unoccupied at the moment, as apparantly Senegal is between-Ambassadors. Afterwards we did more paperwork (with the government, theres always paperwork involed) and headed back to Thies for a little relaxation before enjoying a big dinner with our host parents. That was the end of our stage, and the last time all 39 of us will be together until IST in February. Some people left this morning. My taxi is heading out tomorrow at around 6am, so I spent today packing up my things. They barely fit into my baggage, and I have a lot of loose stuff now: the medical kit, water filter and bulky mosquito net issued by the Peace Corps, as well as my bike. At the moment it's hard to imagine how all my stuff will fit in a single 7-place taxi, but I'm prepared to be amazed because tomorrow I and two others are sharing one to Kaolack. There, I plan to go shopping for things to "make my hut a home". It'll be fun!

Naatango = counterpart

By popular demand, here is a photo of me in my red outfit, dancing (all alone, don't I look cool?) at the tam-tam. I have to say, I really love reading everybody's comments and stories from home. It's inspiring to be writing for such an appreciative audience! For those writing me letters and/or sending packages, I'll post my new address as soon as I have it, which may be awhile, as this is my last weekend in Internet-available Thies. But I'll do my best. Now, onto the blog post!
This week was probably the most stressful so far, as our counterparts came from all over the country to meet us and have a two-day Peace Corps crash course. My two naatangos from Keur Ali Gueye arrived last Wednesday afternoon, and left just yesterday morning. That meant two and a half days of discussions in broken Wolof, awkward pauses, and trying to make sense of the people I'm going to move in with next week. Actually, I'm very lucky. My counterparts are extremely motivated and, as I am the fourth Volunteer going to my site, they kind of know how Americans work. However, with that experience comes high expectations, which I hope I can meet. They were friendly, though, and sound eager to help me integrate into the community, so though it was a little nerve-wracking I am excited to be heading there soon. It's hard to believe training is almost over! Providing I pass all my tests, the swearing-in ceremony will be held this Friday in Dakar. Apparently it is played on nationwide television. Yay. But I bought some pretty fabric and gave it to my sister the tailor, so I should at least look fabulous! It's going to be difficult not to spend all my living allowance on new clothes, because the fabric here is so beautiful, and the outfits are amazing. Hopefully in a village setting the temptation to buy new clothes will be easier to resist. Meanwhile, I am really enjoying being a homebody in Thies. My sister and I have the routine of cooking dinner together every night, and she gave me recipes for some of my favorite dishes. I'm going to miss this family! They really welcomed me and made me feel a part of their home. At least I will be able to visit in February, when we come back to Thies for in-service training. There are lots of things about this little city that I will miss. In just a few days, I'm off to the mysterious unknown! But, I have some good books, just barely enough Wolof, and a great sun-hat, so I'm ready for anything.

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!