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.

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!

Oh yeah

I almost forgot: in other news, I am experiencing my first skin infection in Africa. It sucks. I don't recommend it. Mine involved a large, puss-filled abcess on my right heel. However, soaking with warm water, frequent washing, four-a-day antibiotics and antibacterial ointment - liberally applied - seem to be doing the trick. Just thought I should inform everybody of that delicious fact. Let's hope it gets back to normal soon.

UPDATE: it's all good. Mostly cleaned up, though still pretty ugly. Thank goodness for erithromiacin.

Back from the village

We're on our way to Toubakouta after a four-day stay in the village. It was really neat to share my little slice of Senegal with two good friends, though it involved a lot of translating from English to Wolof. This wasn't too hard, though, considering it's mostly greetings. Heather and Adam bought a goat as a gift for the villagers, and this turned into quite the affair: buying rice, oil, seasonings, onions, and vegetables to cook a huge lunch. And, of course, slaughtering the goat. A unique experience for me and my American guests, who are used to seeing our meat shrink-wrapped instead of in the dirt with its throat slit. The meal was delicious, though, and the villagers really enjoyed it. Perhaps the highlight of the visit was a totally unxpected event. Going to sit with the teachers one evening at the school (the only people in town who can speak any English, besides the kids who sometimes know, "How are you? I am fine.") a teacher from the neighboring village came over. Maybe he asked for a song, I don't remember, but somehow we got to singing "We shall overcome." A song I haven't sung or heard probably since elementary school. The teachers loved it! They insisted we sing it again and again, write down the words, and teach them the tune. The visiting teacher from Keur Abibou was especially enthusiastic. He invited us to his class the next day to teach it to the students. So, we woke up and walked the half mile or so to his village, and stood up there in front of an excited classroom full of children, and taught them how to sing "We shall overcome." The teacher was so into it, he had us stay and go over the song many times, teaching it line by line, and having some children sing alone, to make sure everybody learned it. The kids were adorable, and they learned the words pretty well too. It was really a unique and heart-warming experience. Of course, after doing it there we had to subsequently teach the song to every class in Keur Ali Gueye (it's my village, after all; I have to give them special attention) which meant our voices were pretty sore by lunchtime, but it was worth it.

Friends Visit

Heather and Adam are visiting me and we're having a great time! I'm trying to make it a quasi-authentic experience in Senegal. I guess I don't really know anything else. We packed into a big white mini-car, threw their bags on top, battled our way into sept-places, broke down on the side of the road once and brushed our teeth with neem sticks while the driver deftly changed a flat tire. We spent a fabulous day in the sand dunes of Loumpoul, a tourist desert where we slept in a low tent held down by sand, wandered the beautiful dunes, and rode a camel. It was awesome. Today we explored the Kaolack market, hitting the "fuggi jaay" (used clothes stands, where all the tee-shirts that could be sold absolutely nowhere in the United States make their final appearance), the rice sac-bag sellers, the jewelry ladies, the bissap and bui vendors, the fabric merchants. We passed by the hall of hanging, smelly meats that breaks probably every health code in the world, and the nearby fragrant spice corner, the vegetable stands, the piles and piles of mangoes for sale everywhere. It's neat to see Senegal through fresh eyes. I appreciate it all the more now that I am showing my friends around. Those in the know say Senegal is "Africa lite", because it is quite developed in comparison to many West African countries. Especially Dakar, land of paved highways, pedesrian overpasses, and streetlights. Hehe, while we were wandering downtown Dakar we were offered a cage full of live finches for sale, and a baobab in a pot, as well as the usual artwork and snacks. Everyone we've met has been extremely friendly and helpful so far, for which I am grateful. Tomorrow we'll head to the weekly louma in Nioro, and from there hop on a horse cart to the village. Real Senegal at last!

Dakar Again

I'm in Dakar for the first time since WAIST, and it is a whole different view of the capital. Last time I spent all day hanging out with Volunteers on the softball field. This time, I've had to negotiate the city on my own getting to and from various meetings and accomplishing the chores that can only really be done in Dakar. On Monday I went to the American library for training related to the bookmobile. There are a lot of really good ideas, but we're still waiting on more books, a vehicle, and of course funding. But it's definitely moving along and I'm really excited to see it progress. Being here again, in the big city, is incredibly refreshing. I can see how one might be seduced by Dakar. It is an energetic city, growing by the minute: new roads, streetlights, resuaturants of every kind, elegant people. In some ways Dakar is very westernized, but still retains its unique Senegalese flavor in the colorfully-painted, overpacked "car rapides" cruising to all corners of the city, the street vendors of every ilk, and the occasional herd of sheep or cows on the roadside. Dakar is loud and dirty, exciting, full of possibility. I'm taking advantage of my time here to eat many pasteries and chwarma sandwiches, and to dress well. I cannot say how refreshing it is not to be a spectacle! I'm so used to shouts of "Toubab!" from those in villages and small towns, even Kaolack, but here in Dakar I am one of many, and it feels wonderful to be anonymous again.