My Career is Over...

That’s right, my blossoming career as a left knee model is finished before it even started. Goodbye, Gilette for Women. Au revoir, Skintimate Shave Gel. I spent the better part of August back at the Thies training center (hence the absence of blogs – I had a real lack of material) and have since returned to the Kolda region and my village of Thiewal Lao, but not before the tragic (though secretly incredibly anti-climactic) incident. In an attempt to transport an embarrassing amount of baggage on my bike to my village, I, perhaps, may have possibly loaded my hiking pack (which was on my back) and my bucket (which was on my bike rack) a teeny, tiny bit too heavy. And about 13k in to a 15k ride, which I attempted at 12:30pm under what felt like the hottest sun ever, while fasting for Ramadam, after not biking for a month, I made the fatal error. On the up-pedal at a particularly rocky section of the path, my bike pedal hit a small stump which caused my front tire to wobble, my hiking pack to shift left and my whole body to seemingly jump after it as I bit it big time landing left knee first, ego second, about five feet from my overturned bike and bucket. While my pride was hurt more than anything, I soon became aware of the layer of skin missing from my kneecap. This sort of injury, were it to occur back in Nebraska, would warrant little attention, but here, in the height of the rainy season, where mold is king and skin infections are its legion of warriors, the former site of skin became a swamp of yellow pus within 24 hours. I know, appetizing, right?

Armed with Hibiclens, Q-tips (thank goodness for care packages), Neosporin and enough band-aids to keep Johnson & Johnson in business until the end of my service, I waged an all-out war, and believe I have won. While I don’t think I am in danger of losing a limb any longer, I believe it’s time to throw out my dreams as Tina Turner’s left leg stunt double. Lesson learned… all forty seven of them!

Street Cred

My village, Thiewal Lao, like nearly all villages in Senegal and much of West Africa, is currently observing Ramadan. What this means is that every day for 30 days every healthy man, woman who is not pregnant and young adult over the age of about 14 wakes up at 5am to eat a meal of rice with either leaf sauce or kosam (milky yogurt) before the sun rises, and goes back to bed for an hour or so. From that point on, they abstain from eating or drinking until 7pm when the sun goes down and they break bread (or at least cut it into even pieces), drink coffee and eat their “lunch” meal, the leftovers of which will serve as breakfast the next morning. This is followed by an hour or two of rest before they eat their “dinner” meal around 11pm. And the next day it starts all over again.

In an attempt to earn some serious integration points, I have chosen to participate (mostly), but I just can’t do it like the Senegalese. I have chosen to drink water throughout the day, for no other reason than I would die if I didn’t. I thought that was a good enough reason. I am discreet about it going into my hut to chug in private, but I am awed by the women in my village who spend six to eight hours a day working in the rice fields without drinking a drop. Additionally, I can only seem to eat the first meal, “lunch” after breaking bread and before I go to bed, neglecting the 11pm feeding. I just can’t do it. They start eating at 7pm and it’s like their stomachs have been growing all day. I get a few bites in me and feel like an inflated Violet from Charlie & The Chocolate Factory. My family is a combination of concerned and stunned that I can’t shovel it down like they do, but I’m rolling with it. I have managed to lose eight pounds in seven days which is fine since I made it my secondary project while in Thies to eat everything in sight! Nonetheless, my villagers are not only impressed with my participation in their religious practices, but incredibly proud and touched. It is a great feeling and equally good conversation piece, and I can’t wait until it’s over:)