I Just Can't Help Myself

Yesterday was a big day. My boss, APCD Mamadou Diaw, made the trek out to my village to lead a meeting with my villagers to identify needs, wants and desires to formalize an action plan for the remainder of my service. Yeah! It went incredibly well, and, even more so, was an incredibly validating experience in that nothing discussed was new information to me so maybe I have done an okay job assessing my community. Maybe I do know the language well enough that major topics weren't lost in translation. And maybe, thankfully, I have earned the trust and respect of my village. So yeah, it was a good day.

However, in preparing for this meeting, I was saddled with the responsibility of planning, purchasing and transporting enough food to provide lunch for the participants. Not a new concept for me, but everything is different in Senegal. My moms and I planned for them to prepare rice with oil and boiled veggies of whatever variety I could find. So we planned on 30 people - the number I had given to my dad, the village chief, along with the task of extending invitations; a responsibility he interpreted as inviting everyone he saw from five villages. What can I say, he got a little excited. I made the bike ride to my road town of Dabo with one of my dad's brothers and purchased the appropriate amount of food. I also acquired an unwanted amount of attention and excitement that couldn't have moved faster through my sorority. I dropped more cash on this lunch than many of these people see in a year, and villages 30km away were talking about the grand fete I was throwing by the end of the day.

Now, the morning of the meeting arrived and slowly people just kept coming. I hit and surpassed my goal number of 30 participants, and I could see my moms' eyes getting bigger by the minute...

And this is where my Event Planning instinct kicked in. Clip board in hand, I sent my brother to the next town to get more rice, my other brother to another town to get more meat, and my little sister to the bitik (read: the guy's hut in the next compound) to buy enough tea and sugar to keep them occupied while the women scrambled to make more food. All I was missing was a head set or walkie-talkie. And once I hit my stride, there was no going back. My boss arrived, and I was offering water to the driver sub-consciously. I had the women cooking giving me updates on progress every 30 minutes. I was taking copious notes while trying to greet all the villagers. All this in a community whose language doesn't even have words for things like organization, efficiency or coordination.

In the end, we fed more than 80 people that day. I lost count at 84. My moms led a team of rice making machines and the villagers were beyond grateful. My boss was happy. I was content. And everyone was full. I make a conscious effort not to approach things the same way here as I do at home for the sake of everyone involved, but I would like to think that even this laid back population of Pulaars responded to my fury of productivity in crunch time. And if not, I surely maintained my role as the crazy toubab - who at least can throw a kickin' party.

Friendly Skies

I have a bat.  I have had a bat for some time now.  He arrives each night around 6:30pm and kindly leaves in the morning.  I wake up several times each night from the sound of its swoops in and out of my hut, but never see more than its shadow with my book light.  I sweep up its leftovers each morning and with only one incident to mention, we have an understanding... don't EVER dive bomb me again and I will refrain from broom-in-hand attacks/terrified, uncoordinated fits of arm swinging and ducking.  

I had designed a brilliantly complex and elaborate two-part framed screen which I was going to use in deterring it.  I priced out the materials and everything.  However, I began to think that perhaps there was an easier way to "encourage" my flying friend to get the hell out of Dodge.  Inspired by my host mothers' hut, I purchased thin, midnight blue fabric (so as to disguise its presence at night - I wanted the marigold yellow, but thought that might be slightly less than discreet) and sewed a generous hem at each end.  Through the top I strung rope and hung them from the roof beams of my hut over my doors and in the bottom I added metal weights to keep them from moving in the wind... and restraining ill-fated attempts from suicide bomber bats.  

It took me three hours to sew four hems by hand, but it was worth every stitch.  The first night in use my bat arrived on time but got caught up in the fabric.  The jerk made it through the gauntlet, but was so confused, flustered and probably pissy that it immediately found its way out and has not been back since.  So while I am currently here on a quest to break down the  walls of society, maybe it's okay to hang some curtains.

And for those keeping score, that would make the tally:

Senegal: 3829 Me: 4