Several months ago elections were held throughout Senegal. Following the campaigns, newly-elected officials held annual budget planning meetings (called PLD, Planification Locale de Development). These meetings are long, drawn-out, rarely productive and have no real impact on the actions or spending of the government.
During this same election cycle, the Communitaire Rurale is chosen within each commune. The Communitaire Rurale is sort of like a capital city only on a much smaller scale. The villages are chosen by the President of Senegal without ever visiting the area, and is usually based on where he has family throughout the country, not strategic, facts-based decisions.
The former and current Communitaire Rurale of the commune of Dabo (my road town) is Dialembere. Dialembere is located on the very edge of the boundary of the commune, has no health poste and is where the President's cousin coincidentally lives. Geographically it makes no sense for Dialembere to be the Communitaire Rurale. So this year my village, geographically located in the middle of the commune, with a health poste in the process of completion and the full support of nearly every village in the commune, actively campaigned and petitioned to be elected the Communitaire Rurale. Not surprisingly, Dialembere retained its title and my village was and is STILL not happy.
So when the newly-elected President of the Communitaire Rurale came to my village to facilitate the mandatory PLD one month after elections, he was met with hostility, no cooperation and finally left without so much as formally beginning the meeting.
The people in this country have so few options to stand up for themselves. Particularly a village deep in the bush whose population is largely illiterate and poor. Not only did they stand up for themselves, but continue to do so today, months after elections were finished. I was incredibly proud of their determination and character. We all knew nothing would change, but they were making a statement.
And now it is being used against them.
A refusal to do the annual PLD meeting means that that village forfeits its status as a recognized village essentially. It can't receive any government money. This is usually not a big deal because government funds rarely make it out to the people for whom it is intended. But we are building a health poste. It is a medical facility that, once completed, will and must be supported by the Ministry of Health to pay salaries. So now, the big cheese Medical Man in Kolda is threatening my village that he will not support the health poste until my village gives in, says they are sorry for protesting the assignment of Dialembere as Communitaire Rurale and agree to do the PLD.
Here are just a few of my concerns:
1. The PLD doesn't really even matter. Even if they do comply, the meeting will be a disaster and my village will be slighted in their rightful alllocation of funds (that won't ever be seen anyway).
2. If they threaten my village with withholding the funds for the doctor's salary before he has even arrived, what's to say they won't threaten them with the exact same thing whenever they want something from my villagers or any of the villages in the commune for that matter?!
3. The President of the Communitaire Rurale is a bad man. He is greedy and untrustworthy and vengeful. My village is very leery of him and for good reason. If my village was to agree to their terms and let him facilitate the PLD, he would make them beg. And I am sure that one of two things would happen: 1. My head would explode or 2. I would hit him. Hard.
As you can see, I am in a very difficult position. I was basically given an ultimatum to pass on to my village: give in or give up the health poste. And I struggled for almost a week before I got the courage and conviction to even tell them the problem, let alone make a suggestion. I was having serious moral and ethical concerns. The reality is that they should probably just give in, play by the book and be quiet because no matter how long they hold out, it is only hurting them. The likelihood that anything tangibly positive will come from this is beyond unlikely. But how could I possibly advise them to give up? Who am I to say that their protest is not worth it? And since when do I ever do anything the easy way?!
When I finally called a meeting to discuss the concerns, I was literally shaking. I kept my sunglasses on the whole time even though we were in the shade so they wouldn't notice me constantly glancing at my trembling hands. I talked them through the entire situation and at the end, when they asked me my opinion, I apologized before telling them to give up. I secretly hated myself.
And then they changed my entire world.
They asked if I might be able to set a meeting with the head of the Ministry of Health in Kolda. THEY wanted to speak with him! Are you serious?!?!? This is a culture known around the world as non-confrontational and suddenly an illiterate, powerless, informal group of farmers felt it was appropriate to knock some sense into one of Senegal's elite medical professionals... I LOVED IT! Absolutely!
I don't know why I ever doubted them. They have been the most honest, respectable people throughout this whole process. Now, I recognize that I am going to have to lie to get this meeting set up - this is a man who could not possibly lower himself to speak with villagers. And I recognize that IF I can set up the meeting, he will be irate when the six of us show up. And I also recognize that if he doesn't throw us out in the first five minutes, we may piss him off royally and ruin any future opportunity for compromise.
But they want to use their voice. They want to explain their position. They want ownership of this project and control of their own destinies. And I certainly can't advise them against that. It is possible that this health poste will not open during my service, if at all. This is a reality I am loosely accepting. But if and when it does, it will have been done the RIGHT way. It will have been a group effort marked by honesty and determination. I no longer feel guilty for telling them to give in - I think it was my obligation. And it is my pleasure to help them do the exact opposite.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Third Time's the Charm
There is a well-documented and equally well accepted phenomenon known as "Africa Time". What it means is that people are free to be late, hours late, with hardly any acknowledgment, let alone consequence. As you might imagine, this drives me batty! You see, I inherited a genetic disorder from my mother in which I am always at least 10 minutes early - can't help it, and I get flustered when I am not. Being exposed to Africa Time has perhaps in some small way relaxed my obsession, and it has certainly forced me to find ways to deal with it.
Since the very first meeting I held in my village I have had a rule that I will wait one hour for people to show up. If they don't arrive within that window, I will not be mad (most of the time), but I will also not wait any longer. I am happy to reschedule the meeting, training or whatever it is another day, but the opportunity for that day is gone.
For 20 months in village, I was not let down once.
But that all blew up in my face two weeks ago when I tried to hold a training for the health extension workers that will work at the health post when it is finished. Not once, but twice I waited one hour and not once, but twice only half of them showed. They were mystified when I eventually got angry - not at their tardiness, but their lack of commitment.
(Please allow me to stand on my soapbox for a moment). The likelihood of this facility failing is astronomical. More than half of all health postes in this country are non-functional. The other half only stay open because NGOs pump money into them. Even if we manage to get it open, fully stocked and supported by the government, corruption, greed, poor economy and disinterest are all factors that WILL close it down in no time. If these people are not 1304957890% committed to fighting for this thing everyday, it will not last. And I only have four months left in this country. I have a very short amount of time to prepare these people and I absolutely don't have time to reschedule the same training three times.
There, I'm done. Stepping off my box now.
So I told them if they organized a training on their own and told me about it I would come, wait one hour and if it happened a third time I would no longer work with them (which was a TOTAL bluff). But it worked.
Two days later, everyone was present within 15 minutes of the set start time. We had an amazing training. They participated. They understood. My pulaar was awesome. They understood my pulaar. And we had a very honest talk about their responsibilities. Which they totally accepted. The only way I could have been more thrilled is if it'd happened the first time.
So we have come to an understanding. I made my point. I only cursed Africa Time four or five (hundred) times and said the Serenity Prayer about 49587 times more than that. I'm still working on the serenity part. Whether this thing opens, and whether it remains open is out of my hands at this point. But it is reassuring to know that they understand its success is within theirs.
Since the very first meeting I held in my village I have had a rule that I will wait one hour for people to show up. If they don't arrive within that window, I will not be mad (most of the time), but I will also not wait any longer. I am happy to reschedule the meeting, training or whatever it is another day, but the opportunity for that day is gone.
For 20 months in village, I was not let down once.
But that all blew up in my face two weeks ago when I tried to hold a training for the health extension workers that will work at the health post when it is finished. Not once, but twice I waited one hour and not once, but twice only half of them showed. They were mystified when I eventually got angry - not at their tardiness, but their lack of commitment.
(Please allow me to stand on my soapbox for a moment). The likelihood of this facility failing is astronomical. More than half of all health postes in this country are non-functional. The other half only stay open because NGOs pump money into them. Even if we manage to get it open, fully stocked and supported by the government, corruption, greed, poor economy and disinterest are all factors that WILL close it down in no time. If these people are not 1304957890% committed to fighting for this thing everyday, it will not last. And I only have four months left in this country. I have a very short amount of time to prepare these people and I absolutely don't have time to reschedule the same training three times.
There, I'm done. Stepping off my box now.
So I told them if they organized a training on their own and told me about it I would come, wait one hour and if it happened a third time I would no longer work with them (which was a TOTAL bluff). But it worked.
Two days later, everyone was present within 15 minutes of the set start time. We had an amazing training. They participated. They understood. My pulaar was awesome. They understood my pulaar. And we had a very honest talk about their responsibilities. Which they totally accepted. The only way I could have been more thrilled is if it'd happened the first time.
So we have come to an understanding. I made my point. I only cursed Africa Time four or five (hundred) times and said the Serenity Prayer about 49587 times more than that. I'm still working on the serenity part. Whether this thing opens, and whether it remains open is out of my hands at this point. But it is reassuring to know that they understand its success is within theirs.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Let's Get Some Perspective
The heat we experience in this country is unreal. For most of the year I can't brush my teeth without working up a full sweat. But Senegal is entering the "cold season." I have been sleeping in sweatpants and a hoodie. In just a few weeks we will be able to see our breath in the morning and I will have to take my bucket bath before dark or it will just be too cold.
My closest neighbor told me that the other day she woke up in the morning and was so cold that she rushed to put on socks and shoes. She then glanced at the thermometer on her wall which proclaimed the current temperature was... 77 DEGREES! She laughed out loud.
That's right, we are practically rendered immobile by a 77 degree morning. In our defense, that is a solid 30-40 degrees cooler that what we are used to. If it dropped from 80 to 40 degrees in Lincoln, I imagine there'd be some complaining... Last year I went home for Christmas in a blizzard. How I survived the temperature shock is still baffling. It all goes to show that the human body is incredible, Africa is hot and everything is relative.
My closest neighbor told me that the other day she woke up in the morning and was so cold that she rushed to put on socks and shoes. She then glanced at the thermometer on her wall which proclaimed the current temperature was... 77 DEGREES! She laughed out loud.
That's right, we are practically rendered immobile by a 77 degree morning. In our defense, that is a solid 30-40 degrees cooler that what we are used to. If it dropped from 80 to 40 degrees in Lincoln, I imagine there'd be some complaining... Last year I went home for Christmas in a blizzard. How I survived the temperature shock is still baffling. It all goes to show that the human body is incredible, Africa is hot and everything is relative.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Add It to the List
I make lists. I make a lot of lists. I have been known to rewrite lists to make them look better and I will even admit to writing a task down on a list for nothing more than the satisfaction of then, immediately, crossing it off. Lists keep me sane. And post-its make it all possible.
I have carried over my compulsion for list making into the Peace Corps... some may even say it has escalated. Several shapes, sizes and colors of post-its made the trip with me to Senegal and they have served me well thus far (despite decreased stickiness due to unhealthy amounts of humidity and heat). I continue to color code and compartmentalize my life here.
Most of my friends and family back home have come to accept and embrace my affinity for and addiction to my planner, post-it combo. It took my new friends here some getting used to, but I think they too have come to accept it for fear of what I would be like without it:)
But the secret is out... now even my villagers have noticed!!
There is a man in my village named Ibrahima Balde. He works at the village level disbursing scholarships to kids at the elementary school through World Vision. He is educated, can read and write in French and he is even able to write in fairly impressive English. He is one of my main go-to guys, always helpful and very astute.
The other day I happened to be walking into my hut to grab something when I heard my name being called. I turned around to find Ibrahima charging up as though he was a man on a mission. I got excited. It was then that he pulled from his pocket a partially used, single stack of yellow sticky notes. For me. He was almost giddy with pride. And I was utterly confused. Had I missed something in translation?
Nope. Somewhere, at some point, Ibrahima came across a stack of post-its and wouldn't you know it? He thought of me! I am sure he was in Kolda at the World Vision offices or in my road town at the health poste and asked if he could have the random, lonely stack sitting on someones desk. But he knew that I would love them - and I do. I remain slightly alarmed at the transparency and predictability of my habits (I suppose that's why they're habits). However, it was also incredibly refreshing to have been here long enough and to be good enough friends with someone for them to instantly think of me when presented with office supplies (the true way to my heart - oh, how I miss Office Depot!).
I have carried over my compulsion for list making into the Peace Corps... some may even say it has escalated. Several shapes, sizes and colors of post-its made the trip with me to Senegal and they have served me well thus far (despite decreased stickiness due to unhealthy amounts of humidity and heat). I continue to color code and compartmentalize my life here.
Most of my friends and family back home have come to accept and embrace my affinity for and addiction to my planner, post-it combo. It took my new friends here some getting used to, but I think they too have come to accept it for fear of what I would be like without it:)
But the secret is out... now even my villagers have noticed!!
There is a man in my village named Ibrahima Balde. He works at the village level disbursing scholarships to kids at the elementary school through World Vision. He is educated, can read and write in French and he is even able to write in fairly impressive English. He is one of my main go-to guys, always helpful and very astute.
The other day I happened to be walking into my hut to grab something when I heard my name being called. I turned around to find Ibrahima charging up as though he was a man on a mission. I got excited. It was then that he pulled from his pocket a partially used, single stack of yellow sticky notes. For me. He was almost giddy with pride. And I was utterly confused. Had I missed something in translation?
Nope. Somewhere, at some point, Ibrahima came across a stack of post-its and wouldn't you know it? He thought of me! I am sure he was in Kolda at the World Vision offices or in my road town at the health poste and asked if he could have the random, lonely stack sitting on someones desk. But he knew that I would love them - and I do. I remain slightly alarmed at the transparency and predictability of my habits (I suppose that's why they're habits). However, it was also incredibly refreshing to have been here long enough and to be good enough friends with someone for them to instantly think of me when presented with office supplies (the true way to my heart - oh, how I miss Office Depot!).
Monday, October 26, 2009
Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde
In the Kindergarten Circus I was a tight rope walker. I had a tutu and slippers and I had perfect balance... if I do say so myself.
Now more than ever, I feel like I am again walking a tight rope between my rapidly approaching life in America and current life in Senegal. I have five months left of my service. It may sound like a long time, but it is going to fly by. Just about everyone in my stage is feeling the pressure to come up with a post-Peace Corps plan. Here's the hard part...
I have enough work to keep me more than busy until the day I leave this country. I have trainings to do, meetings to run and materials to prep, and i probably should have been done with all of them already. And at the same time I am trying to organize letters of recommendation, hammer out entrance essays and kiss my mom's feet for the amount of work I am dumping on her as my personal assistant. Finding a balance between the two worlds is becoming increasingly challenging.
Emotionally, I am all over the place. I think about America all the time, but I am geniunely excited about and proud of my work here. I worry about getting in to school while I am in the village and worry about the village while I am in Kolda working on applications for school. I miss my family back home, but I can't help but realize that I only have five more months with the people I call family here. What's a girl to do?!?! I tell myself to chill out and enjoy the time. As my best friend puts it "Savor!" Believe me, I'm trying!
In the meantime, I have a bit of a split personality - perhaps more so than usual. Things really are going well... I just have to remind myself of that more than I would like to admit. I'm actively channeling my inner circus performer and hoping my balance holds out just a little longer.
Now more than ever, I feel like I am again walking a tight rope between my rapidly approaching life in America and current life in Senegal. I have five months left of my service. It may sound like a long time, but it is going to fly by. Just about everyone in my stage is feeling the pressure to come up with a post-Peace Corps plan. Here's the hard part...
I have enough work to keep me more than busy until the day I leave this country. I have trainings to do, meetings to run and materials to prep, and i probably should have been done with all of them already. And at the same time I am trying to organize letters of recommendation, hammer out entrance essays and kiss my mom's feet for the amount of work I am dumping on her as my personal assistant. Finding a balance between the two worlds is becoming increasingly challenging.
Emotionally, I am all over the place. I think about America all the time, but I am geniunely excited about and proud of my work here. I worry about getting in to school while I am in the village and worry about the village while I am in Kolda working on applications for school. I miss my family back home, but I can't help but realize that I only have five more months with the people I call family here. What's a girl to do?!?! I tell myself to chill out and enjoy the time. As my best friend puts it "Savor!" Believe me, I'm trying!
In the meantime, I have a bit of a split personality - perhaps more so than usual. Things really are going well... I just have to remind myself of that more than I would like to admit. I'm actively channeling my inner circus performer and hoping my balance holds out just a little longer.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Mariama Lives On
To date, I can identify myself as any number of things: daughter, sister, student, teacher, graduate, dancer, licensed driver. Some of these titles required tests, interviews, even the processing of official government documents. But if you know me well, you won't be surprised when I say my most prized title is that of 'Aunt'... and I didn't even have to apply!
My nieces, Eve and Marlee, are the coolest people I know. And being away from them for two years is one of the hardest parts of my Peace Corps service. Before coming to Senegal, I was actively campaigning for supreme title of 'Coolest Aunt Ever,' which is in serious jeopardy at the moment. And while there are plenty of babies here to play with, it's just not the same.
When I arrived in my village 17 months ago, my village father's younger brother's wife (you follow that?), Djonfollo, was pregnant. I watched her go through her entire pregnancy (her first ever pregnancy) and at 8.5 months she lost the baby. It was devastating for her and made me miss my girls even more. She got pregnant very soon thereafter and has been ready to burst for a few weeks.
And nine days ago she gave birth to the smallest baby girl I have ever seen!
I had left my village to visit my closest neighbor for the afternoon. No more than four hours later I was back in my village. I barely made it past the first fence when I was informed of the baby's arrival and shuffled into the women's hut to see her.
While the baby was cute, I was much more astonished and amazed at the condition and demeanor of the mother. Please keep in mind that less that three hours prior (it could have been 20 minutes before I got back for all I know), this young girl gave birth in a mud hut 18km from the closest medical facility where she lost her first child no more than 12 months earlier. And there she was, sitting up, smiling and wondering when I was finally going to get back. Should I ever be blessed with children of my own, I have NO intention of being that calm and collected post-labor! Oh, yeah, and I was BEYOND THANKFUL I happened to be gone during the birth so I was not asked to help or dispense medical information in any way, shape or form... I am NOT a doctor!
As soon as I had a moment to process what had just happened, the real news was announced. The baby was going to be named Mariama Sabaly (that's my village name)! And they were SO SO SO SO excited to tell me! You would think I had been gone for days. The whole village had already weighed in - apparently everyone agreed this was to be the baby's name. The village Imam (religious leader) had already been consulted about it even. Who says you need cell phones and internet for information to spread like wildfire?!?
In the Pulaar culture, a person named after someone else is called their 'Tokora.' So I have now had an African baby named after me (and I am so thankful the poor thing was given my Pulaar name and not my American name - that's just cruel). Only the real kicker is that babies here are not given their names for seven days after their birth. Usually their first name is given by their father and their second name is given by their grandmother. In this instance, she was only given one name, seven days early, by an entire village. And I can't ignore the fact that neither the father nor mother was truly given any real say in the baby's name. It was a done deal.
What I will say is that I have felt like a member of my community since I got there, nothing more, nothing less. I know people in Thiewal Lao genuinely care about me. But I am a guest. No matter how well I integrate or participate in their day-to-day activities, I am still a white, educated American female who is only experiencing what they call life. But as cheesy and mushy as it sounds, and if only for the very moment when I was given a Tokora, I felt like a member of the Sabaly family. Mariama Sabaly will remain in Thiewal Lao long after I return to America and part of me is touched and comforted by that.
So I am now an American African Aunt. Every morning I greet my family and make a b-line for baby Mariama (finally someone in my family who speaks worse Pulaar than I do). I start my day by holding a beautiful baby girl. And just like in America, when the baby poops I get to hand her off to her mother.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Waterfall Wonderment
The south eastern region of Senegal is called Kedougou. It shares a border with the Guineas and is home to mountains and waterfalls unlike anywhere else in the country. Since I got to country, I had heard how phenomenal the falls were and I finally found the occasion to make the trip...
After five hours of biking in a downpour, I lost my grip and flew over the handle bars. I landed on my left knee.
I woke up the next morning to find I grew a rosy-red saddle bag from what we are assuming was a spider bite. It then spread and consumed my entire right thigh.
And we crossed the river first on a "bridge," and the second time we opted to go with the flow.
And you wonder what could possibly be worth all this hassle?
Spending two days playing in the waterfalls at Ingley, that's what!
Matt, Roxy, Kay, Annicka, Jordan and I worked hard to get there and played hard too! I can't say I'll ever make the trip back, but I am so happy I went... worth every bump, bruise and bite:)
After five hours of biking in a downpour, I lost my grip and flew over the handle bars. I landed on my left knee.
I woke up the next morning to find I grew a rosy-red saddle bag from what we are assuming was a spider bite. It then spread and consumed my entire right thigh.
And we crossed the river first on a "bridge," and the second time we opted to go with the flow.
And you wonder what could possibly be worth all this hassle?
Spending two days playing in the waterfalls at Ingley, that's what!
Matt, Roxy, Kay, Annicka, Jordan and I worked hard to get there and played hard too! I can't say I'll ever make the trip back, but I am so happy I went... worth every bump, bruise and bite:)
Sunday, August 30, 2009
It is the rainy season. We get lots of rain. In fact, we get rain almost every day.
There are things that come along with lots of rain. Things like lots of mud and vegetation and bugs. My door swells so it won't close. The seasonal variations of "hot", "hotter" and "hottest" just become "hot and wet" or "hotter and wet" or "hottest and wet" (what I usually just describe as "miserable") in the rainy season.
But I have experienced one rainy season and survived so I was prepared to make it through one more. When the steady rains started a month ago I was ready for the mud and vegetation and bugs. I knew what to expect. What I didn't remember was the MOLD!
The mold is taking over my life!
Ok, that might be a little dramatic. But it is certainly alive and well.
When I got back to village after two weeks out of site, I found my favorite CamelBack backpack covered with green fuzz simply from hanging on the wall. Wet wipes and some serious time in the sun took care of the problem.
I then went to hang up some dirty clothes on a rope in my hut until I wash them. When I lifted the tarp to hang them up I found the same green fuzz meandering across some socks, a pair of pants, and a t-shirt that was not worth salvaging.
My latest concern is that my quick dry towel is already a foamy green color - dangerously close to the pale green shade of mold that's been popping up everywhere. I just have to believe that the makers of the Original PackTowel know what they are doing and I'm not drying off with a moldy towel every night.
I don't recall such aggressive mold last year, but I'm doing my best to keep it at bay. The sun helps dry everything out - when it is shining. And I have made an effort to do laundry more often (ok, correction: to have my laundry done for me). And that's about all I can do.
So don't feel too bad about the random vegetable that's been in the crisper too long. At least your walls aren't growing fur!
There are things that come along with lots of rain. Things like lots of mud and vegetation and bugs. My door swells so it won't close. The seasonal variations of "hot", "hotter" and "hottest" just become "hot and wet" or "hotter and wet" or "hottest and wet" (what I usually just describe as "miserable") in the rainy season.
But I have experienced one rainy season and survived so I was prepared to make it through one more. When the steady rains started a month ago I was ready for the mud and vegetation and bugs. I knew what to expect. What I didn't remember was the MOLD!
The mold is taking over my life!
Ok, that might be a little dramatic. But it is certainly alive and well.
When I got back to village after two weeks out of site, I found my favorite CamelBack backpack covered with green fuzz simply from hanging on the wall. Wet wipes and some serious time in the sun took care of the problem.
I then went to hang up some dirty clothes on a rope in my hut until I wash them. When I lifted the tarp to hang them up I found the same green fuzz meandering across some socks, a pair of pants, and a t-shirt that was not worth salvaging.
My latest concern is that my quick dry towel is already a foamy green color - dangerously close to the pale green shade of mold that's been popping up everywhere. I just have to believe that the makers of the Original PackTowel know what they are doing and I'm not drying off with a moldy towel every night.
I don't recall such aggressive mold last year, but I'm doing my best to keep it at bay. The sun helps dry everything out - when it is shining. And I have made an effort to do laundry more often (ok, correction: to have my laundry done for me). And that's about all I can do.
So don't feel too bad about the random vegetable that's been in the crisper too long. At least your walls aren't growing fur!
Thursday, August 20, 2009
REALLY BIG BEETLE!
(and it flies with precision accuracy right toward your face!)
oh, yeah and it was in our regional house...
Monday, August 17, 2009
What did you say?
Fact: When teaching a foreign language, repeating the same word or phrase LOUDER does not actually help comprehension.
I have been frustrated on numerous occasions over the last 15 months with this very same technique as I attempt to learn better French and Pulaar. When I am at a loss for the correct translation, an alternate explanation - versus an alternate decibel - would be appreciated.
And yet, despite my recent adventures in learning a foreign language, I caught myself adopting the LOUDER is BETTER philosophy on several occasions this past week as I taught English to 80 middle school kids in Dakar. Talk about a hypocrite!
Every summer the US Embassy hosts summer English camps as an extension of their Access English program in the schools. Peace Corps Volunteers have the opportunity to work with these middle schoolers for one week in the summer to help maintain the progress they've made over the last 3-4 months of formal English classes. At the end of next school year, 10 of the participating students will have the opportunity to go to America to study at a public high school for one year. It is literally a life-changing opportunity and one that is not taken lightly.
One the other hand, camp was a ton of fun for students and Volunteers alike. Our job was to get them to speak in English as much as humanly possible for 5 days... FINALLY, something I am qualified to do linguistically!!
We kept it simple. Simon Says, Pictionary, Olympics and BINGO all had their place. We gave them "American" names and we were blown away by their knowledge of American history and all things Obama! (The Senegalese are very big fans of the current President, and that comment spans all age groups). We finished the week with a Talent Show and snacks like PB&J, rice krispy treats and we even found Cheetos at the one big grocery store in Dakar. It was a huge hit!
I am sure that more than half of what we said was lost on them - even if it was said loud enough to be heard:) But it was a great week, albeit tiring (I am not used to structured activity - something I need to readjust to quickly when I get back to America), and summer camp remains a staple of growing up... in any language.
I have been frustrated on numerous occasions over the last 15 months with this very same technique as I attempt to learn better French and Pulaar. When I am at a loss for the correct translation, an alternate explanation - versus an alternate decibel - would be appreciated.
And yet, despite my recent adventures in learning a foreign language, I caught myself adopting the LOUDER is BETTER philosophy on several occasions this past week as I taught English to 80 middle school kids in Dakar. Talk about a hypocrite!
Every summer the US Embassy hosts summer English camps as an extension of their Access English program in the schools. Peace Corps Volunteers have the opportunity to work with these middle schoolers for one week in the summer to help maintain the progress they've made over the last 3-4 months of formal English classes. At the end of next school year, 10 of the participating students will have the opportunity to go to America to study at a public high school for one year. It is literally a life-changing opportunity and one that is not taken lightly.
One the other hand, camp was a ton of fun for students and Volunteers alike. Our job was to get them to speak in English as much as humanly possible for 5 days... FINALLY, something I am qualified to do linguistically!!
We kept it simple. Simon Says, Pictionary, Olympics and BINGO all had their place. We gave them "American" names and we were blown away by their knowledge of American history and all things Obama! (The Senegalese are very big fans of the current President, and that comment spans all age groups). We finished the week with a Talent Show and snacks like PB&J, rice krispy treats and we even found Cheetos at the one big grocery store in Dakar. It was a huge hit!
I am sure that more than half of what we said was lost on them - even if it was said loud enough to be heard:) But it was a great week, albeit tiring (I am not used to structured activity - something I need to readjust to quickly when I get back to America), and summer camp remains a staple of growing up... in any language.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
I May Be Getting the Hang of This
Well, let's be honest, I came to Africa over a year ago not really knowing what I was getting myself into.
After two months of training, I still had no idea what I was doing.
And then I was placed in my village, Thiewal Lao, deep in the bush of Southern Senegal. From the first day it has been made perfectly clear what I was brought there to do. The only problem was that I had NO idea how I was going to make it happen. So I started making it up as I went.
My task: complete a rural health poste.
I started talking to people. I practically stalked the members of the local government. And layer by layer I started getting the full story. On the west side of my village there stands the rough shell of a building. It has walls and a roof and a long history of lies, greed and all-too-typical scandal that I was given the task of rectifying.
So here’s the background to what has been my primary project:
In 2004, an international NGO was solicited by the local government to build a much-needed health facility. The NGO handed over millions of CFA to the local officials who handed the money over to a contractor to do the project.
For those of you who are counting, four HUGE mistakes were just made.
1. The NGO gave out money (a lot of money) with no system of accountability in place and a year later stopped doing work in Senegal.
2. The local government no doubt skimmed a portion of that money before handing it off to a contractor with no system of accountability in place either.
3. The contractor was chosen by the NGO, both of whom were based in the capital city of Dakar, more than 14 hours away from Kolda.
4. The contractor started the project having no doubt skimmed a portion of that money and then continued to steal project funds over the next four years as he started and stopped progress on Thiewal Lao’s health poste construction because there was no one to stop him.
Then I showed up.
And when I started talking to people I realized that none of them were talking to each other. The local government, Ministry of Health, other local NGOs and community members were all working independently of each other with little to no progress.
If you’ve read my blog you know that months of begging, insisting, pleading and even crying through formal and informal meetings with World Vision somehow established a working relationship that has resulted in the full funding of the completion of the health poste in my village.
You would think this is the good news, but I have known they were going to fund it for several months with no actual progress on the construction.
But that has all changed.
On July 8, 2009, a tractor arrived with every single nail, paint brush and piece of plywood needed to finish the project! This present came complete with a foreman and crew of four masons. They began work on July 9th at 8am and have been working every day but Saturday, since. Not only do they work quickly, but they are very good at what they do. The foreman supervises their work demanding quality. I meet with him every morning and evening to go over what was accomplished and what is coming up next. The crew calls me over every time I am within ear shot to show me their techniques and (probably more so) to see if I can do it too. If this whole saving the world thing doesn’t work out, I may have a future in masonry!
So it is happening. My villagers have stepped up too over the past few months, long before our crew showed up. They have formed a Health Committee that will oversee the proper function of the facility. Health outreach volunteers representing ten surrounding villages have been chosen and began training to connect people to the health poste.
And I have never been more popular in my life:)
We expect to have construction done by September 1 and there is no reason we shouldn’t be open and functioning by the end of the year. The Ministry of Health is on board. Not only does it mean that more than 10,000 Senegalese will have better access to medical care, but it gives the Volunteer who will replace me next year the resources to reach out to all these people and work on education and prevention now that the infrastructure will be in place.
So I am stressed. The project is going well, but it is not done yet. I will hold my breath until then. Because the economy is so bad, solar panels and a well have been cut from my budget so I am anxiously working to find funding. And we are in the heart of the rainy season which generally just makes things a little more difficult.
But I am thankful. I am thankful I was given such a defined purpose. I am thankful for the people of my village who are willing to work to better their own lives. I am thankful for the support I have received from other PCVs and friends and family back home. And I am thankful that this thing might actually get done during my service!
So that’s what is going on with me.
You can see pictures of the progress at www.peacecorpspav.shutterfly.com in the “Health Poste and School” Album.
After two months of training, I still had no idea what I was doing.
And then I was placed in my village, Thiewal Lao, deep in the bush of Southern Senegal. From the first day it has been made perfectly clear what I was brought there to do. The only problem was that I had NO idea how I was going to make it happen. So I started making it up as I went.
My task: complete a rural health poste.
I started talking to people. I practically stalked the members of the local government. And layer by layer I started getting the full story. On the west side of my village there stands the rough shell of a building. It has walls and a roof and a long history of lies, greed and all-too-typical scandal that I was given the task of rectifying.
So here’s the background to what has been my primary project:
In 2004, an international NGO was solicited by the local government to build a much-needed health facility. The NGO handed over millions of CFA to the local officials who handed the money over to a contractor to do the project.
For those of you who are counting, four HUGE mistakes were just made.
1. The NGO gave out money (a lot of money) with no system of accountability in place and a year later stopped doing work in Senegal.
2. The local government no doubt skimmed a portion of that money before handing it off to a contractor with no system of accountability in place either.
3. The contractor was chosen by the NGO, both of whom were based in the capital city of Dakar, more than 14 hours away from Kolda.
4. The contractor started the project having no doubt skimmed a portion of that money and then continued to steal project funds over the next four years as he started and stopped progress on Thiewal Lao’s health poste construction because there was no one to stop him.
Then I showed up.
And when I started talking to people I realized that none of them were talking to each other. The local government, Ministry of Health, other local NGOs and community members were all working independently of each other with little to no progress.
If you’ve read my blog you know that months of begging, insisting, pleading and even crying through formal and informal meetings with World Vision somehow established a working relationship that has resulted in the full funding of the completion of the health poste in my village.
You would think this is the good news, but I have known they were going to fund it for several months with no actual progress on the construction.
But that has all changed.
On July 8, 2009, a tractor arrived with every single nail, paint brush and piece of plywood needed to finish the project! This present came complete with a foreman and crew of four masons. They began work on July 9th at 8am and have been working every day but Saturday, since. Not only do they work quickly, but they are very good at what they do. The foreman supervises their work demanding quality. I meet with him every morning and evening to go over what was accomplished and what is coming up next. The crew calls me over every time I am within ear shot to show me their techniques and (probably more so) to see if I can do it too. If this whole saving the world thing doesn’t work out, I may have a future in masonry!
So it is happening. My villagers have stepped up too over the past few months, long before our crew showed up. They have formed a Health Committee that will oversee the proper function of the facility. Health outreach volunteers representing ten surrounding villages have been chosen and began training to connect people to the health poste.
And I have never been more popular in my life:)
We expect to have construction done by September 1 and there is no reason we shouldn’t be open and functioning by the end of the year. The Ministry of Health is on board. Not only does it mean that more than 10,000 Senegalese will have better access to medical care, but it gives the Volunteer who will replace me next year the resources to reach out to all these people and work on education and prevention now that the infrastructure will be in place.
So I am stressed. The project is going well, but it is not done yet. I will hold my breath until then. Because the economy is so bad, solar panels and a well have been cut from my budget so I am anxiously working to find funding. And we are in the heart of the rainy season which generally just makes things a little more difficult.
But I am thankful. I am thankful I was given such a defined purpose. I am thankful for the people of my village who are willing to work to better their own lives. I am thankful for the support I have received from other PCVs and friends and family back home. And I am thankful that this thing might actually get done during my service!
So that’s what is going on with me.
You can see pictures of the progress at www.peacecorpspav.shutterfly.com in the “Health Poste and School” Album.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
I Use a Night Light
When I was young I could NOT go to sleep with the closet door open and I could have become a professional long-jumper with the practice I got leaping in and out of bed so as to avoid the monsters living there. I was absolutely convinced I was not alone, yet perfectly safe - apparently I also thought monsters couldn't turn door knobs and had stubby arms.
I'd like to think I have mostly outgrown these rituals, but given the events of last month, I have no qualms announcing that I now use a night light and have resumed my long-jump tendencies (I should clarify that the "night light" is actually a hardware store-quality flood lamp requiring no less than NINE batteries to operate, generously sent by my brother's wife's mom. It is so bright that if you look hard enough, you may even be able to see it from America. I keep it on the brightest of three settings.)
Just as I did when I was a child, I know that I am never alone in my hut. I live with any combination of lizards, spiders and small flying things all the time. I have even managed to co-habitate with a mouse, occasional swarm of ants and a bat who makes a nightly visit. I think I have been an exceptionally good sport about every one of my "room mates," but the line has been crossed. I am NOT ok with my most recent visitor, and it had better be gone by the time I get back to my village. I gave it three weeks to get lost while I went to Barcelona on vacation and I am coming back with a chip on my shoulder and newly-purchased insect killer spray in my hand!
My typical routine in the village after dinner with the family is to go into my hut, lock the door, brush my teeth and read on my back stoop. Sounds nice, doesn't it? Well, it was until the most scary, aggressive bug I have ever seen dropped on my foot and continued to terrorize me for the next four nights! If I saw this thing in my house in America, I would move... to another state. And so would you.
This creature was a super-hybrid of all things moderately scary. It had eight-ish long legs like a spider. It had two large pinchers like a scorpion and ran in a hap-hazard, unpredictable manner like a cockroach. Here's the difference: all the aforementioned bugs want to be about as close to you as you want to be to them. They have no desire to share your space. This super-scary hybrid monster, however, CHASES YOU!!!!! I am not kidding!!!!!! It dropped on my foot, I fell off my stool, got up, ran outside to my backyard, and that S.O.B. FOLLOWED ME! I ran inside my hut, IT DID TOO! I ran back outside one more time before I did the most cowardly thing of my life... I ran, long-jumped and expertly landed in my mosquito net where I clothes-pinned myself in until the morning. I spent the entire night probing my flashlight around my hut and caught glimpses of the thing everywhere.
Needless to say, I was exhausted the next day. I desperately tried to explain to my family what it was. Naturally, they suggested all the distant relatives: scorpion, spider, snake, etc. I assured them I had NEVER seen such a thing and NEVER want to again.
That night, I started my post-dinner routine and the jerk jumped me before I even got to brush my teeth! Only this time, I went straight for back-up. I grabbed my sarong, ran out my front door and summoned my ENTIRE family. Six of us proceeded to methodically take every last thing out of my hut until only the bed and one truck was left (I should be honest that my family did these things - I stood behind them with a flip-flop in hand trying not to pass out from anxiety). When my dad moved the last trunk it made its move and five attempted swats later, Djonfollo killed it with her shoe... and then I hit it 6-18 more time to make sure it was really, really dead.
Here's the real kicker, its name is one of three words that I cannot say properly in Pulaar. In order to ever tell my family there is another one, I have to say the word incorrectly, which in turn they laugh at for my failed attempt. WHICH I HAD TO DO AGAIN THE NEXT NIGHT!
Again, it attacked. Again, I ran out panicked. Again, we cleared out my hut. And again, another one was killed. My nerves were shot. I was scared of the dark and I hadn't slept in two days.
For those of you who may have lost their faith in me for being so scared of a bug, rest assured that no more than five minutes after my family left the second night, I killed a scorpion by myself on my way to the douche. And you had better believe that I made every member of my family come back into my hut and look at what I had done. Best part; I think they were a little bit proud.
My greatest hope is that these things die in the rainy season which has since arrived. I feel fortunate that my childhood imagination prepared me for the scary reality of my adulthood and if the terrifying monster thingy hasn't yet left my hut, at least my night light will keep me company.
I'd like to think I have mostly outgrown these rituals, but given the events of last month, I have no qualms announcing that I now use a night light and have resumed my long-jump tendencies (I should clarify that the "night light" is actually a hardware store-quality flood lamp requiring no less than NINE batteries to operate, generously sent by my brother's wife's mom. It is so bright that if you look hard enough, you may even be able to see it from America. I keep it on the brightest of three settings.)
Just as I did when I was a child, I know that I am never alone in my hut. I live with any combination of lizards, spiders and small flying things all the time. I have even managed to co-habitate with a mouse, occasional swarm of ants and a bat who makes a nightly visit. I think I have been an exceptionally good sport about every one of my "room mates," but the line has been crossed. I am NOT ok with my most recent visitor, and it had better be gone by the time I get back to my village. I gave it three weeks to get lost while I went to Barcelona on vacation and I am coming back with a chip on my shoulder and newly-purchased insect killer spray in my hand!
My typical routine in the village after dinner with the family is to go into my hut, lock the door, brush my teeth and read on my back stoop. Sounds nice, doesn't it? Well, it was until the most scary, aggressive bug I have ever seen dropped on my foot and continued to terrorize me for the next four nights! If I saw this thing in my house in America, I would move... to another state. And so would you.
This creature was a super-hybrid of all things moderately scary. It had eight-ish long legs like a spider. It had two large pinchers like a scorpion and ran in a hap-hazard, unpredictable manner like a cockroach. Here's the difference: all the aforementioned bugs want to be about as close to you as you want to be to them. They have no desire to share your space. This super-scary hybrid monster, however, CHASES YOU!!!!! I am not kidding!!!!!! It dropped on my foot, I fell off my stool, got up, ran outside to my backyard, and that S.O.B. FOLLOWED ME! I ran inside my hut, IT DID TOO! I ran back outside one more time before I did the most cowardly thing of my life... I ran, long-jumped and expertly landed in my mosquito net where I clothes-pinned myself in until the morning. I spent the entire night probing my flashlight around my hut and caught glimpses of the thing everywhere.
Needless to say, I was exhausted the next day. I desperately tried to explain to my family what it was. Naturally, they suggested all the distant relatives: scorpion, spider, snake, etc. I assured them I had NEVER seen such a thing and NEVER want to again.
That night, I started my post-dinner routine and the jerk jumped me before I even got to brush my teeth! Only this time, I went straight for back-up. I grabbed my sarong, ran out my front door and summoned my ENTIRE family. Six of us proceeded to methodically take every last thing out of my hut until only the bed and one truck was left (I should be honest that my family did these things - I stood behind them with a flip-flop in hand trying not to pass out from anxiety). When my dad moved the last trunk it made its move and five attempted swats later, Djonfollo killed it with her shoe... and then I hit it 6-18 more time to make sure it was really, really dead.
Here's the real kicker, its name is one of three words that I cannot say properly in Pulaar. In order to ever tell my family there is another one, I have to say the word incorrectly, which in turn they laugh at for my failed attempt. WHICH I HAD TO DO AGAIN THE NEXT NIGHT!
Again, it attacked. Again, I ran out panicked. Again, we cleared out my hut. And again, another one was killed. My nerves were shot. I was scared of the dark and I hadn't slept in two days.
For those of you who may have lost their faith in me for being so scared of a bug, rest assured that no more than five minutes after my family left the second night, I killed a scorpion by myself on my way to the douche. And you had better believe that I made every member of my family come back into my hut and look at what I had done. Best part; I think they were a little bit proud.
My greatest hope is that these things die in the rainy season which has since arrived. I feel fortunate that my childhood imagination prepared me for the scary reality of my adulthood and if the terrifying monster thingy hasn't yet left my hut, at least my night light will keep me company.
Monday, June 1, 2009
The First, The Last, The Only...
Take a good look because you will never see this again. Two days ago I was braided for the first time in my village - a feat they've been working at since my arrival more than a year ago.
Me & Djonfollo - happy and grateful for her time & masterful braiding ability...
How I really felt.
Approximately one month ago I got a new neighbor about 6km away, Amanda, she's great! Two days ago she came out to Thiewal Lao to chill for the day and wouldn't you know it... she showed up with corn row braids. Since I arrived in country, Volunteers have claimed that braids have the benefit of being cooler (as in temp), reducing the need and frequency of washing one's hair and/or dealing with it in the heat and it makes villagers happy in our constant effort to integrate. All these things are well and good, but I have actively avoided both conversation and activity which would lead to my hair being braided, and I have been very successful thus far.
My aversion to braids is personal in that, personally, I think I look like an idiot. But beyond my own aesthetic issues with the hairstyle, I am still very sensitive about the amount and frequency with which I am losing hair. Since about the second week in country I have been battling premature hair loss. Some says its diet. Same say its Mefloquine - malaria prophylaxis. Some say its stress. I think its probably a healthy combination of all three unhealthy realities. But I use leave-in conditioner, no longer use ponytail twisties and have avoided braiding all in an effort to save what hair I have left.
But after Amanda showed up with braids having been in site only one month, the peer pressure reached a whole new level. I know enough of the language to be able to catch the sly side comments - even Senegalese use guilt! And after at least four hours of suggestion, praise for Amanda's hair and outright begging, I gave in. I said yes. And I instantly regretted it with every pull and tug. I could hear hair snapping in half like a marching band drum pounding in my ear. In about an hour Djonfollo was finished. My villagers thought I was the most beautiful person they had ever seen and 26 hours later after I arrived in Kolda for a meeting, I took them out... VERY carefully. I washed my hair, put on twice as much leave-in conditioner as usual and apologized out-loud to my hair.
Moral of the story: screen your visitors. and next time, I'm telling them I have lice!
Me & Djonfollo - happy and grateful for her time & masterful braiding ability...
How I really felt.
Approximately one month ago I got a new neighbor about 6km away, Amanda, she's great! Two days ago she came out to Thiewal Lao to chill for the day and wouldn't you know it... she showed up with corn row braids. Since I arrived in country, Volunteers have claimed that braids have the benefit of being cooler (as in temp), reducing the need and frequency of washing one's hair and/or dealing with it in the heat and it makes villagers happy in our constant effort to integrate. All these things are well and good, but I have actively avoided both conversation and activity which would lead to my hair being braided, and I have been very successful thus far.
My aversion to braids is personal in that, personally, I think I look like an idiot. But beyond my own aesthetic issues with the hairstyle, I am still very sensitive about the amount and frequency with which I am losing hair. Since about the second week in country I have been battling premature hair loss. Some says its diet. Same say its Mefloquine - malaria prophylaxis. Some say its stress. I think its probably a healthy combination of all three unhealthy realities. But I use leave-in conditioner, no longer use ponytail twisties and have avoided braiding all in an effort to save what hair I have left.
But after Amanda showed up with braids having been in site only one month, the peer pressure reached a whole new level. I know enough of the language to be able to catch the sly side comments - even Senegalese use guilt! And after at least four hours of suggestion, praise for Amanda's hair and outright begging, I gave in. I said yes. And I instantly regretted it with every pull and tug. I could hear hair snapping in half like a marching band drum pounding in my ear. In about an hour Djonfollo was finished. My villagers thought I was the most beautiful person they had ever seen and 26 hours later after I arrived in Kolda for a meeting, I took them out... VERY carefully. I washed my hair, put on twice as much leave-in conditioner as usual and apologized out-loud to my hair.
Moral of the story: screen your visitors. and next time, I'm telling them I have lice!
Friday, May 1, 2009
Elbow Deep
As a child I "finger painted" with popsicle sticks. I had no qualms about getting dirty, but preferred to be clean. And while I spent many a summer on my Uncle's farm, I can't say that cleaning up after animals was ever my forte.
But I have grown up. And two days ago I not only played in the dirt for four hours, but I also played in cow poop! That's progress, right?!
Meg and I recently lead 80 elementary age kids in preparing 900 tree sacks which will be outplanted in 2-3 months providing shade, nutrition and asthetic value to the school and health poste as they mature. The first step in this process... pounding, crumbling and for all intensive purposes, touching cow poop before you mix it with equal parts soil. This gives the trees a good home to germinate, and I was up to my elbows in it. I even have pics to prove it.
In four hours we filled all 900 sacks, seeded and watered them, and with any luck they will be ready to go in the ground just as the rains pick up. I've never done this before, but speaking as a resident from the Home of Arbor Day, I feel pretty good about our project, and chalk this one up to yet another character building exercise. Let me tell you - I am coming home with an awful lot of character (and really clean nails)!
But I have grown up. And two days ago I not only played in the dirt for four hours, but I also played in cow poop! That's progress, right?!
Meg and I recently lead 80 elementary age kids in preparing 900 tree sacks which will be outplanted in 2-3 months providing shade, nutrition and asthetic value to the school and health poste as they mature. The first step in this process... pounding, crumbling and for all intensive purposes, touching cow poop before you mix it with equal parts soil. This gives the trees a good home to germinate, and I was up to my elbows in it. I even have pics to prove it.
In four hours we filled all 900 sacks, seeded and watered them, and with any luck they will be ready to go in the ground just as the rains pick up. I've never done this before, but speaking as a resident from the Home of Arbor Day, I feel pretty good about our project, and chalk this one up to yet another character building exercise. Let me tell you - I am coming home with an awful lot of character (and really clean nails)!
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
The Witch Is Dead!
Ding dong, the witch is dead. The wicked witch. The wicked old witch. Ding dong, the wicked witch is dead!
Senegal has recently experienced its annual election season for every public office in the land. And I am BEYOND elated to spread the news far and wide that the former Communitaire Rurale in my area (who shall remain nameless because even typing his name makes me feel nauseous) has been DEFEATED!!!!!!!
Now, one might question why I would care about such a position, and the truth is that in many ways I don't. Except that he is hands down, without question or reservation the single most awful person I have met in this country, and I would have to search the very depths of my heart and conscience to feel bad if he accidentally fell in front of a quickly-moving bus.
I know, that sounds rather harsh, but he was the bane of my existence for far too much of my service. His position gave him the leverage to make the health poste in my vcillage a reality quickly, but because I removed all avenues through which he could steal money, he has made every attempt to thwart my efforts. I live in a society that avoids confrontation at all costs, but even so I have been warned about his sneaky, slimy ways by villagers, teachers, my counterparts and even other local officials (who shall also remain nameless) since I first arrived. He was no doubt one of the people who stole money from the health poste initially, along with every other project he could get his hands on, and his lifestyle would legitimize that theory.
But his ego got too big even for himself! My road town just elected a new mayor and he relinquished his position as the long-standing Communitaire Rurale to run for the new Mayor position... AND HE LOST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
That means he has NO PUBLIC JOB, NO INFLUENCE and no way to make MY LIFE or the lives of my villagers any harder!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I fully acknowledge that I should not find so much enjoyment in another's misfortune, but he had it coming and I am so proud of voters for finally cutting the fat. Today is a good day.
And the snake can now slither into his hole and stay there. We've got work to do!
Senegal has recently experienced its annual election season for every public office in the land. And I am BEYOND elated to spread the news far and wide that the former Communitaire Rurale in my area (who shall remain nameless because even typing his name makes me feel nauseous) has been DEFEATED!!!!!!!
Now, one might question why I would care about such a position, and the truth is that in many ways I don't. Except that he is hands down, without question or reservation the single most awful person I have met in this country, and I would have to search the very depths of my heart and conscience to feel bad if he accidentally fell in front of a quickly-moving bus.
I know, that sounds rather harsh, but he was the bane of my existence for far too much of my service. His position gave him the leverage to make the health poste in my vcillage a reality quickly, but because I removed all avenues through which he could steal money, he has made every attempt to thwart my efforts. I live in a society that avoids confrontation at all costs, but even so I have been warned about his sneaky, slimy ways by villagers, teachers, my counterparts and even other local officials (who shall also remain nameless) since I first arrived. He was no doubt one of the people who stole money from the health poste initially, along with every other project he could get his hands on, and his lifestyle would legitimize that theory.
But his ego got too big even for himself! My road town just elected a new mayor and he relinquished his position as the long-standing Communitaire Rurale to run for the new Mayor position... AND HE LOST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
That means he has NO PUBLIC JOB, NO INFLUENCE and no way to make MY LIFE or the lives of my villagers any harder!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I fully acknowledge that I should not find so much enjoyment in another's misfortune, but he had it coming and I am so proud of voters for finally cutting the fat. Today is a good day.
And the snake can now slither into his hole and stay there. We've got work to do!
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Keep It On Ice
Yesterday I had a meeting with World Vision in Kolda. Today my Mom sent me an email asking how it went - because she is wonderful like that. This was my response... perhaps not what she was expecting:
I went to World Vision yesterday morning. I got there 15 minutes early for an 8:00am meeting (a genetic disorder I cannot drop to save my life and one which is entirely under appreciated in this country). I waited. I called my guy. The meeting had been moved to 10am.
I went to town and did some shopping in the market. Walked back.
I walked in to my guy's office and he offered me an ice cold Coke. To be cordial, I accepted. I don't like soda.
He then proceeded to dance an incredible jig around the purpose of the meeting - a meeting which he called - which was my health poste.
I refused (I promise I was polite about it) to talk about anything else until I knew what was up with my health poste. He did a few more spins and twirls before he stopped dancing and threw a big fat wrench in my life by telling me that the reason he was in Dakar for the last two weeks was because their head office in Germany has to cut budgets by almost 1/3 for the upcoming year and this means it is incredibly likely they can no longer fund my health poste.
I stopped drinking my Coke.
I also stopped breathing and sort of threw up in my mouth.
I suddenly knew exactly why he had wanted to get through his 5 point agenda before descending upon this topic, but there was no turning back. I didn't turn into fussy girl. I didn't turn into mad girl. I was just absolutely speechless. I felt utterly helpless.
For the last 12 months of my life I have been cultivating this relationship so that something like this wouldn't happen, couldn't happen. For the last 12 months I have put my faith in a faith-based organization to come through for my village - to not let them down AGAIN. And now, as my heart sank into my stomach, my mind kicked into overdrive trying to figure out how I was possibly going to raise the almost $18,000 I would need to fulfill the promise I made to my villagers - which was that I was not leaving this country until the health poste was open.
THOSE IS BIG WORDS!
And I was and still am prepared to back them up, but it had never even crossed my mind that I would have to do it alone. I have a freaking contract with World Vision for crying out loud. I played by the rules and did everything asked of me.
This can't be happening.
My guy had no idea what to do or say. He called in his boss who said the same things. They started pulling up and printing off emails showing me that it was not their fault that budgets were being cut in the health sector. And I just sat there. I had no idea what to do.
And so I cried.
Only this time (for those of you who recall my previous strategic implementation of crying) the tears were real. I felt sorry for myself. I felt heart-broken for my village. I suddenly missed my family. And once I even glanced at that slippery slope I was tumbling toward the fact that my thighs are too big and I shouldn't have colored my hair in 10th grade - you know, all things relevant. I truly felt like my world crashed. So they said in unison that there was one final conference call later that day and that I should come back tomorrow morning to see what comes of it.
Sure. I'll just got home, get some rest and come back tomorrow. No problem... except there was a big problem!
I was handling it fine, albeit a bit dazed, until the gas ran out on the stove last night as I was cooking eggs, and I lost it. Game over. Tears. Snot. More tears. It wasn't pretty.
I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do next if the money was gone and I am really bad at not having answers.
So I didn't sleep, got up early to try and remedy the dark circles and puffy bags I was rocking under my eyes from exhaustion and hysterics, and went to World Vision.
I walked into my guy's office and he... offered me an effing ice cold Coke!
My heart sank again. Not a Coke! The last time I got a Coke my world disintegrated.
Then he told me I was going to cry again - not a good prediction to come from a professional partner.
And then he told me they were able to borrow from another section of the budget. My health poste was going to be fine. And so was I.
Contractors, masons and World Vision will be in my village Saturday at 11am to make a final list of needed materials and start work next week. Period.
I think I slightly offended them by not crying this time around. I told them I was too emotionally exhausted. I think they were too.
And the next time I drink an ice cold Coke will be... NEVER!
And that is how my meeting went with World Vision yesterday:) Thank you for asking.
I went to World Vision yesterday morning. I got there 15 minutes early for an 8:00am meeting (a genetic disorder I cannot drop to save my life and one which is entirely under appreciated in this country). I waited. I called my guy. The meeting had been moved to 10am.
I went to town and did some shopping in the market. Walked back.
I walked in to my guy's office and he offered me an ice cold Coke. To be cordial, I accepted. I don't like soda.
He then proceeded to dance an incredible jig around the purpose of the meeting - a meeting which he called - which was my health poste.
I refused (I promise I was polite about it) to talk about anything else until I knew what was up with my health poste. He did a few more spins and twirls before he stopped dancing and threw a big fat wrench in my life by telling me that the reason he was in Dakar for the last two weeks was because their head office in Germany has to cut budgets by almost 1/3 for the upcoming year and this means it is incredibly likely they can no longer fund my health poste.
I stopped drinking my Coke.
I also stopped breathing and sort of threw up in my mouth.
I suddenly knew exactly why he had wanted to get through his 5 point agenda before descending upon this topic, but there was no turning back. I didn't turn into fussy girl. I didn't turn into mad girl. I was just absolutely speechless. I felt utterly helpless.
For the last 12 months of my life I have been cultivating this relationship so that something like this wouldn't happen, couldn't happen. For the last 12 months I have put my faith in a faith-based organization to come through for my village - to not let them down AGAIN. And now, as my heart sank into my stomach, my mind kicked into overdrive trying to figure out how I was possibly going to raise the almost $18,000 I would need to fulfill the promise I made to my villagers - which was that I was not leaving this country until the health poste was open.
THOSE IS BIG WORDS!
And I was and still am prepared to back them up, but it had never even crossed my mind that I would have to do it alone. I have a freaking contract with World Vision for crying out loud. I played by the rules and did everything asked of me.
This can't be happening.
My guy had no idea what to do or say. He called in his boss who said the same things. They started pulling up and printing off emails showing me that it was not their fault that budgets were being cut in the health sector. And I just sat there. I had no idea what to do.
And so I cried.
Only this time (for those of you who recall my previous strategic implementation of crying) the tears were real. I felt sorry for myself. I felt heart-broken for my village. I suddenly missed my family. And once I even glanced at that slippery slope I was tumbling toward the fact that my thighs are too big and I shouldn't have colored my hair in 10th grade - you know, all things relevant. I truly felt like my world crashed. So they said in unison that there was one final conference call later that day and that I should come back tomorrow morning to see what comes of it.
Sure. I'll just got home, get some rest and come back tomorrow. No problem... except there was a big problem!
I was handling it fine, albeit a bit dazed, until the gas ran out on the stove last night as I was cooking eggs, and I lost it. Game over. Tears. Snot. More tears. It wasn't pretty.
I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do next if the money was gone and I am really bad at not having answers.
So I didn't sleep, got up early to try and remedy the dark circles and puffy bags I was rocking under my eyes from exhaustion and hysterics, and went to World Vision.
I walked into my guy's office and he... offered me an effing ice cold Coke!
My heart sank again. Not a Coke! The last time I got a Coke my world disintegrated.
Then he told me I was going to cry again - not a good prediction to come from a professional partner.
And then he told me they were able to borrow from another section of the budget. My health poste was going to be fine. And so was I.
Contractors, masons and World Vision will be in my village Saturday at 11am to make a final list of needed materials and start work next week. Period.
I think I slightly offended them by not crying this time around. I told them I was too emotionally exhausted. I think they were too.
And the next time I drink an ice cold Coke will be... NEVER!
And that is how my meeting went with World Vision yesterday:) Thank you for asking.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Ghost Town
Today is Election Day in Senegal.
The last month has been filled with rallies, late-night drumming and loud speakers, candidate t-shirts, and more late-night drumming as local campaigns gear up for today.
Politics is on the collective mind, and, within the last week, is also all over our Peace Corps Safety & Security Director's desk. As of late, our cell phones have been bombarded with update after update of reported riots, violence and warnings related to the elections. We have just had a travel restriction placed on us by both the Peace Corps and Senegal Government. And this morning I ventured into town to get some veggies and found nearly every boutique, stand and store front closed and padlocked. Preparing for the storm? I hope not.
I know I am a world away from home. But after experiencing the campaign and election of President Obama, (albeit from across an ocean) I guess I just had it in my head that the Senegal election season would be less of a production. We are currently hulled up in the Kolda regional house with no intention of leaving the rest of today - though I am not convinced it wouldn't be fine. Being here this long, I sometimes forget that I do in fact live in a third world country with potential civil unrest. This evening could be interesting, but nothing like Grant Park! My hope is that it is also nothing like the LA riots.
The last month has been filled with rallies, late-night drumming and loud speakers, candidate t-shirts, and more late-night drumming as local campaigns gear up for today.
Politics is on the collective mind, and, within the last week, is also all over our Peace Corps Safety & Security Director's desk. As of late, our cell phones have been bombarded with update after update of reported riots, violence and warnings related to the elections. We have just had a travel restriction placed on us by both the Peace Corps and Senegal Government. And this morning I ventured into town to get some veggies and found nearly every boutique, stand and store front closed and padlocked. Preparing for the storm? I hope not.
I know I am a world away from home. But after experiencing the campaign and election of President Obama, (albeit from across an ocean) I guess I just had it in my head that the Senegal election season would be less of a production. We are currently hulled up in the Kolda regional house with no intention of leaving the rest of today - though I am not convinced it wouldn't be fine. Being here this long, I sometimes forget that I do in fact live in a third world country with potential civil unrest. This evening could be interesting, but nothing like Grant Park! My hope is that it is also nothing like the LA riots.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Going Nowhere Fast
Yesterday I made my big escape. I had been held hostage for three days in Dakar due to a transportation strike. That's right, all the drivers in Senegal decided to stick it to President Wade on the same day... and then for the next three days. Boo!
I arrived at the main garage in Dakar Monday at o'dark thirty with my game face on; ready to withstand twelve hours of dirt-in-your-face, middle of the back seat, sweating because the windows don't roll down, travel. I immediately took note of how crowded it was, but thought nothing of it. However, when I rolled into the corner of the garage that sells tickets to Kolda and was not IMMEDIATELY bombarded with potential sellers, I knew something was up. I couldn't buy a ticket to save my life. I couldn't make anyone take my money... unheard of!
I tried to stay optimistic. Two other volunteers showed up en route to the North and thought they were going to get out. We sought out other volunteers from across the country to gauge the movement of traffic toward Dakar. We also watched a platoon a red beret soldiers show up and fan out throughout the garage and surrounding streets - not exactly reassuring. And at 10:30am, the three of us left, in a taxi, not to our final destinations, but to the regional house where we slept and watched six hours of The Office. There was nothing else to do. The entire country was at a stand-still.
The next day we got reports of groups pulling cars off the road who weren't obeying the strike. Rocks were thrown. Not good. We decided to not even try to get out and enjoyed an evening at the beach - we were just making lemonade out of lemons, right?!?!
The last official day of the strike, several volunteers finally got IN to Dakar, but nothing was yet getting out. So I patiently waited and the morning of day 4 I returned to the garage holding my breath, crossing my fingers and saying a prayer that I would get out... and I did. It was an uneventful albeit long trip and I am back, happy to be here and not leaving any time soon!
I arrived at the main garage in Dakar Monday at o'dark thirty with my game face on; ready to withstand twelve hours of dirt-in-your-face, middle of the back seat, sweating because the windows don't roll down, travel. I immediately took note of how crowded it was, but thought nothing of it. However, when I rolled into the corner of the garage that sells tickets to Kolda and was not IMMEDIATELY bombarded with potential sellers, I knew something was up. I couldn't buy a ticket to save my life. I couldn't make anyone take my money... unheard of!
I tried to stay optimistic. Two other volunteers showed up en route to the North and thought they were going to get out. We sought out other volunteers from across the country to gauge the movement of traffic toward Dakar. We also watched a platoon a red beret soldiers show up and fan out throughout the garage and surrounding streets - not exactly reassuring. And at 10:30am, the three of us left, in a taxi, not to our final destinations, but to the regional house where we slept and watched six hours of The Office. There was nothing else to do. The entire country was at a stand-still.
The next day we got reports of groups pulling cars off the road who weren't obeying the strike. Rocks were thrown. Not good. We decided to not even try to get out and enjoyed an evening at the beach - we were just making lemonade out of lemons, right?!?!
The last official day of the strike, several volunteers finally got IN to Dakar, but nothing was yet getting out. So I patiently waited and the morning of day 4 I returned to the garage holding my breath, crossing my fingers and saying a prayer that I would get out... and I did. It was an uneventful albeit long trip and I am back, happy to be here and not leaving any time soon!
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Truly Inspired
My best friend here in Senegal has wanted to bring computers to the students she works with at the middle school in her village, Kounkane, since she arrived. The 1,100 students in her school represent more than 35 villages from all over the area. Since Kounkane is located on the main highway through Senegal, they are fortunate to have electricity, and occasionally the internet connection even works.
Four days ago she was presented with an opportunity to secure computers from a shipment that is coming to Senegal if she is able to raise the funds. So she wrote a blog, made a post on Facebook, sent a few emails and maybe even said a few prayers that the money would come in time.
There is no doubt that times are tough. People don't have piles of cash laying around... they might not even have a change jar. But in 24 hours she was able to raise $1,125 from an eclectic group of long-lost buddies, family friends and total strangers. Some gave $10 and one gave $500, but the amount doesn't matter. She made a plea and it was graciously answered with well-wishes and encouragement. We are all still reeling from the generosity.
So now, I am doing my part. Please feel no obligation to give. If your kind thoughts and prayers are all you can send, she will still be grateful, but she is now only $400 away from a fully-funded project that seemed all but impossible just a few days ago. If you are able to give, please go to: http://partners.guidestar.org/controller/searchResults.gs?action_donateReport=1&partner=networkforgood&ein=04-3529016
Click the "Donate Now" button and follow the directions. All donations are tax-deductible.
REMEMBER: You must designate the donation to "PCV Emily Morris in Senegal."
Thanks for even considering and cheers to computers!
Four days ago she was presented with an opportunity to secure computers from a shipment that is coming to Senegal if she is able to raise the funds. So she wrote a blog, made a post on Facebook, sent a few emails and maybe even said a few prayers that the money would come in time.
There is no doubt that times are tough. People don't have piles of cash laying around... they might not even have a change jar. But in 24 hours she was able to raise $1,125 from an eclectic group of long-lost buddies, family friends and total strangers. Some gave $10 and one gave $500, but the amount doesn't matter. She made a plea and it was graciously answered with well-wishes and encouragement. We are all still reeling from the generosity.
So now, I am doing my part. Please feel no obligation to give. If your kind thoughts and prayers are all you can send, she will still be grateful, but she is now only $400 away from a fully-funded project that seemed all but impossible just a few days ago. If you are able to give, please go to: http://partners.guidestar.org/controller/searchResults.gs?action_donateReport=1&partner=networkforgood&ein=04-3529016
Click the "Donate Now" button and follow the directions. All donations are tax-deductible.
REMEMBER: You must designate the donation to "PCV Emily Morris in Senegal."
Thanks for even considering and cheers to computers!
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
What a Day (or half of one)
So it is currently 1pm in Kolda, Senegal.
I have been up for seven hours and ridden a roller coaster of emotions that has left me drained, yet thankfully positive, and the day is not even half over. This country is killing me softly.
I got up at o' dark thirty to be the first one at the bank because I had about 12 cents to my name. Since it is the end of the month, the bank is ridiculously busy with people getting money wired in from France and Spain. So I was first in line, and out the door no more than 10 minutes after they unlocked the doors.
Yeah!
Then I went to the Post Office where I had a very pleasant experience with the man there who gave me a package from my mom's best friend. And it was a seriously good package. THANKS!!
Yeah!
Then Meg and I found a new bean sandwich lady and they were amazing! And we all know how much I do like my bean sandwiches!
Yeah!
Then I went to the other side of the Post Office where I wanted to mail my Valentine's Day cards. The guy behind the counter wanted to RIP ME OFF hard core. And I wasn't having it. My friend Ibu even came over and because the other guy outranked him, he couldn't say anything. I was so mad. The Post Office should be the ONE place the color of my skin should not matter - its a government office for crying out loud. So I grabbed my letters like a child, wagged my finger at them, and huffed off. So dramatic. I was punishing no one but myself, and I knew it.
Boo!
So I walked across the street where I met a very nice Wolof man (and there aren't very many of them in Kolda) who sold me green and yellow paint at a fair price and made me smile again.
Yeah!
Take note, it is only 9am at this point!
I then walked to the World Vision office where Jess, Kirsten, Meg and I were supposed to have a meeting. I got there with time to spare just to find out that the meeting (that we all went out of our way to get to having only been told about it a day ago) is actually tomorrow. No skin off my back, but Jess and Kirsten had to get back, and they can't come tomorrow.
Boo!
I used the opportunity to probe about my health poste which nearly gave me a heart attack! I was told that the Chef de Medecin in Kolda just left town for EIGHT MONTHS!!! And nothing can happen in the medical world of Kolda without his permission.
My World Vision guy saw my heart fall into my stomach as he said it and quickly added that a temporary replacement is arriving today and that the Chef gave official approval of my health poste prior to his departure.
At this point I began breathing again!
I then asked WHEN construction will start. To which I was told "before June" (the date I have been assured it will be open by). So I asked again, WHEN? And I got the same answer.
Now, I know I am getting a BOATLOAD of money from these people, but I am SO sick of non-specific, non-commital answers.
So I got fussy.
And the Senegalese don't know how to handle fussy American girls.
So he told me to WAIT.
He fumbled for his phone, made a call and quickly amended his response.
I WILL HAVE MASONS IN THIEWAL LAO BY FEBRUARY 28, 2009!
And that's all I wanted to know.
Yeah!
So once I caught my breath, settled down, salvaged my working relationship and got over myself, I calmly thanked World Vision and quietly left.
That wasn't so hard, now was it?!?!!?
I've now been to the market where I had a lovely time with the ladies at the vegetable stands. I've gotten some work done and eaten a very healthy, vegetable-packed lunch and think I am now going to bed.
Thanks for listening to my rant. The drama is oh, so ridiculous. I am WAY too emotionally involved, and I think I am entirely ok with that.
I hope you all have a calm, uneventful day.
I have been up for seven hours and ridden a roller coaster of emotions that has left me drained, yet thankfully positive, and the day is not even half over. This country is killing me softly.
I got up at o' dark thirty to be the first one at the bank because I had about 12 cents to my name. Since it is the end of the month, the bank is ridiculously busy with people getting money wired in from France and Spain. So I was first in line, and out the door no more than 10 minutes after they unlocked the doors.
Yeah!
Then I went to the Post Office where I had a very pleasant experience with the man there who gave me a package from my mom's best friend. And it was a seriously good package. THANKS!!
Yeah!
Then Meg and I found a new bean sandwich lady and they were amazing! And we all know how much I do like my bean sandwiches!
Yeah!
Then I went to the other side of the Post Office where I wanted to mail my Valentine's Day cards. The guy behind the counter wanted to RIP ME OFF hard core. And I wasn't having it. My friend Ibu even came over and because the other guy outranked him, he couldn't say anything. I was so mad. The Post Office should be the ONE place the color of my skin should not matter - its a government office for crying out loud. So I grabbed my letters like a child, wagged my finger at them, and huffed off. So dramatic. I was punishing no one but myself, and I knew it.
Boo!
So I walked across the street where I met a very nice Wolof man (and there aren't very many of them in Kolda) who sold me green and yellow paint at a fair price and made me smile again.
Yeah!
Take note, it is only 9am at this point!
I then walked to the World Vision office where Jess, Kirsten, Meg and I were supposed to have a meeting. I got there with time to spare just to find out that the meeting (that we all went out of our way to get to having only been told about it a day ago) is actually tomorrow. No skin off my back, but Jess and Kirsten had to get back, and they can't come tomorrow.
Boo!
I used the opportunity to probe about my health poste which nearly gave me a heart attack! I was told that the Chef de Medecin in Kolda just left town for EIGHT MONTHS!!! And nothing can happen in the medical world of Kolda without his permission.
My World Vision guy saw my heart fall into my stomach as he said it and quickly added that a temporary replacement is arriving today and that the Chef gave official approval of my health poste prior to his departure.
At this point I began breathing again!
I then asked WHEN construction will start. To which I was told "before June" (the date I have been assured it will be open by). So I asked again, WHEN? And I got the same answer.
Now, I know I am getting a BOATLOAD of money from these people, but I am SO sick of non-specific, non-commital answers.
So I got fussy.
And the Senegalese don't know how to handle fussy American girls.
So he told me to WAIT.
He fumbled for his phone, made a call and quickly amended his response.
I WILL HAVE MASONS IN THIEWAL LAO BY FEBRUARY 28, 2009!
And that's all I wanted to know.
Yeah!
So once I caught my breath, settled down, salvaged my working relationship and got over myself, I calmly thanked World Vision and quietly left.
That wasn't so hard, now was it?!?!!?
I've now been to the market where I had a lovely time with the ladies at the vegetable stands. I've gotten some work done and eaten a very healthy, vegetable-packed lunch and think I am now going to bed.
Thanks for listening to my rant. The drama is oh, so ridiculous. I am WAY too emotionally involved, and I think I am entirely ok with that.
I hope you all have a calm, uneventful day.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Due to Weather
Over 33 hours, four states and two continents I cried approximately nine times in public. In airports, actually, very busy and densely crowded airports. Not the mild, twinge of sadness kind of cry, but the gasp for air, slightly choking kind of pity sob that attracts attention in such places as very busy airports.
I went home for the holidays, back to America - land of the free and home of the delayed departure. The phrase 'due to weather' ravaged my brilliantly constructed itinerary and threatened to ruin perhaps the greatest surprise of my life: surprising my Mom for Christmas with a homecoming from Africa. I narrowly escaped the Detroit airport five hours before it closed and spent the night with 50 of my newest friends in the Minneapolis airport after we were thrice denied The Good Life 'due to weather.'
I suppose distance makes the heart grow fonder, but international flights just make it act irrationally. I was begging, praying and bargaining with the Gods and/or NWA officials to get me home and 13 hours after my scheduled arrival I was in Omaha, along with the freaking cold weather, ice and snow. Not quite life as I've known it on the equator, but it looked pretty good to me.
So I made it, baggage and all. And my Mom was surprised, only because we lied shamelessly to keep the secret. But it was a perfect trip home, and maybe I even appreciated it more due to the weather.
Happy New Year to Everyone!
I went home for the holidays, back to America - land of the free and home of the delayed departure. The phrase 'due to weather' ravaged my brilliantly constructed itinerary and threatened to ruin perhaps the greatest surprise of my life: surprising my Mom for Christmas with a homecoming from Africa. I narrowly escaped the Detroit airport five hours before it closed and spent the night with 50 of my newest friends in the Minneapolis airport after we were thrice denied The Good Life 'due to weather.'
I suppose distance makes the heart grow fonder, but international flights just make it act irrationally. I was begging, praying and bargaining with the Gods and/or NWA officials to get me home and 13 hours after my scheduled arrival I was in Omaha, along with the freaking cold weather, ice and snow. Not quite life as I've known it on the equator, but it looked pretty good to me.
So I made it, baggage and all. And my Mom was surprised, only because we lied shamelessly to keep the secret. But it was a perfect trip home, and maybe I even appreciated it more due to the weather.
Happy New Year to Everyone!
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