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.

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.

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!