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.

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!

Obama Does Kolda

Yesterday we received the newest group of Peace Corps volunteers in our region.  I am officially no longer a Freshman.  It's a great thing.  I spent the morning shopping with two of our new crew helping them negotiate prices on trunks, cups, mats and tarps to fill their huts when they are installed in two days.  

As we were searching for rope we caught sight of a stand of notebooks - they are everywhere as school is just starting.  It's no Office Depot, but it gets the job done.  It took a second glance to notice that I was staring at Barack Obama on the covers either addressing a crowd, a close-up smile or the classic off-in-the-distance stare.  I didn't know what to say.

I had spent the previous week in the capital of Senegal, Dakar, where I was greeted with chants of Obama's name in passing, conversations about how and for whom I had voted, and even got to watch his amazing speech at Grant Park as it was happening (at 5am!).  But Dakar is a large city with satellite TV, newspapers and national radio.  Kolda is and has none of those things, but Obama's face and faith made it all the way here.

But my real moment of pride and zen occured just minutes later.  I have a guy at the Kolda Post Office, Ibu, who likes to speak to me in English.  It is terrible English, but he tries.  He always has a new word to tell me which he has looked up in the dictionary.  I had gone in to mail three letters and quickly finished my business without seeing him.  As I was walking out the door, I caught sight of him waving me over to the window.  Without any greeting (greetings are absolutely customary in Pulaar), he says to me nothing more than "Congratulations."  Naturally, I asked for some clarification to which he repeated his well wishes followed by his approval of President Obama, and demands to know if I voted for him (keep in mind this is all in English... good English... he has been practicing and waiting for me to come in).  Of course, I tell him that I voted for Obama, and feeling slightly silly, said "thank you" for his approval.  At this point all three men behind the counter were nodding in unison to add their excitement too. 

I kindly thanked them and left with the most incredible sense of patriotism and pride for my country.  I passed on purchasing the Obama notebook, but I will never forget how excited Ibu was to tell me in my own language that he was proud of my country too!

I Just Can't Help Myself

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

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

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

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

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

Friendly Skies

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

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

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

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

Senegal: 3829 Me: 4

My Career is Over...

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

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

Street Cred

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

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