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.

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!

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)!

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!

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!