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!

REALLY BIG BEETLE!

(and it flies with precision accuracy right toward your face!)
oh, yeah and it was in our regional house...

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 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.

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)!