Another king-sized post, now in 100-calorie portions!

Maybe as I get further into my Peace Corps service, arbitrary time markers will become less important. At some point, I'll probably stop counting months in Africa or weeks since install. Invariably, there will be an inflection point where the end is in sight, when I'll be counting down months, then weeks. (I know at least one volunteer clever enough to have a running count of both time into and time left in service.) But for now, I'm still counting up - and you can expect I'll continue noting those arbitrary time frames. As of this past Thursday, I've been in Senegal for 5 months.

Seereer training
My Seereer crash course was a hit: in 3 days we covered many of the key grammar points my ML~ tutor hadn't yet considered necessary. You know, obscure complex things like conjugation in the future tense. Plus, I got to visit a different corner of the country for a few days and break up the boys' club that was my language group (Byron, Jack, David and our teacher Assan). Someone had to roll her eyes in exasperation when they started fighting with sticks in class. (Seriously.)

Family reunion, Africa-style
Last Saturday I went to a family reunion. True to every stereotype of Africa I've ever heard, kinship is essential here. Childcare, social security, old-age care: extended family and friends (who are probably not-so-distant family anyway) are the providers of all those services; and you can't really rely on the government or private sector if your social circle falls through. People cultivate their family-and-friends network assiduously. It's why greetings are so important; why many Senegalese seem to have impeccable memories of acquaintances they met once twelve years ago; why finding a common relation, no matter how many generations back, is as important in the ritualistic greetings as asking "How's the family?"

It sometimes seems excessive. This family reunion, for instance, was region-wide and open to everyone sharing the maternal lineage Traboor. Not that maternal lineage is something I understand; it's not as simple as finding a common last name (since that'd be the paternal lineage, right?).

My host-father in the village is called Faye, but he's a Traboor through his mother. My host-mom is also a Faye, but she's a Wagadoo through her mom. My host-sister and I got to attend the reunion as children-of-a-Traboor, even though maternally I think we're Wagadoos...Maybe? In any case, we got matching dresses with other children-of-a-Traboor (a different color from the actual Traboor women). There was an extraordinary amount of cooking and food and talking. And, somehow, by the end of the day, a huge regional family rift had been resolved. Neat.

School
My grand plans for having a project to do in January - namely, computer workshops with the teachers at the public school - has been thwarted. Why? The Coupe d'Afrique soccer tournament. According to M.-the-creepy-as-ever-Directeur, until the Africa Cup finishes on January 31, the teachers have to get out early on the days when there is a match; they tack on a token half-hour to make up for lost time on the other days. Who would demand such a disruption to the school calendar? The staff, of course.

Throw in the afternoons off for Friday prayer and there's simply no time for the teachers to learn basic computer skills this month. Without even acknowledging a connection, the directeur launched into a tirade bemoaning Senegal's lack of a meritocracy vis-a-vis the U.S. I could barely hide my frustration.

The tailor
I'm not really big on clothes shopping. Put me in a kitchen store and I might never leave, but fashion has (quite visibly) never been a big concern. Here, though, buying cloth and having it tailored is fun. Yes, so most of the cloth comes in colors that absolutely do NOT compliment pale skin. The prints can be ...creative - who doesn't love wearing a dress plastered in a hundred blue chickens, or dollar signs, or pictures of Jesus? And, honestly, white people look 100% ridiculous in 100% of Senegalese clothing 100% of the time. None of this has stopped me from expanding my Senegalese wardrobe.

Most recently, I bought some fabric in Thies to make another pagne (wrap skirt). [Alyssa, I think they get easier to walk in as the fabric softens.] I decided to take it to Issa, the village tailor who made my stylish family reunion dress (a purple potato sack with arm-holes). In order to avoid being charged a jacked up toubab price, I confirmed with Fa, the woman who rents a room in our house. "He'll probably say 5000 (francs)," she said, "and you negotiate him down to 2000. They're used to people asking for a lowered price, so he'll start high. That's how it works here."

Back in my training village, I'd paid my uncle the tailor 2000 for a pagne - a price I felt must be good and honest since we were family. Now that I'm in a much smaller village, 2000 seemed a decent non-family price, too.

So, off I went to see Issa about a pagne with pockets. Issa doesn't speak much French and I don't speak much Seereer. But prices are usually discussed in French, so with the other pagne as a visual aid, I was sure we'd figure out the transaction. Here's how it went:

Me: Hello. How is the morning? Where is the family? How is the work? How are your kids? (Etc.)
Issa: Hello. It's morning. They are there. Peace only. They are there. Only peace. (Etc.)
Me: I'd like to pay for the potato sack dress. And to make a pagne with pockets like this one.
Issa: With pockets?
Me: Yes, with pockets.
Issa: Like this one?
Me: Yes, exactly like this one.
Issa: The same size?
Me: Yes. You can use the exact same measurements. They are both mine. How much will this cost?
Issa: 500 francs.
(Here my stupidity and failure to listen get in the way. Convinced I am being taken advantage of, I become indignant.)
Me: 5000?! That's expensive! I paid only 2000 for this other one.
Issa: You paid how much? (He is confused.)
Me: 2000. 2000 is good.
Issa: Ok. (Exasperated.) Fine. How about 1000?
...
Me: Wait. Did you say 500?
(Then I realize 1000 is still better than 2000, and I don't have the language skills to backpedal and explain my confusion.)
Me: When will this be ready?
Issa: Tonight.

Having integrated quite well into Senegalese Std Delay Time, I went back the next morning. I paid 1000 for the pagne. As I handed over the money, a woman smirked and gently chided Issa for charging me a toubab price.

Le Serpent Noir
A serpent noir made an appearance in our family compound. Fa and her kids startled it coming in late the other night. Just as I thought I was finally getting comfortable with the threat of cockroaches and mice and other creepy crawlers, now I have to worry about poisonous spitting black snakes that are only active at night and attract to warmth and lights?! Seeing them during the rainy season is apparently common enough to be no big deal; right now, though, it's considered a bad omen. Lovely.

And to end on a positive note...
Someday I'll have to share the hilarious story of the day I was convinced I had malaria for 12 hours...