This has been a bad week (mostly explained by the presence of one irritatingly arrogant French person). Also, I've been at my site for 4 1/2 weeks now and I'm fed up with it, with this whole PC experience. It turns out that the country director's challenge to stay at site is worthy of a prize or a treat. I'm thinking a one-way ticket home right now, but a trip to Dakar will have to suffice. Next week is Thanksgiving - my favorite holiday ever - and I don't get to spend it with my family. Instead I'll be going with some other volunteers to celebrate the holiday at the Ambassador's house. Better than nothing, of course; but I'd forgotten how depressing it is to spend this one away from home. [Flashback to France, Nov. 2006 and me eating a slab of slimy deli-style turkey, alone. It was probably raining, too.] Still, there will be good food (American food), friends from my stage, hopefully some alcohol, and plenty of English. For now, I guess that'll have to do.
A few notes:
Laura, thanks for the blog love!! It's lovely having your enthusiasm to put me straight once in awhile!
Ang, yes, use the Fimela address down below. I've already received 2 pkg notifications, which I'll try to go turn in tomorrow! As far as other mail info, go back to that first or second email/post to see some suggestions.
Alaina, no, no, I swear I'm not judging you on this one. I try to keep foreign words in italics; madeup ones like ¨shitton¨I will leave in regular font to keep you guessing. Puzzles are good for the brain.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Thursday, November 19, 2009
One long post (sorry!) or a collection of shorter posts for your reading convenience
Friday 11/13: Seawater, milk and millet flour. This is the protective magic potion which my work partner gave me yesterday. He unceremoniously poured it into a used Kirene water bottle and advised me to sprinkle it in front of my door (it’s not Passover yet, is it?) and then bathe with the rest of the potion. According to local tradition, this will ensure that I’m in the good graces of the appropriate neighborhood génie, and protected from unmentioned evils. At some point, I will need to witness a ceremony where a guardian will sprinkle that same mixture on the spirit’s holy tree and I, having been doused in more of the mixture, will be submerged in the river. Then (chick-chack) I and my future work are all protected against ill. This is simply an expression of the animism which pervades this community and Seereer tradition.
Saturday 11/14: The potion’s protective powers did not cover today, apparently, as I’ve just witnessed my first pig slaughter. (So much for coming to a Muslim country.) This was somewhat more traumatizing than last week’s killing of a chicken because the pig made a shitton more noise in the moments leading up to its death. And this time Death came in the form of a half-drunk Rasta who I thought would burst into tears from shame as soon as the beast stopped kicking. As I write this, he – Death – has regained his composure if not his sobriety and is butchering up the animal in the twilight. I won’t be dining on his handiwork; while my family picnics on pig tomorrow, I’ll be having lunch with my counterpart and a visiting American study abroad kid. [Africa lesson #843752: Pig that has been left overnight is absolutely one of the worst smells in the world, especially first thing in the morning.]
Week in review: Deb, an American exchange student in Dakar, spent a few days this week at my counterpart’s campement for the “rural visit” part of her semester. A campement isn’t the most rustic rural site, but Deb took advantage of the situation to learn a little more about Seereer culture and cooking all the same. For my part, I took advantage of some much needed good ole American company, even though it came in the form of a complete stranger.
With the help of some experts – Hadi and Fambaye – we learned how to make cere, laxh and mbaum sauce. Cere (a.k.a. sacc, a.k.a. millet couscous) is a Seereer staple. Until recently, it was the main starch for two, if not three, of the day’s meals. Millet is immensely more nutritional than its imported replacement rice and far more filling, too. However, preparing cere requires a lengthy process of hulling and pounding and mixing and sieving and mixing and steaming and sieving and steaming…to get to its healthful form. And it has the unfortunate characteristics of tasting like nothing much at all, and of having the same texture as soggy sand.
Laxh is millet in its least healthful form. It’s much easier to make than cere because you can buy the necessary larger-size morsels at the boutique. From there you boil it, add some salt and citrus juice, and top with sweetened yogurt – either store-bought or made from curdled cow’s milk and mixed with baobab fruit (a.k.a. monkey bread). Laxh has the texture of a thick porridge and tastes like cake frosting. Amazing. For obvious reasons, this “dessert for dinner” meal is rarely eaten more than once a week. (We haven’t had it at all in my new ML~ family.) Equally obvious is that the homemade yogurt is better than the store-bought version.
Mbaum sauce. The only way to think about this dish is to imagine yourself as a poorish college student trying to put together a meal with whatever you can find in your barren kitchen. Only now imagine yourself as a genuinely poor person scrounging together anything remotely nutritious in the immediate environment to get you through the exhausting work that is living without farm machinery or running water or electricity. Mbaum is leaves of the nebbedie tree, desiccated mussels/oysters, desiccated fish (both cooked and raw), black-eyed-peas, and crush peanuts, all of which are easily available in Senegal. Eat over the previously mentioned millet, and you have one hell of a healthy meal. I didn’t stick around to try this dish, but Deb didn’t exactly give it rave reviews.
Aside from the cooking lessons and good food, having Deb around just to talk to in English (and French and broken Wolof) temporarily did wonders for my mental state. I might not ever have the enthusiasm she has for living in Africa, but her visit reminded me of some of the reasons I’m here in the first place. And even though my “work” (or lack of) might be frustrating/depressing/demoralizing/boring/unfulfilling, some of the random day-to-day experiences [Seereer women breaking into song for me or finding a half-digested little fish in the belly of a bigger fish I was gutting for dinner] start to make up for it. I guess I just need an occasional reminder of home to put that into relief.
Saturday 11/14: The potion’s protective powers did not cover today, apparently, as I’ve just witnessed my first pig slaughter. (So much for coming to a Muslim country.) This was somewhat more traumatizing than last week’s killing of a chicken because the pig made a shitton more noise in the moments leading up to its death. And this time Death came in the form of a half-drunk Rasta who I thought would burst into tears from shame as soon as the beast stopped kicking. As I write this, he – Death – has regained his composure if not his sobriety and is butchering up the animal in the twilight. I won’t be dining on his handiwork; while my family picnics on pig tomorrow, I’ll be having lunch with my counterpart and a visiting American study abroad kid. [Africa lesson #843752: Pig that has been left overnight is absolutely one of the worst smells in the world, especially first thing in the morning.]
Week in review: Deb, an American exchange student in Dakar, spent a few days this week at my counterpart’s campement for the “rural visit” part of her semester. A campement isn’t the most rustic rural site, but Deb took advantage of the situation to learn a little more about Seereer culture and cooking all the same. For my part, I took advantage of some much needed good ole American company, even though it came in the form of a complete stranger.
With the help of some experts – Hadi and Fambaye – we learned how to make cere, laxh and mbaum sauce. Cere (a.k.a. sacc, a.k.a. millet couscous) is a Seereer staple. Until recently, it was the main starch for two, if not three, of the day’s meals. Millet is immensely more nutritional than its imported replacement rice and far more filling, too. However, preparing cere requires a lengthy process of hulling and pounding and mixing and sieving and mixing and steaming and sieving and steaming…to get to its healthful form. And it has the unfortunate characteristics of tasting like nothing much at all, and of having the same texture as soggy sand.
Laxh is millet in its least healthful form. It’s much easier to make than cere because you can buy the necessary larger-size morsels at the boutique. From there you boil it, add some salt and citrus juice, and top with sweetened yogurt – either store-bought or made from curdled cow’s milk and mixed with baobab fruit (a.k.a. monkey bread). Laxh has the texture of a thick porridge and tastes like cake frosting. Amazing. For obvious reasons, this “dessert for dinner” meal is rarely eaten more than once a week. (We haven’t had it at all in my new ML~ family.) Equally obvious is that the homemade yogurt is better than the store-bought version.
Mbaum sauce. The only way to think about this dish is to imagine yourself as a poorish college student trying to put together a meal with whatever you can find in your barren kitchen. Only now imagine yourself as a genuinely poor person scrounging together anything remotely nutritious in the immediate environment to get you through the exhausting work that is living without farm machinery or running water or electricity. Mbaum is leaves of the nebbedie tree, desiccated mussels/oysters, desiccated fish (both cooked and raw), black-eyed-peas, and crush peanuts, all of which are easily available in Senegal. Eat over the previously mentioned millet, and you have one hell of a healthy meal. I didn’t stick around to try this dish, but Deb didn’t exactly give it rave reviews.
Aside from the cooking lessons and good food, having Deb around just to talk to in English (and French and broken Wolof) temporarily did wonders for my mental state. I might not ever have the enthusiasm she has for living in Africa, but her visit reminded me of some of the reasons I’m here in the first place. And even though my “work” (or lack of) might be frustrating/depressing/demoralizing/boring/unfulfilling, some of the random day-to-day experiences [Seereer women breaking into song for me or finding a half-digested little fish in the belly of a bigger fish I was gutting for dinner] start to make up for it. I guess I just need an occasional reminder of home to put that into relief.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Mountain mouse heads to the sea
I’ve been at my site for three weeks and I’m starting to realize why it’s said that you’ll never get more sleep than you do as a volunteer. Especially during these first three months, when we don’t have any projects or well-defined “work,” it feels like I spend a lot of time twiddling my thumbs, reading, daydreaming, just sitting with the neighbors. Depending on my mood, I wile away the day counting either the reasons I miss home or the ways life in Senegal is inherently more cool than life back home (it’s Africa). Here are some of the things I’ve been up to lately; you can decide whether these are mundane details or the day-to-day reality of “integrating into my community” (which is currently my only real responsibility).
1) Peanut harvesting. At sunset the other day, I went into an already harvested field behind my home with three of the women who work at my counterpart’s campement. We sifted through the detritus for unplucked peanuts, clinging dustily to the roots of the few overlooked plants. Unroasted peanuts taste more “beany” than “nutty,” and they never taste better than when you’ve picked them out of the dirt yourself.
2) Catholic Mass. Now that I’m in a community that is half-Catholic, half-Muslim, I get to see how both religions play out in Senegal. Women aren’t allowed into the mosques, but I’ve taken to attending Mass on Sundays with E. (my homestay host). It’s interesting, it kills a few hours on Sunday mornings, and it gives me a chance to greet and chat with villagers who I might not normally have the opportunity to see. Showing my face every week might eventually distinguish me from the toubab tourists who parade through the church taking pictures. Oh, and there are tam-tams! Drums make everything more fun.
3) Ironing. Today I finally got around to ironing the fancy complets I wore the week of the swearing-in ceremony. Ironing involves placing red-hot charcoal into a rusty old contraption and pressing really hard. Fambaye took one look at my pile of folded clothes and asked, “This is already ironed…?” quickly wilting my pride to a wrinkly mass not unlike my pile of wrinkly clothes.
4) Women’s groups. My work partners explicitly requested a female volunteer; in this community, women are especially active. One group I’ve spent a lot of time with is a gaggle of older women who are learning to do batik cloth dying as a way of creating a small business based on a local artisan tradition. They’re all grandmothers (which here pegs them around 50) and they are tireless, taking care of huge families and also spending whole days organizing themselves and their batik work. They, along with the antiquary market women and the younger women’s tam-tam/social group, have been very welcoming and infinitely patient with me. (I mostly just sit around listening to them.)
5) Seereer class. I didn’t think it was possible, but my Seereer class is actually moving slower than my Wolof class ever did. I’ve had three classes so far with Georges, my very patient – too patient – tutor, and we’ve covered only 10 vowels and 11 consonants. He told me the language has some 46 sounds, so I figure we’ll be lucky to cover them all before my 3-month tutoring stipend runs out. On my own, I have figured out some basic salutations and the ever-appropriate expression “It’s very hot today.” (Aa sum aa sum aa ha ne).
6) A delta tour. ML~ is a tourist community and my two counterparts both own campements (hotels…sort of). I’m lucky to be able to chalk tourist activities up to “work.” Hence last week’s pirogue tour of the delta to see salt mining/harvesting in action, a traditional fishing port and its modern replacement (poorly planned by the state) and the endless mangrove canals. Pretty sweet. And, no, I’m not just putting this here to coax you to come visit me (but you should).
7) Ndangane. Even here in Senegal, it seems I still get cabin fever or itchy feet or whatever you want to call it. The PC country director challenged our stage to stay at our sites every night until Thanksgiving – a challenge I can handle since it doesn’t preclude me taking the boat over to Ndangane, on the mainland, for the day. It’s not too much of a change of scenery, but the shopping’s better (island life comes with some limitations: sadly only small packs of Biscreme and no toilet paper [the horror]). My homestay host G. swears you can find chocolate there since they have round-the-clock electricity to power refrigerators. I didn’t find any on my first crossing this week, but chocolate is reason enough to schedule another trip. I might make Ndangane into a weekly excursion.
1) Peanut harvesting. At sunset the other day, I went into an already harvested field behind my home with three of the women who work at my counterpart’s campement. We sifted through the detritus for unplucked peanuts, clinging dustily to the roots of the few overlooked plants. Unroasted peanuts taste more “beany” than “nutty,” and they never taste better than when you’ve picked them out of the dirt yourself.
2) Catholic Mass. Now that I’m in a community that is half-Catholic, half-Muslim, I get to see how both religions play out in Senegal. Women aren’t allowed into the mosques, but I’ve taken to attending Mass on Sundays with E. (my homestay host). It’s interesting, it kills a few hours on Sunday mornings, and it gives me a chance to greet and chat with villagers who I might not normally have the opportunity to see. Showing my face every week might eventually distinguish me from the toubab tourists who parade through the church taking pictures. Oh, and there are tam-tams! Drums make everything more fun.
3) Ironing. Today I finally got around to ironing the fancy complets I wore the week of the swearing-in ceremony. Ironing involves placing red-hot charcoal into a rusty old contraption and pressing really hard. Fambaye took one look at my pile of folded clothes and asked, “This is already ironed…?” quickly wilting my pride to a wrinkly mass not unlike my pile of wrinkly clothes.
4) Women’s groups. My work partners explicitly requested a female volunteer; in this community, women are especially active. One group I’ve spent a lot of time with is a gaggle of older women who are learning to do batik cloth dying as a way of creating a small business based on a local artisan tradition. They’re all grandmothers (which here pegs them around 50) and they are tireless, taking care of huge families and also spending whole days organizing themselves and their batik work. They, along with the antiquary market women and the younger women’s tam-tam/social group, have been very welcoming and infinitely patient with me. (I mostly just sit around listening to them.)
5) Seereer class. I didn’t think it was possible, but my Seereer class is actually moving slower than my Wolof class ever did. I’ve had three classes so far with Georges, my very patient – too patient – tutor, and we’ve covered only 10 vowels and 11 consonants. He told me the language has some 46 sounds, so I figure we’ll be lucky to cover them all before my 3-month tutoring stipend runs out. On my own, I have figured out some basic salutations and the ever-appropriate expression “It’s very hot today.” (Aa sum aa sum aa ha ne).
6) A delta tour. ML~ is a tourist community and my two counterparts both own campements (hotels…sort of). I’m lucky to be able to chalk tourist activities up to “work.” Hence last week’s pirogue tour of the delta to see salt mining/harvesting in action, a traditional fishing port and its modern replacement (poorly planned by the state) and the endless mangrove canals. Pretty sweet. And, no, I’m not just putting this here to coax you to come visit me (but you should).
7) Ndangane. Even here in Senegal, it seems I still get cabin fever or itchy feet or whatever you want to call it. The PC country director challenged our stage to stay at our sites every night until Thanksgiving – a challenge I can handle since it doesn’t preclude me taking the boat over to Ndangane, on the mainland, for the day. It’s not too much of a change of scenery, but the shopping’s better (island life comes with some limitations: sadly only small packs of Biscreme and no toilet paper [the horror]). My homestay host G. swears you can find chocolate there since they have round-the-clock electricity to power refrigerators. I didn’t find any on my first crossing this week, but chocolate is reason enough to schedule another trip. I might make Ndangane into a weekly excursion.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
First week at site
Tactless as it sounds, the US government is giving me a 2-year vacation. Not for free, of course: in exchange, I am giving up two years of my family and friends, my mom’s cooking, warm showers and snowy days, my favorite TV shows (Oh, Jon Stewart, how I miss you!), and more – all so that this particular Senegalese community can associate a smiling, friendly face with Americans and America in general. If we’re lucky, I’ll accomplish something that we can slap the “development” tag on. If we’re not, well, there’s that whole 2-year vacation thing.
My task here is to facilitate eco-tourism. No wonder; this is a beautiful place. From my front door, some arm of the salty Salou, River laps lazily by. A line of mangroves grounds the far side as far as I can see, maybe even all the way to the ocean. Motored pirogues occasionally pass by, but otherwise, it’s very calm. The most noise here comes from the birds – of which there is infinite variety and color. (This part of the country is known for amazing bird-watching.)
And my house, well, let’s just say that it doesn’t exactly fit the bill for that 1960s Peace Corps experience/fantasy – I’m definitely not living in a thatched hut. It’s not exactly a Western home either, but I have an indoor flush toilet and an actual shower (just don’t drink the water – it’s highly saline). Part of the reason for this relative luxury is that I’m living in a tourist community, flush with Western – mostly French – tourists/second-homers for at least half of the year. My family here is E. and her toubab husband G. (who divides the year between ML~ and France) and their young son N. There’s also a woman and her two kids who rent a room, but I rarely see them.
So in addition to being spoiled in my physical living conditions, I’m also lucky in that I get to speak French 95% of the time. And as long as G. is here, I get occasional “gourmand” additions to my diet: the other day I had my first taste of Pastis! Vegetables are still unhealthily scarce, but I’m eating fresh shrimp, crab and fish twice a day. (I’m mostly over my fear of shellfish…out of necessity.)
The first three months at my site are supposed to be for community integration, language learning and observation. I’m not 100% sure how much I can integrate into a community that’s so used to having temporary toubabs parade through their midst as if on safari. My Seereere has gotten off to a rotten start (here I blame the French and my own laziness), but I’m due to start working with a tutor soon. My counterpart took me on a rather exhaustive tour of the village and the island, and every day I’m meeting new people and learning more names than I can possibly remember. In my downtime - and there is a lot of downtime - I’m getting my fill of what this lovely place has to offer (swimming, tours of the delta, sunsets to die for…).
Internet is inconvenient here. The electricity is solar. I’m not sure how often I’ll get to access email, but please don’t think that lets you off the hook for keeping in touch. Finally being at site is excruciatingly lonely; email (when I can get it), phone calls (when the network deigns to connect) and snail mail (assuming it arrives) keep me from going absolutely insane. I promise to respond to each and every one of you as soon as I can.
Well, that’s a neat enough summary for my first week at site. Miss you all dearly and I hope things are well at home (and that you’re all taking good advantage of the snow).
Here's the PO Box address I'm sharing with my counterpart.
BP 133
Fimela, Senegal
West Africa
Got questions? Ask them in the comments section. I'd rather answer questions than fill this blog with boring details no one wants to hear, or leave this unupdated for lack of things to say. Plus, I usually have severe writers' block when it comes to writing anything longer than a text message. Give me prompts. :)
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
…And then there were three.
We’re down to three volunteers at the training center. Thankfully we’ll leave together tomorrow with Nicole (SED head). The boys will be dropped off first; I’ll overnight in Joal and get to ML~ on Thursday. In everyone’s absence, the training center feels creepy and abandoned, and I actually locked the door to my room last night because I was feeling all alone. Yesterday, Alyssa, Katherine and Jackie left for their sites. [As an aside, I got a text from Alyssa that she’s really pleased with her first twelve hours, so that’s a great start! Katherine wrote that she was sad to only find the small packs of Biscreme (Algeria’s gift to mankind) in her village. A travesty.]
At this point, I’m almost all packed up again. I got more laundry out of the way and yesterday stocked up on some more household stuff at the toubab grocery store Bon Marche. I even rode my bike into town for that shopping trip, which was a little unnerving with all the cars and the lack of discernible traffic rules. But the trip also made me think of riding my bike around Boulder, or even riding the bus in France, all the while schlepping back heavy groceries in my old red backpack. Ha! I love the thought of certain possessions always traveling the world with me (my Swiss backpack, my Nalgene). If only they still had those cool stamps that used to get put on luggage…
For those of you who know me well, I think you would be surprised to see how calmly I’m handling the unknown of my site install and the next two years. I am scared and anxious to see my place, but since so much of the next two years is blind to me, I can’t get upset over what I don’t know and can’t possibly imagine. Peace Corps is instilling in me patience that rivals that of … well, whoever is the epitome of patience.
Well, it seems like this might be my last posting for some time. While there is much talk about how wired Senegal is becoming and how ahead of the game it is compared to most of Africa, this is Peace Corps after all. There is no guarantee I’ll have internet. (It’s a blessing enough that I can expect electricity as a SED/Eco-T volunteer.) As soon as I figure out a mailing address, I will do whatever it takes to find internet to let you all know what it is. Even if I’m lucky enough to be wired up, snail mail love still makes my day.
Lots of love to all of you.
At this point, I’m almost all packed up again. I got more laundry out of the way and yesterday stocked up on some more household stuff at the toubab grocery store Bon Marche. I even rode my bike into town for that shopping trip, which was a little unnerving with all the cars and the lack of discernible traffic rules. But the trip also made me think of riding my bike around Boulder, or even riding the bus in France, all the while schlepping back heavy groceries in my old red backpack. Ha! I love the thought of certain possessions always traveling the world with me (my Swiss backpack, my Nalgene). If only they still had those cool stamps that used to get put on luggage…
For those of you who know me well, I think you would be surprised to see how calmly I’m handling the unknown of my site install and the next two years. I am scared and anxious to see my place, but since so much of the next two years is blind to me, I can’t get upset over what I don’t know and can’t possibly imagine. Peace Corps is instilling in me patience that rivals that of … well, whoever is the epitome of patience.
Well, it seems like this might be my last posting for some time. While there is much talk about how wired Senegal is becoming and how ahead of the game it is compared to most of Africa, this is Peace Corps after all. There is no guarantee I’ll have internet. (It’s a blessing enough that I can expect electricity as a SED/Eco-T volunteer.) As soon as I figure out a mailing address, I will do whatever it takes to find internet to let you all know what it is. Even if I’m lucky enough to be wired up, snail mail love still makes my day.
Lots of love to all of you.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Another day as a volunteer in transition…
Yet more carloads of volunteers left this morning, leaving the Training Center ever quieter. We’re down to a meager 10-15 of us. Thankfully, a few of my good friends (and ¾ roommates) are still here, so I don’t feel entirely abandoned…until tomorrow.
Part of the excitement (or stress, depending on your outlook) of installation is the (re)decorating. We get to furnish our new rooms/huts/compounds with furniture and household items. Before anyone gets too excited at the thought, you should be aware of what I mean by furnishings – buckets.
Yes, buckets. Buckets are furniture here. I can’t think of a single more useful item in a Senegalese household. You use a medium bucket to bring water from the well or robinet. You use a big bucket to stand in while you bathe and a smaller one to pour water over you. If you have a Turkish toilet, you will need a bucket to flush water down it. You can use a bucket with a lid on it to keep food or store water. You will need a small bucket/cup to take water from your storage buckets and use it for cooking or cleaning. You will need multiple large buckets for laundry. And, it doesn’t hurt to keep a bucket outside to collect rainwater in the wet season; it might not be good for drinking, but rainwater is good for anything else.
So today when I went shopping in the market for my new place, what I was really looking for - and successfully found - was buckets. I also got spoons. Very important. If I can’t make my coffee in the morning, no amount of buckets is going to help. Tomorrow, I might tackle a few other items like a pot or two, a bowl and maybe a couple of forks. Hey, big spender!
One of the more fun parts of the market experience was trying to find a trunk which I can put a lock on. It’s not a bad thing to have in the village because there aren’t many ways to keep passports, money, or other valuables safe. Five of us trailed two “helpful” kids around the market, through the crowded stalls, for about thirty minutes today, trying to find trunks. No one knew the word for trunk in French or Wolof, but we were able to explain the general idea with a mix of both languages and miming. Turns out the word is walees – borrowed from the French word valise. We eventually found some, but the shopkeeper was trying to charge us more than double the price we’d been told was usual. Plus, they were cheeeeaaaap aluminum. A dull pencil could have pierced through it. After all the effort expended, we decided not to buy any.
And, finally, to top off a day of market-going and napping, we went to Chicken Dibi for dinner. Chicken Dibi should have warranted its own blog post long ago, but I didn’t even have a blog when we first went there. Suffice it to say that no one in their right mind would ever go here and willingly put food into their mouths from a place which looks so forbidding, so dark, so unsanitary. Yet once you get over the initial fear of tetanus or food poisoning and dig into the chicken, fries and salad with your bare hands (no utensils or napkins in sight), you will never willingly walk by this place again without going in for dinner. And for 2500CFA (~$5), you will never eat so well for so little. Not a bad way to finish the day.
Pictures from Chicken Dibi and swearing in are online at my Picasa page.
Part of the excitement (or stress, depending on your outlook) of installation is the (re)decorating. We get to furnish our new rooms/huts/compounds with furniture and household items. Before anyone gets too excited at the thought, you should be aware of what I mean by furnishings – buckets.
Yes, buckets. Buckets are furniture here. I can’t think of a single more useful item in a Senegalese household. You use a medium bucket to bring water from the well or robinet. You use a big bucket to stand in while you bathe and a smaller one to pour water over you. If you have a Turkish toilet, you will need a bucket to flush water down it. You can use a bucket with a lid on it to keep food or store water. You will need a small bucket/cup to take water from your storage buckets and use it for cooking or cleaning. You will need multiple large buckets for laundry. And, it doesn’t hurt to keep a bucket outside to collect rainwater in the wet season; it might not be good for drinking, but rainwater is good for anything else.
So today when I went shopping in the market for my new place, what I was really looking for - and successfully found - was buckets. I also got spoons. Very important. If I can’t make my coffee in the morning, no amount of buckets is going to help. Tomorrow, I might tackle a few other items like a pot or two, a bowl and maybe a couple of forks. Hey, big spender!
One of the more fun parts of the market experience was trying to find a trunk which I can put a lock on. It’s not a bad thing to have in the village because there aren’t many ways to keep passports, money, or other valuables safe. Five of us trailed two “helpful” kids around the market, through the crowded stalls, for about thirty minutes today, trying to find trunks. No one knew the word for trunk in French or Wolof, but we were able to explain the general idea with a mix of both languages and miming. Turns out the word is walees – borrowed from the French word valise. We eventually found some, but the shopkeeper was trying to charge us more than double the price we’d been told was usual. Plus, they were cheeeeaaaap aluminum. A dull pencil could have pierced through it. After all the effort expended, we decided not to buy any.
And, finally, to top off a day of market-going and napping, we went to Chicken Dibi for dinner. Chicken Dibi should have warranted its own blog post long ago, but I didn’t even have a blog when we first went there. Suffice it to say that no one in their right mind would ever go here and willingly put food into their mouths from a place which looks so forbidding, so dark, so unsanitary. Yet once you get over the initial fear of tetanus or food poisoning and dig into the chicken, fries and salad with your bare hands (no utensils or napkins in sight), you will never willingly walk by this place again without going in for dinner. And for 2500CFA (~$5), you will never eat so well for so little. Not a bad way to finish the day.
Pictures from Chicken Dibi and swearing in are online at my Picasa page.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Woot!
It's official: I am a Peace Corps volunteer!
Yesterday was the swearing-in ceremony marking the end of our time as trainees and the beginning of our two-year commitment as volunteers. We went to the American ambassador's home in Dakar and listened to a few speeches, received mandates from the Senegalese government, and got our Peace Corps i.d. (Pictures of me and my friends in our fancy, matching jewel-toned African complets are up on Picasa.) After a lunch reception we headed back to Thies and then had our own little celebration at a nearby speakeasy. Dance party!
People began heading out to their sites this morning. Our installs have been staggered throughout the week according to what PC cars are available and what staff member is dropping you off. I won't leave til Wednesday with two other PCVs and the head of the small enterprise development program. We'll overnight in one of the other towns before doing my install on Thursday.
So that's it. I don't think terrified remotely expresses how I'm feeling right now. The simple thought that I have to re-pack all of my stuff and still buy new items to take to my site is intimidating beyond belief. Once I get through that, I still have no clue what I'm walking into. It feels like the first day of homestays all over again, and the first day of homestays was paralyzingly scary. (To be honest though, all the rumors I've heard about my site have been positive.) No matter how awesome my new home and town and family are, I am going to be very far away from other Americans, from the other volunteers that I’ve become good friends with. I sincerely hope PC gets its act together and negotiates this deal with Orange telecom for free texting between volunteers; otherwise I’m sure I’ll waste a good deal of my stipend texting Alyssa to bitch about, well, everything.
And really it’s also scary to know that this is it; this is the beginning – the real beginning – of what I set out to do when I left in August. Eeeps! Anyway, I’ll try to take advantage of the internet until Wednesday (since after that who knows when I’ll next be online) and keep this updated on how packing goes. Oooh, fascinating.
Yesterday was the swearing-in ceremony marking the end of our time as trainees and the beginning of our two-year commitment as volunteers. We went to the American ambassador's home in Dakar and listened to a few speeches, received mandates from the Senegalese government, and got our Peace Corps i.d. (Pictures of me and my friends in our fancy, matching jewel-toned African complets are up on Picasa.) After a lunch reception we headed back to Thies and then had our own little celebration at a nearby speakeasy. Dance party!
People began heading out to their sites this morning. Our installs have been staggered throughout the week according to what PC cars are available and what staff member is dropping you off. I won't leave til Wednesday with two other PCVs and the head of the small enterprise development program. We'll overnight in one of the other towns before doing my install on Thursday.
So that's it. I don't think terrified remotely expresses how I'm feeling right now. The simple thought that I have to re-pack all of my stuff and still buy new items to take to my site is intimidating beyond belief. Once I get through that, I still have no clue what I'm walking into. It feels like the first day of homestays all over again, and the first day of homestays was paralyzingly scary. (To be honest though, all the rumors I've heard about my site have been positive.) No matter how awesome my new home and town and family are, I am going to be very far away from other Americans, from the other volunteers that I’ve become good friends with. I sincerely hope PC gets its act together and negotiates this deal with Orange telecom for free texting between volunteers; otherwise I’m sure I’ll waste a good deal of my stipend texting Alyssa to bitch about, well, everything.
And really it’s also scary to know that this is it; this is the beginning – the real beginning – of what I set out to do when I left in August. Eeeps! Anyway, I’ll try to take advantage of the internet until Wednesday (since after that who knows when I’ll next be online) and keep this updated on how packing goes. Oooh, fascinating.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
