Africa:
World:
Think of all of these times 2... so glad to be done!
Just spent the past 3.5 hours typing up a grant for a school garden. Say some prayers that it gets approved, please!
mardi 28 octobre 2008
School Maps--done, and of course Senegal decides to add a new region...not included here
Senegal:
Africa:
World:
Think of all of these times 2... so glad to be done!
Africa:World:
Think of all of these times 2... so glad to be done!
jeudi 16 octobre 2008
Update
Headed back to the village tomorrow...been busy-ish, though a part of me still feels like I havenot yet gotten to the health-related aspect of my work. Ondang ondang (little by little)
Just spent another week in Thies, once again helping with training (this time Emotional Health and Cross Culture). It was once again nice to be back, though I missed my training buddy Jenn. It was also really interesting to talk with the Trainees again bc now they all know their future sites and you can kind of almost see glimpses into what they will be like as future Volunteers. While they are all clean and healthy looking still, there is as significant increase in Senegalese clothing and understanding about life here. It will be cool to see what they are like just a month down the road when Swear In happens, and if all 40 of them will still be around. Cool people though and I am very excited about many of the new ones who will be coming to the Kaolack house who seem really cool.
Before leaving the village, I finished the world, Africa, and Senegal maps in Madame Evelyn's classroom. I worked really hard in the excruciating heat and humidity (and without adequate meals) to get them done before school started this past Monday. Well, that was when school was supposed to start Monday. However, teachers in Senegal have not yet been paid, so school in many parts of the country has not yet started. It started here in Kaolack, but according to my nearest neighbor, not in our area. I am not even sure if the teachers have arrived from their homes in various parts of the country, because it sounds like not many have. I will officially find out when I get back tomorrow and if school indeed hasnt started, I will try and get the maps done in the second classroom as soon as possible as well. Otherwise it may be a slow process based on when kids are NOT in school, or wait until the next teacher strike (happens a lot here...).
Before I left for Thies again, I had finally tracked down my community health relai (health educator), who I think had been out of town since late June, maybe? At first he was surprised I even knew he's a relai ("who told you that? the nurse?"), and while he wouldnt directly say he doesnt run causeries (which are educational programs in the village), he expressed his willingness to help me run causeries in the village. We had a long chat where I reminded him doing these educational sessions are his job and are very important and he seems to know his stuff, now we just need to plan them. I fully intend this next week on stopping by his compound and looking at the relai materials he told me about and planning a village causerie with him about either malaria or handwashing for within the next 2 weeks. Causeries are a big and important aspect of a Health PCVs work, and since he has been trained in doing these, I just need to "encourage" him a little. I also do not feel comfortable enough running one by myself only mainly because I want EVERYONE to understand whats going on easily and my language skills (while they are functional) are still sometimes difficult for others to follow, if they arent used to me or my accent). I think it will be best to start with either Malaria or Handwashing (diarrhea prevention). He was not there in July for the Neem Lotion causerie, so I will probably teach him that as well. We need to come up with a program lesson and then set up a date with the women's group. Should be good, God willing.
Also, in other news, my sister Ndeye's tiny and malnourished 2 month old baby is slowly gaining weight. We took him to a clinic in Foundiougne almost a month ago where he weighed in at just 2kg (4.4 lbs) and after a lot of breast-feeding coaching (bc I alone dont pull enough credibility just saying "keep breastfeeding, all of the time," even if thats what they said at the clinic, and powdered milk as well, he weighed in at 2.5kg when we took him back 2 weeks later. The ladies (nurse/nuns since it is a Catholic clinic) were very excited and I hope that when I see him tomorrow, he will have put on even more weight!
Until later...
Just spent another week in Thies, once again helping with training (this time Emotional Health and Cross Culture). It was once again nice to be back, though I missed my training buddy Jenn. It was also really interesting to talk with the Trainees again bc now they all know their future sites and you can kind of almost see glimpses into what they will be like as future Volunteers. While they are all clean and healthy looking still, there is as significant increase in Senegalese clothing and understanding about life here. It will be cool to see what they are like just a month down the road when Swear In happens, and if all 40 of them will still be around. Cool people though and I am very excited about many of the new ones who will be coming to the Kaolack house who seem really cool.
Before leaving the village, I finished the world, Africa, and Senegal maps in Madame Evelyn's classroom. I worked really hard in the excruciating heat and humidity (and without adequate meals) to get them done before school started this past Monday. Well, that was when school was supposed to start Monday. However, teachers in Senegal have not yet been paid, so school in many parts of the country has not yet started. It started here in Kaolack, but according to my nearest neighbor, not in our area. I am not even sure if the teachers have arrived from their homes in various parts of the country, because it sounds like not many have. I will officially find out when I get back tomorrow and if school indeed hasnt started, I will try and get the maps done in the second classroom as soon as possible as well. Otherwise it may be a slow process based on when kids are NOT in school, or wait until the next teacher strike (happens a lot here...).
Before I left for Thies again, I had finally tracked down my community health relai (health educator), who I think had been out of town since late June, maybe? At first he was surprised I even knew he's a relai ("who told you that? the nurse?"), and while he wouldnt directly say he doesnt run causeries (which are educational programs in the village), he expressed his willingness to help me run causeries in the village. We had a long chat where I reminded him doing these educational sessions are his job and are very important and he seems to know his stuff, now we just need to plan them. I fully intend this next week on stopping by his compound and looking at the relai materials he told me about and planning a village causerie with him about either malaria or handwashing for within the next 2 weeks. Causeries are a big and important aspect of a Health PCVs work, and since he has been trained in doing these, I just need to "encourage" him a little. I also do not feel comfortable enough running one by myself only mainly because I want EVERYONE to understand whats going on easily and my language skills (while they are functional) are still sometimes difficult for others to follow, if they arent used to me or my accent). I think it will be best to start with either Malaria or Handwashing (diarrhea prevention). He was not there in July for the Neem Lotion causerie, so I will probably teach him that as well. We need to come up with a program lesson and then set up a date with the women's group. Should be good, God willing.
Also, in other news, my sister Ndeye's tiny and malnourished 2 month old baby is slowly gaining weight. We took him to a clinic in Foundiougne almost a month ago where he weighed in at just 2kg (4.4 lbs) and after a lot of breast-feeding coaching (bc I alone dont pull enough credibility just saying "keep breastfeeding, all of the time," even if thats what they said at the clinic, and powdered milk as well, he weighed in at 2.5kg when we took him back 2 weeks later. The ladies (nurse/nuns since it is a Catholic clinic) were very excited and I hope that when I see him tomorrow, he will have put on even more weight!
Until later...
samedi 4 octobre 2008
Just kidding!
So I know that I said I was leaving Kaolack and all that jazz, but as a wise old man once taught me, "We make plans and God laughs." Actually, all day I had the intention of returning to site, but what leaving my options open as I was feeling kind of sick still and had things I wanted to do. I also had never tried leaving here in the afternoon, so I wanted to, esp because I hate leaving here in the morning only to arrive in town around noon and have the decision of awkwardly waiting around for a charret or the temperature to cool down or walking the 4ish km in the sun (almost always stopping at a tree for a rest and to read halfway through). My family claimed that the reason I was sick on Korite (read entry below) was because I had several days in a row insisted on returning from town in the afternoon heat rather than sit around. Village medicine, whatever. Anyway, I made it to the garage, leaving the Regional House a little later than originally expected, to find many cars still, but not nearly the morning buzz of cars and vendors that I was used to. I ask around and there isnt a 7Place (loaded station wagon) headed my way, but there is a bus that is going to Passi, on the road to town, where I could transfer. The bus however was only half full and knowing I didnt want to get to Passi only to have their not be any cars going because it was too late (after waiting to load up, it would have probably be 6 or 6:30 when we got there), even though it was a market day, I resigned to returning to the Regional House. There were of course many men at the garage trying to get me on the bus anyway, while others insisted that a bus to my road town was getting some repairs and would return shortly. Then a strange looking bus shows up and they tell me it is going in my direction, ask the guy, who says a different end destination that I am not familiar with but says he's still going my way and the men around insist I pay the fare and climb in. I think not. That bus was totally EMPTY and I have received one too many of Etienne's text messages warning against evening travel and even if I make it to town before dusk, it might be pretty dark by the time I got to my village (and I know hear the hyennas almost everynight, no thanks!). I know I could stay with my counterpart's family at the Health Post or call a family member to meet me with a charret, but I figured I should be smart--and the house is surprisingly almost empty, making it much more relaxing. I will head out in the very early AM back to site, to hopefully get the maps finished and a window installed by Zednesday (Inchallah).
Anyway, listed below are some other blog entries from the past week or so, please enjoy!
Anyway, listed below are some other blog entries from the past week or so, please enjoy!
A Sick Vol’s Take on Korite
Sorry, this is long. You don’t have to read it all, but I wanted to chronicle the end of Ramadan even just for myself.
So Tuesday was the official last day of Ramadan, marking the end of 29 days of fasting from sunrise to sunset. The end of Ramadan was officially celebrated on Wednesday, one of the biggest holidays in Senegal (and the greater Islamic world, I presume), known as Korite. While I do not understand absolutely everything about this holiday, it mainly involves eating a lot, putting on brand new clothes, and going around and asking forgiveness from family/friends/neighbors for how you have wronged them over the past year, sharing blessings and prayers with each other. Kids also go around from house to house, dressed nicely, and people give them money. Unfortunately, I was not able to fully enjoy the fête as much as I would have liked, so here’s my take.
Tuesday night, from 10:15pm until 5:20am, the people of my village held what I believe was an all-night prayer service at the mosque. While I was not physically in attendance, the fact that my head in my bed is a mere 50m (if that) from the mosque and they hooked up a mic and amp to the only electrical source in town, I felt like I was in attendance all night, constantly waking up, hearing the chanting of prayers, and checking the time (it’s midnight/1am/3am/5am/etc). Rough night’s sleep, especially when I awoke to the chanting at 1:30am with chills and knowing I had a fever…fab). People went back to sleep for a few hours and around 7am, I stumbled out of bed, feeling sick as a dog, opened my front door (but with the curtain down so people would leave me alone), and dove back into bed. Around 8, I was roused by a sister to come for breakfast (yummy millet and sour yogurt, something I had been looking forward to since early Ramadan). However, my head was pounding too much that I could barely reply as the people at my bowl commented on how my spoon was to small to eat properly and wanting me to greet them better, etc. I threw myself into bed for another few hours, noises rising and falling and large groups of people come and go from my compound and the men go off to a huge prayer service by a mango tree (um?). Around 10ish, a group of kids knock on my door, dressed in their finest, greeting me, asking me to forgive them, and telling me directions for how to reply. My head was pounding unlike any headache I had ever had before in my life, sick to my stomach, and fighting back tears, while not really understanding what they were saying. This was a bad omen for how the rest of my morning would play out and it only got worse, as soon all of the old and important men, as well as the young university-ages ones, start coming to my door, rousing me from my bed, chair, floor, bathroom, or however I was trying to comfort my pains, all while not being dressed nice enough to compare with what the men were wearing (formal clothes vs my pjs with a pagne tied around my waist…). At one point my counterpart comes by, doing the same, and then wants to come into my hut. I try explaining that I’m sick and trying to rest, but he comes in, starts walking around talking about masons and carpenters (thanks to my fab APCD putting some wheels in motion, I should have a window in my hut within the next week), me only partially understanding. He keeps talking, my head keeps pounding, and more and more older men keep coming to my door, some wanting to come in and me trying to block others out since I didn’t want my room on display at that moment. It was rough, that’s for sure. However, one of the men who came by happens to be the mason or carpenter who will be putting in the window, so at least that got figured out, kinda.
Anyway, I couldn’t figure out if I should put my new clothes on or not, but used my sisters as a model and since they were running around in their normal chores clothes, when I stepped out I basically did the same thing. Though I was sick and they knew it, I still wanted to see what was going on with this fête (party). I watched some of my sisters cooking a goat (or lamb?) and oily noodles with onion sauce, which turned out to be the standard fare across the village for the day. I sat around with some of the kids a bit too when all of the sudden a great hoard of men and little boys come rushing into our compound, no longer as nicely dressed as they had been earlier. They hurry by, hands oily as the shake my hand and pass me by and then I realize that they are going from house to house across the village, eating as much food as possible. My sisters (both sides of the family) bring out dish after dish and bring them into different rooms. The little boys and younger men storm the rooms where they are served, grabbing handfuls of oily noodles and running out, while the older (and more “notable”) men take their time eating in private rooms. My sisters and I start making fun of one of our 18 year old bros who ran into a room, stuffed his face, and came out holding a HUGE handful of oily noodles that he proceeded to jam into his mouth as well. With a mouthful of noodles, he just insists “it’s no longer Ramadan, so of course I’m going to have fun and stuff my face!” Almost as fast as it started, the young men and boys are off to the next house, with the older men trailing after a more relaxed meal.
Sisters from both sides of my family then gather in the middle of the compound, with two or three bowls of similar yet different oily noodles and goat meat. I eat a bit, them all once again commenting on how small my spoon is and how bad it is for eating properly (we’ve been having this same discussion for 5 months, really?) and my head is pounding, so I’m not much of a sport. I quickly disappear to my room, wanting to pass out on my bed again when a knock comes and it’s one of my younger sisters with a lunch bowl from Sally, an awesome lady from my village who was with me when I fell off the charret. In it was peas in a spicy onion sauce, a hunk of presumably goat meat, and half a loaf of village bread—yum! After eating some and giving the rest back to my family, I try to pass out again, occasionally being roused with offers of juice or tea or whatever. As I’m laying there, head pounding (stupid 600 mg ibuprofen didn’t do a thing!), and the drumming on metal bowls starts…really?!?! I lay there, zoning in and out, younger kids constantly rapping on my door to get me to come out and dance. After a while, I tell myself “this is a big holiday, try and see a little bit of it,” so I go out and sit in the middle of my compound with my sisters who are just sitting around, helping the little kids get dressed in their nice and new clothes again. Kids from other compounds come around in groups, greeting but not doing anything else but awkwardly standing around for a little bit, and then continue on their way. I had heard through the grapevine something about a holiday where kids go around dressed up asking for money from people and realize that this is that holiday. Evidently, you are not obliged to give every kid money or even any of them for that matter. Some sisters gave one of their visiting friends money when she came around and she asked me for some, but still confused and sick, I just kind of sat there, only partially understanding what was going on.
After awhile, my sisters start disappearing to bathe and get dressed up and I do the same. I put on this tie-dyed dress that my Thies family gave me with my jeans (that don’t really fit anymore, mind you) since it’s a little too short to be alone and my bright blue sparkly Senegalese shoes and my family LOVED it (sorry, I don’t have any pics due to my lovely sickness). Then two of my sisters in their teens head out of the compound and tell me to follow them. Thinking it was just to do the standard apologizing (wasaani huk) of the day, I go with them, only to realize that they were dragging me around to get money in our new clothes too. Not what I had planned on… The first few houses gave us money, mainly because they were excited to see this white girl in Senegalese clothing, and my sisters were excited about the promise of lots of money from having me with them, but we soon turned into the rest of the kids awkwardly standing around and greeting people and then not being given money. I felt ridiculous because, well, I obviously don’t need the meager coins that people were giving me and should have been giving money myself, plus feeling sick, but didn’t really know how to turn back, so just went around with them and tried to be friendly and social with the people we ran into (mostly successful, though a group of older men reprimanded me for greeting the women but not the men—because they didn’t hear or respond to me when I greeted them. Whatever). It was kind of fun, kind of awkward, but let my sisters split my 100 cfe ($0.25) rather than take it myself. As we walked around, my sisters told me that there was going to be a wrestling ceremony after dinner in the village and Sally had prior told me that there would be a big drum party at the Imam’s house, so I was excited for the promise of more fête, even if I was still somewhat sick. Dinner was more of the oily rice with maybe a chicken leg and much to the protests of the family, barely ate anything. I sat around with my family for the rest of the evening as we watching Senegalese MTV, or so it seemed, waiting for the rest of the activities to start (people were still dressed up, so I figured it was for something). Well, by 10pm nothing had happened so to the protests of my family (“but today’s a fête!”), I head to bed, to curl up with Harry Potter and hope that the pains in my stomach would soon subside. Around 11 or so, still reading Harry Potter and feeling terrible, I hear someone testing a mic (again?) and soon crazy loud Senegalese club music starts blasting from near the mosque (yet again, not far from my head). I get up and see that huge lights and amps have been set up on just the other side of my fence, meaning I will get NO sleep all night, in addition to this unknown illness. Fab. Well, the party went until after 3am or so, and while I would have loved to have been dancing and enjoying such a huge holiday celebration, I was just not having it and was excited to escape here to Kaolack first thing in the morning (barely anyone in my family was awake for me to even let them know where I was going).
Such was my first major Islamic holiday in the village. Hopefully Tabaski in two months will go much better… I know fellow PCVs enjoyed the holiday, it just wasn’t my day.
So Tuesday was the official last day of Ramadan, marking the end of 29 days of fasting from sunrise to sunset. The end of Ramadan was officially celebrated on Wednesday, one of the biggest holidays in Senegal (and the greater Islamic world, I presume), known as Korite. While I do not understand absolutely everything about this holiday, it mainly involves eating a lot, putting on brand new clothes, and going around and asking forgiveness from family/friends/neighbors for how you have wronged them over the past year, sharing blessings and prayers with each other. Kids also go around from house to house, dressed nicely, and people give them money. Unfortunately, I was not able to fully enjoy the fête as much as I would have liked, so here’s my take.
Tuesday night, from 10:15pm until 5:20am, the people of my village held what I believe was an all-night prayer service at the mosque. While I was not physically in attendance, the fact that my head in my bed is a mere 50m (if that) from the mosque and they hooked up a mic and amp to the only electrical source in town, I felt like I was in attendance all night, constantly waking up, hearing the chanting of prayers, and checking the time (it’s midnight/1am/3am/5am/etc). Rough night’s sleep, especially when I awoke to the chanting at 1:30am with chills and knowing I had a fever…fab). People went back to sleep for a few hours and around 7am, I stumbled out of bed, feeling sick as a dog, opened my front door (but with the curtain down so people would leave me alone), and dove back into bed. Around 8, I was roused by a sister to come for breakfast (yummy millet and sour yogurt, something I had been looking forward to since early Ramadan). However, my head was pounding too much that I could barely reply as the people at my bowl commented on how my spoon was to small to eat properly and wanting me to greet them better, etc. I threw myself into bed for another few hours, noises rising and falling and large groups of people come and go from my compound and the men go off to a huge prayer service by a mango tree (um?). Around 10ish, a group of kids knock on my door, dressed in their finest, greeting me, asking me to forgive them, and telling me directions for how to reply. My head was pounding unlike any headache I had ever had before in my life, sick to my stomach, and fighting back tears, while not really understanding what they were saying. This was a bad omen for how the rest of my morning would play out and it only got worse, as soon all of the old and important men, as well as the young university-ages ones, start coming to my door, rousing me from my bed, chair, floor, bathroom, or however I was trying to comfort my pains, all while not being dressed nice enough to compare with what the men were wearing (formal clothes vs my pjs with a pagne tied around my waist…). At one point my counterpart comes by, doing the same, and then wants to come into my hut. I try explaining that I’m sick and trying to rest, but he comes in, starts walking around talking about masons and carpenters (thanks to my fab APCD putting some wheels in motion, I should have a window in my hut within the next week), me only partially understanding. He keeps talking, my head keeps pounding, and more and more older men keep coming to my door, some wanting to come in and me trying to block others out since I didn’t want my room on display at that moment. It was rough, that’s for sure. However, one of the men who came by happens to be the mason or carpenter who will be putting in the window, so at least that got figured out, kinda.
Anyway, I couldn’t figure out if I should put my new clothes on or not, but used my sisters as a model and since they were running around in their normal chores clothes, when I stepped out I basically did the same thing. Though I was sick and they knew it, I still wanted to see what was going on with this fête (party). I watched some of my sisters cooking a goat (or lamb?) and oily noodles with onion sauce, which turned out to be the standard fare across the village for the day. I sat around with some of the kids a bit too when all of the sudden a great hoard of men and little boys come rushing into our compound, no longer as nicely dressed as they had been earlier. They hurry by, hands oily as the shake my hand and pass me by and then I realize that they are going from house to house across the village, eating as much food as possible. My sisters (both sides of the family) bring out dish after dish and bring them into different rooms. The little boys and younger men storm the rooms where they are served, grabbing handfuls of oily noodles and running out, while the older (and more “notable”) men take their time eating in private rooms. My sisters and I start making fun of one of our 18 year old bros who ran into a room, stuffed his face, and came out holding a HUGE handful of oily noodles that he proceeded to jam into his mouth as well. With a mouthful of noodles, he just insists “it’s no longer Ramadan, so of course I’m going to have fun and stuff my face!” Almost as fast as it started, the young men and boys are off to the next house, with the older men trailing after a more relaxed meal.
Sisters from both sides of my family then gather in the middle of the compound, with two or three bowls of similar yet different oily noodles and goat meat. I eat a bit, them all once again commenting on how small my spoon is and how bad it is for eating properly (we’ve been having this same discussion for 5 months, really?) and my head is pounding, so I’m not much of a sport. I quickly disappear to my room, wanting to pass out on my bed again when a knock comes and it’s one of my younger sisters with a lunch bowl from Sally, an awesome lady from my village who was with me when I fell off the charret. In it was peas in a spicy onion sauce, a hunk of presumably goat meat, and half a loaf of village bread—yum! After eating some and giving the rest back to my family, I try to pass out again, occasionally being roused with offers of juice or tea or whatever. As I’m laying there, head pounding (stupid 600 mg ibuprofen didn’t do a thing!), and the drumming on metal bowls starts…really?!?! I lay there, zoning in and out, younger kids constantly rapping on my door to get me to come out and dance. After a while, I tell myself “this is a big holiday, try and see a little bit of it,” so I go out and sit in the middle of my compound with my sisters who are just sitting around, helping the little kids get dressed in their nice and new clothes again. Kids from other compounds come around in groups, greeting but not doing anything else but awkwardly standing around for a little bit, and then continue on their way. I had heard through the grapevine something about a holiday where kids go around dressed up asking for money from people and realize that this is that holiday. Evidently, you are not obliged to give every kid money or even any of them for that matter. Some sisters gave one of their visiting friends money when she came around and she asked me for some, but still confused and sick, I just kind of sat there, only partially understanding what was going on.
After awhile, my sisters start disappearing to bathe and get dressed up and I do the same. I put on this tie-dyed dress that my Thies family gave me with my jeans (that don’t really fit anymore, mind you) since it’s a little too short to be alone and my bright blue sparkly Senegalese shoes and my family LOVED it (sorry, I don’t have any pics due to my lovely sickness). Then two of my sisters in their teens head out of the compound and tell me to follow them. Thinking it was just to do the standard apologizing (wasaani huk) of the day, I go with them, only to realize that they were dragging me around to get money in our new clothes too. Not what I had planned on… The first few houses gave us money, mainly because they were excited to see this white girl in Senegalese clothing, and my sisters were excited about the promise of lots of money from having me with them, but we soon turned into the rest of the kids awkwardly standing around and greeting people and then not being given money. I felt ridiculous because, well, I obviously don’t need the meager coins that people were giving me and should have been giving money myself, plus feeling sick, but didn’t really know how to turn back, so just went around with them and tried to be friendly and social with the people we ran into (mostly successful, though a group of older men reprimanded me for greeting the women but not the men—because they didn’t hear or respond to me when I greeted them. Whatever). It was kind of fun, kind of awkward, but let my sisters split my 100 cfe ($0.25) rather than take it myself. As we walked around, my sisters told me that there was going to be a wrestling ceremony after dinner in the village and Sally had prior told me that there would be a big drum party at the Imam’s house, so I was excited for the promise of more fête, even if I was still somewhat sick. Dinner was more of the oily rice with maybe a chicken leg and much to the protests of the family, barely ate anything. I sat around with my family for the rest of the evening as we watching Senegalese MTV, or so it seemed, waiting for the rest of the activities to start (people were still dressed up, so I figured it was for something). Well, by 10pm nothing had happened so to the protests of my family (“but today’s a fête!”), I head to bed, to curl up with Harry Potter and hope that the pains in my stomach would soon subside. Around 11 or so, still reading Harry Potter and feeling terrible, I hear someone testing a mic (again?) and soon crazy loud Senegalese club music starts blasting from near the mosque (yet again, not far from my head). I get up and see that huge lights and amps have been set up on just the other side of my fence, meaning I will get NO sleep all night, in addition to this unknown illness. Fab. Well, the party went until after 3am or so, and while I would have loved to have been dancing and enjoying such a huge holiday celebration, I was just not having it and was excited to escape here to Kaolack first thing in the morning (barely anyone in my family was awake for me to even let them know where I was going).
Such was my first major Islamic holiday in the village. Hopefully Tabaski in two months will go much better… I know fellow PCVs enjoyed the holiday, it just wasn’t my day.
First Hiccups in Africa
So today (err, last Saturday, I guess), I had what I believe were my first set of hiccups in Africa, or at least I’m pretty sure of it. How am I so sure of it, since 6 months is such a freakin’ long time to go without hiccups? Well, because it was so awkward and I don’t know/remember the Serere word for hiccups, or the French word for that matter. Anyway, here’s a slightly humorous story…or at least I hope so.
It had rained from 5:30-7:15ish AM, so there was a lot of water in the road as I walked barefoot with my 50 year old bro Ibou to town, holding my Chaco flipflops, an Entertainment Weekly magazine (thanks Jodi!), and my long skirt to my knees to that it didn’t get totally soaked in water. I had sneezed a few times and Ibou commented on it (though I had forgotten the word “to have a cold,” ie “kaa gourfeel” or “you have a cold”), we chatted briefly, and then stayed mostly silent as we weaved our way through the water-filled dirt road, avoiding puddles as best we could. The whole time I was thinking about how once I got to town, a delicious bean sandwich and fake coffee would be waiting for me (as well as a fellow PCV before we went to the last day of summer school). All of the sudden, hiccup! It was quiet and then again! Hiccup! Ibou kind of looked back, but I didn’t say anything as I tried to recall the word for hiccup, wondering if he would soon comment on it. He didn’t, leaving me hoping the hiccups would stop, but knowing it would be rude to use water to stop them since Ibou can’t drink water as it was still Ramadan. As I was thinking about how awkward my hiccupping was, but also about the cool-ishness in the air (post rain, I was almost “chilled,” so it was probably 85 or 90 degrees, let’s be honest…), I started thinking about how I’ll miss the changing seasons, especially winter in DC. Then my head automatically went to Peppermint Mochas. Yes, Peppermint Mochas. I LOVE them! They are by far my favorite seasonal drink (when properly done, of course), and I suddenly realized that I won’t be able to get one this year. It made me sad and then I thought about my proposed Euro vacay this winter and how London and Paris both have (the dreaded) Starbucks, which could (God forbid!) fill my Peppermint Mocha need this Christmas (because traditional Parisian cafés do not offer such treats). At once, I was filled with a mixture of excitement and dread, caving in to my desire for a yummy treat as to bring myself to go to Starbucks, which successfully got my mind off my hiccups. How silly is that? Anyway, when I met up with Jaime for our bean sandwich breakfast, I shared my silliness and she just thought that the connection between hiccups and Peppermint Mochas was too funny and that I definitely needed to turn it into a blog post.
So I did. The End.
It had rained from 5:30-7:15ish AM, so there was a lot of water in the road as I walked barefoot with my 50 year old bro Ibou to town, holding my Chaco flipflops, an Entertainment Weekly magazine (thanks Jodi!), and my long skirt to my knees to that it didn’t get totally soaked in water. I had sneezed a few times and Ibou commented on it (though I had forgotten the word “to have a cold,” ie “kaa gourfeel” or “you have a cold”), we chatted briefly, and then stayed mostly silent as we weaved our way through the water-filled dirt road, avoiding puddles as best we could. The whole time I was thinking about how once I got to town, a delicious bean sandwich and fake coffee would be waiting for me (as well as a fellow PCV before we went to the last day of summer school). All of the sudden, hiccup! It was quiet and then again! Hiccup! Ibou kind of looked back, but I didn’t say anything as I tried to recall the word for hiccup, wondering if he would soon comment on it. He didn’t, leaving me hoping the hiccups would stop, but knowing it would be rude to use water to stop them since Ibou can’t drink water as it was still Ramadan. As I was thinking about how awkward my hiccupping was, but also about the cool-ishness in the air (post rain, I was almost “chilled,” so it was probably 85 or 90 degrees, let’s be honest…), I started thinking about how I’ll miss the changing seasons, especially winter in DC. Then my head automatically went to Peppermint Mochas. Yes, Peppermint Mochas. I LOVE them! They are by far my favorite seasonal drink (when properly done, of course), and I suddenly realized that I won’t be able to get one this year. It made me sad and then I thought about my proposed Euro vacay this winter and how London and Paris both have (the dreaded) Starbucks, which could (God forbid!) fill my Peppermint Mocha need this Christmas (because traditional Parisian cafés do not offer such treats). At once, I was filled with a mixture of excitement and dread, caving in to my desire for a yummy treat as to bring myself to go to Starbucks, which successfully got my mind off my hiccups. How silly is that? Anyway, when I met up with Jaime for our bean sandwich breakfast, I shared my silliness and she just thought that the connection between hiccups and Peppermint Mochas was too funny and that I definitely needed to turn it into a blog post.
So I did. The End.
Brief update
So I had a few different blog entries to post, however in my continual fabulous luck with computers in Senegal, especially Kaolack as of late, this computer does not have Word so it wont let me open my saved entries on my thumb drive. Alas, another time...at least there is power right now (after waiting for it to come back on for 10 minutes).
So yea, in dirty and disgusting Kaolack right now. Hopefully will be headed back to site this afternoon, after lunch and a nap since I havent slept well in a few days. School starts a week from Monday, God willing, so I need to work hard this week to finish the world maps I am painting on the walls of the two real classrooms at my school. The world, Africa, and Senegal maps are mostly completed in one of the rooms, now it just needs finer details and touchups, while the other still needs them all to be traced and painted. I am not sure that will all get done, but we shall see. Little by little.
My APCD came to visit me and have a village meeting about a week ago, to start talking about my work and informing my village that procuring a health hut is not my sole responsibility. While I think people understood a lot of what he was talking about with development and thinking about village health problems, it really only served as a reminder for them to keep telling me how much they want a health hut (like a small first aid/delivery clinic). I want and plan to help them take the steps to start developing one, but that is a big project that can take several years, so I dont want to have the pressure of their expectations that I will get it done in my two years here. If it happens, fabulous. If I only help start getting people to work their trained and help them start raising money but my replacements actually get it built, that should be ok as well. Alas.
Also in the past week, with the end of Ramadan, I have officially started reading the Harry Potter series. I am planning on finishing 2 before leaving Kaolack and taking 3 and 4 with me back to the village. I feel like a 12 year old, its fabulous!
Ok, that is basically it. While I have real updates, I guess you can all wait until I have better internet access to read it. Thanks for the emails, letters, and packages. Love you and miss you all... I am almost 7 months in!
So yea, in dirty and disgusting Kaolack right now. Hopefully will be headed back to site this afternoon, after lunch and a nap since I havent slept well in a few days. School starts a week from Monday, God willing, so I need to work hard this week to finish the world maps I am painting on the walls of the two real classrooms at my school. The world, Africa, and Senegal maps are mostly completed in one of the rooms, now it just needs finer details and touchups, while the other still needs them all to be traced and painted. I am not sure that will all get done, but we shall see. Little by little.
My APCD came to visit me and have a village meeting about a week ago, to start talking about my work and informing my village that procuring a health hut is not my sole responsibility. While I think people understood a lot of what he was talking about with development and thinking about village health problems, it really only served as a reminder for them to keep telling me how much they want a health hut (like a small first aid/delivery clinic). I want and plan to help them take the steps to start developing one, but that is a big project that can take several years, so I dont want to have the pressure of their expectations that I will get it done in my two years here. If it happens, fabulous. If I only help start getting people to work their trained and help them start raising money but my replacements actually get it built, that should be ok as well. Alas.
Also in the past week, with the end of Ramadan, I have officially started reading the Harry Potter series. I am planning on finishing 2 before leaving Kaolack and taking 3 and 4 with me back to the village. I feel like a 12 year old, its fabulous!
Ok, that is basically it. While I have real updates, I guess you can all wait until I have better internet access to read it. Thanks for the emails, letters, and packages. Love you and miss you all... I am almost 7 months in!
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