Introducing James Diouf!

Introducing James Diouf, born at 9:10am on Monday, November 16 (and named on November 23).
The morning of Monday, November 16, I went to the garden to water and then headed home for a slow pilates session in my hut before breakfast. Around 9:30 I got a phone call from my friend Seynabou (the woman with me when I had my crazy charette incident a year and a half ago) that went like this:
Me: Hello? Seynabou?
Seynabou (nervously): Khady? I have a baby.
M: You do?!?! When?
S: Now...
M: Where are you?
S: Djilor. I need you to go to my house and tell the people there I have a baby.
M: Ok...wait, boy or girl?
S (...): boy
M: Boy? Great!
(called back shortly after...)
M: I told them. Everyone is very happy. Are you happy?
S: Yes, but I wanted a girl. Are you happy?
M: Of course, don't be silly!...I'm coming to Djilor now, see you soon!

Seynabou's water broke at 2am, labor started at 5am, and she arrived at the health post in Djilor around 8:40am, gave birth at 9:10am, and was on a donkey charette headed back to the village by 12-noon! No way!

As the conversation says, I hurried my butt to Djilor to see Seynabou and meet her baby and was then given the enormous honor of carrying the baby all of the way back to our village on the charette (perhaps one of the most terrifying charette rides of my life...). People were shocked and amazed that I went all of the way to the health post only to turn around and come back, but it was worth it to see the baby and support my closest friend in the village. I spent the entire day at her house and most of the following few days, doing nothing more than sitting around and holding the baby, but absorbing as much quality time with a child I will barely know because my time in Senegal is quickly drawing to a close.

So, for those of you who don't know, "James" is not a typical name for a Muslim baby. In fact, little James Diouf (pr Juuf) was named after my American father. Seynabou had long been talking about how she wanted a girl so she could name her after me as a symbol of our friendship (and so she could have an extra hand to help around the house: she so far has just 1 girl and 2 boys), but alas God had different plans. Later that Monday, Seynabou's husband approached me and asked "what's your older brother's name?" Surprised upon realizing I don't have a brother (he should have asked his wife, she knows), he then asked my dad's name. "huh? Jaamesssy?...James...Ok, I will talk with some Catholic Sereres and investigate..." Though he talked about naming the baby after my dad, I didn't actually think it would happen. I mean, doesn't the kid need a Muslim name? But no, in fact, the baby was actually named James! The morning of the baptism/naming ceremony, an older woman in the village who was in charge of shaving the baby's hair (Muslim custom) asked Seynabou "James? Can't we just call him Mohammed?" Haha, almost the same! Seynabou was adament and when the name was shared in front of everyone the morning of the baptism, a large roar went up as everyone expressed their delight in the "birth of Khady's father" and started demanding money from me. Alas!

In West African tradition, giving one's child the name of a friend or loved one is an enormous honor. Many PCVs leave Senegal with a child named specifically after them (their Senegalese not American names), but I have not had quite that same luck. One sister wanted to name her baby after me in April, but had a boy and named him Ndar, though he has been nicknamed "James" Ndar after my dad. Another sister had a girl, but named her Fatou and nicknamed her Fatou "Khady," calling her my namesake though she was really named after someone else. My whole village feels for me and points out how "I don't have luck" with having a namesake and I just laugh it off. I thought Seynabou might name the baby after George and was thus extremely surprised, pleased, and honored that Seynabou and Adou named their son after my dad. Some of the older people in their compound are having trouble, but learning, how to pronounce the name. I am very humbled to know that my memory will live on as this child grows up and hopefully goes on to amazing things, A feelanga Roog. It's amazing and now I find that all I want to do is sit with my "dad" and laugh as everyone tries to say his name.

Baby James, Me, and Seynabou on the day of the baptism. Maybe I will write more about the actual baptism next time...pictures will definitely be on picasa as soon as the internet cooperates enough to do so in a speedy manner.

[btw there is another Baby James in the area, James Sarr...Jaime's counterpart's wife gave birth a year ago and named their baby after Jaime's US father as well. They should start a club!]

A Call for Post Requests

So lately I'm at once torn between not knowing what to write yet feeling compelled to, but also acknowledging that half my posts are boring general updates and not necessarily anything educational/entertaining about life in Senegal. Hence I am once again putting out the call for requests of things to write about...I'll take any and all suggestions and try to write about them as they relate to life here. Anything that you want to know about as it relates to Senegal, PCV life, whatever, and I will do my best to entertain those requests.

Btw I know my time is getting short, but if anyone is interested in visiting Senegal and hanging with a temporary local who speaks multiple languages on a daily basis, I would LOVE to have you come and experience my life and see the country. Come on, you know you want to... :)

Girls' Leadership Day Djilor Style

This past Monday, the Peace Corps Cross Culture and Homestay Coordinator Awa Traore (with whom I work with whenever I am in Thies) came to talk with selected girls from the middle schools in Djilor and Sadioga where I work. In total, 30 girls were chosen by their teachers to participate: 20 from Djilor (a school with about 1,000 students between the middle and high schools) and 10 from Sadioga (middle school student enrollment around 400), based on their academic achievements, motivation, and ability to serve as leaders among their classmates.



The overall theme of the day was focused at keeping girls in school, which was done through conversations about self-confidence, friendship, and knowing oneself, as well as discussing the problems of rape, early/forced marriage, and early/unwanted pregnancy, and how they impact girls in the community.



It was a great day and Awa really got the girls thinking, talking, and sharing. I think the selected faculty members on hand also learned a lot, especially about the problems facing female students today. One faculty member in particular from Djilor was surprised to discover that rape is a big issue among middle school students in the area. Conversations on these sensitive topics got both the girls and faculty members talking and I hope that the greater community will in turn benefit from the day.



Hopefully Monday will be the first in a series of trainings specifically aimed at keeping girls in school through improved leadership, greater self-confidence, reduced rate of unwanted pregnancy, and improved access to education. The next training will hopefully be a several day reproductive health training for students and teachers to lead classes at their respective schools in January, A feelanga Roog.

Your friendly local Peace Corps team: Chris (Moustapha), Me (Khady), Awa, Jessica (a fellow Kaolack Region PCV who organized the tourney), and Mamadou the chauffer.

More pictures and a video (in Wolof, sorry!) are available at http://picasaweb.google.com/pcbeth

Rando Greetings from Dakar

I just wanted to send a major thanks to the supportive words so many people have shared about George. My village and I really appreciate it.

As my parents noticed, I updated my picasa website, so check out what's been going on (though most are scenes of my backyard and other random things).

I've been in Dakar the last week, after a week in Thies for the end of PST (yay 52 new Senegal PCVs!), visiting with Med (multiple weird skin infections and eye issues) and trying to really delve into grad school and post-PC life options. I am almost done with the antibiotics and have new lenses for my "fun" glasses, as it turns out my vision has actually improved since coming to Senegal. Turns out the headaches were from my eyes correcting the "over-correctedness" of my original lenses. Of course, my hard-core village glass lenses haven't been changed, so I guess I will have to bench them for awhile. Anyway, I'm head back to Kaolack/the village tomorrow.

Over the next few weeks, work will really be picking up again. I am planning an awesome Girls' Leadership Day in early November for middle school girls, plus I am trying to get together materials and write a grant for a reproductive health training in December/January. Chris and I have reached a critical point in the Serere Dictionary, where we now need to take what we have and share it with members of our villages to verify words/sounds/spellings. Oh, and gardening season is starting up so I really need to prepare pepiniere space. Plus, I have two new neighbors (yay Jack and David!) to visit and a bunch of other random stuff... so much for the slow season of August and September (which I honestly LOVED). AND I need to finish and send in my applications for grad school! [Holy cow, I had forgotten how overwhelming applying for school is. Now multiply that by 300 and you will almost understand what it's like to apply without regular internet access or printing capabilities.] It will all be good and time is really going to fly by over the next six months before I COS (Close of Service).

Miss you and love you all!

Death in the Village

So for various reasons, I’ve been avoiding updating this blog. Since the Kaolack House moved to its new location (natural light, ooo!) a month ago, I have not had much internet access for work or communication, so that has made the rare and precious time online even more so. But more than the lack of internet access, there is a blog entry that I’ve been dreading posting, but need to, because it was a HUGE event in my village and my service. And it revolves around an old man who a fellow female PCV once tried to sell me to for 4 cows (not enough to me and too much for him—she was just KIDDING!). I call him George.

I started writing this blog about three weeks ago, so it’s kind of out of date, sorry.

I’ll be honest, the last week and a half has been tough—downright hard. Not for anything like getting used to life again or a lot of work or cultural adjustment or anything like that. No, this week was tough in a way that has shown me just how difficult it will be to leave my village in 8 months, because of the real bonds and friendships I’ve made with the people around me. George passed away. “George” was the name I gave to the oldest man in my compound/ village, and he was convinced I was his third wife. I *believe* George was 93 years old, but realistically, he could have been any age from 80-95. He had told me 90 and 93 on separate occasions and while I never asked him to show me his birth certificate (if he even has one…he was already in his 40s when Senegal was granted independence in the early 1960s), from some of his stories, I believe he was actually THAT old. George’s real name is Mordou Gning, or because of his age to show respect Mame Mordou Gning, but I early on in my PC service gave him the name “George” after he insisted on calling me Fatou Mae after the mother of his second wife, Ndiaye Senghor. Over a year ago, the entire village thought it quite funny that this young white girl who barely spoke Serere would be bold enough to change the name of the oldest and most-respected man in the village just because he wouldn’t call her by her proper Senegalese name. A few people caught on that the US President at that time was named George too, but they didn’t really get the irony in it. In all honesty, it was the first “generic American” name that popped into my head and it stuck. And so our relationship started…

The first few months of my PC service (after Installation) were spent sitting next to George in our compound and arguing with him. My early vocabulary was comprised mostly of different ways to say “I don’t like you” and why to all of his professions of love for me and his desire for me to marry him. Up until even the night before his stroke, George was proposing and insisting I accept and be his wife. Not a chance, sorry George, you are my grandfather and much too old for me, plus you are old and don’t have enough money to pay back my student loans (I always got a laugh from those around me with this comment), which I constantly told him.

A few posts ago I referred to the gifts I brought back from America, including a thick long-sleeved shirt of Dad’s, which I gave to George. I may as well have given him a solid gold cow or my first born child for his excitement about this old shirt. Putting it on right away and wearing it for the first three days I was back in the village after my US vacay, George made sure that the ENTIRE village knew that I gave him such a nice shirt as it was “an obvious profession of my love for him.”

George was a good Muslim in every sense of the word: he prayed 5 times a day, he gave to the poor, and he fasted (no food or water 6am-7:30pm) during Ramadan (even though the elderly are let off from fasting, which I reminded him of every time someone commented to me about him fasting). So the day I left for Dakar back in September, George had a stroke. It was no doubt brought on by fasting—well, and age. While I was gone, no one told me anything about the stroke—nothing at all. Probably because of the fatalist aspect of culture here, but still, it annoyed me. I left Kaolack Friday morning after the house move and almost two full weeks away from the village in Dakar and Kolda, eager to be back to tackle the mold that of course took over my hut and enjoy life in a place where I could communicate with people again (Kolda is mostly Pulaar, so I didn’t really know what was going on). After stopping off in Djilor, I wanted to check in on a youth citizenship camp, but Mary and I both decided we were too exhausted to stay the afternoon and decided to trek back to our respective sites, even though it was around 1:30pm. Shortly after getting back to my hut, it started raining and didn’t stop until around 9pm that night. I cleaned, organized my stuff, and debated whether or not to wait until after the rain before greeting and passing out the gifts of tea and dates (in celebration of the end of Ramadan), but decided that since it was light rain, I should just go ahead and do it. That’s when things changed.

I walked up to the door of George’s room, knocked and started teasing/greeting him as usual as I walked into his room, but not to the normal response. I looked in and realized something was not right—and my sister Njira was right on my heels. She told me he was sick—obvious signs of facial paralysis and confusion in his eyes, he couldn’t see well, and could barely hear. He was scary skinny, his hip bone sticking up from his bed as he laid on his side facing the door. No duh he’s sick. We tried to talk with Njira translating for both of us, unable to really understand the other. I gave him the dates and tea, which seemed pointless, but he thanked me and called me a great person and asked me to sit. So I did. I sat for about 5 or 10 minutes, thinking about what happened and wondering who I could contact who would know what to do to help a person recover from a stroke. The private doctor from Djilor had been by a few times to give George an IV and meds, but George has always been freaked out by needles, or so I was told. After sitting a bit, I got up, telling him I needed to go take a bucket bath. The last words he spoke to me were “Reti bogoox,” or “Go, bathe!” [To those who knew me in my Group Workcamps days, this is quite a fitting phrase…]

Around 8, I was called to dinner by my 8 year old sister, saying as she had for the past year and a half “Mame Mordou says to come and have dinner.” Out of habit, having briefly forgotten about the stroke, I walked into his room where several of his grand children and myself usually eat meals with him, but I was quickly brought back to reality. George was turned over on his other side and as tried to greet him, he barely looked at me. He looked in severe heart-breaking pain. Ndiaye was waving a hand fan on him and Njira was trying to give him some pain medication and I felt like I was intruding on a private, painful moment, and left as I was summoned into the hallway to eat dinner there instead.

He passed minutes later, but no one in the family was told until after 9:30 that night. As I went to my room praying for his healing, I didn’t realize that God had already taken care of it. No, when I ran out of my room at 9:30 or so, running from the army of cockroaches that had taken up all corners of my latrine and making using it impossible, begging the other side of the family to buy cockroach killer for me at the market the next day, I had no clue. I thought it was crazy that when I handed them money for the poison, they weren’t sure if they were going to the market the next day or not. But I didn’t know. In fact, my brother Ibou (one of George’s oldest sons) specifically waited to tell everyone so that he could call relatives in Dakar (he spent all night on the phone and a ton of phone credit notifying people) and they could arrive in our village the next morning in time for the funeral. In Islam, the burial is supposed to happen almost immediately after the person passes on. The body is ceremonially washed and wrapped in white cloth and taken to the mosque and cemetery, but no preservatives or anything are used. Ibou was so good at this in fact, that a Dakar relative then called a different relative in my village to let them know they were coming because of the funeral, and the person in my village was all “George died?” Ibou didn’t tell the village until the 5am call-to-prayer marking the last day of Ramadan.

From my journal,

“I woke up around 7:15 to sweeping outside my hut and Rhoky knocking to tell me the sad news. I was shocked, and thankful that he didn’t have to suffer anymore—not to mention extremely grateful that I had (barely) made it back. I quickly changed, brushed up on my Serere condolences and grabbed a 5mille note to go pay my respects to Mame Dibbor, his 1^st wife/widow…then I basically stood/sat around for several hours, in shock and unsure about what to do…A crowd quickly started to gather as relatives from Djilor, Gague, and Dakar arrived, plus others from Ndiomdy. It was tragically sad as people walked in with red eyes, crying, or even wailing.”

(back in real time, aka October 16)

The elders of the village washed and clothed the body in the traditional white fabric as HUNDREDS of people from all of the surrounding villages showed up throughout the morning (as many as 1000people that day and hundreds more in the following days). Sitting mats, benches, and a large picnic tent were set up to accommodate the mourners as men started praying. I sat around, mostly silent, as people came in. Many were surprised I was back so quickly (most not having seen me the day before) and then looked visibly relieved when they heard that I had seen and talked with George before his passing. A little before noon, the body was brought out (covered) and the tears flowed as the men of the village accompanied the body to the mosque and the cemetery for burial. It was quite emotional and I don’t really have words for it, even now. After the body was buried, everyone returned and the men circled up and spent the next 2 or so hours talking about George and all of the good he did in his life. The people he helped, the families without food he shared with, the grandchildren he supported through school when their father wouldn’t buy them new clothes or take them to the doctor, and the work he did as a store owner, cowherd (walked across Senegal MANY many times), President of the Communaute Rurale, and farmer.

Oh, this all happened the day before Korite (the celebration for the end of Ramadan), so Korite was pretty lame as the village was still in morning. For George’s passing, one of his cows was brought (since George couldn’t really walk, he had a Pulaar family outside our village watch his heards) and sacrificed, then the meat divided up and distributed among the whole village, so Ndiomdy ate beef for Korite. But otherwise it was a lame end-of-Ramadan. The day after Ramadan, another 500 or so people came through and in the week following (and the month too…) visitors from across the country have come to share their condolences. The village will be in morning for some time as we get used to life without George.

George, an old man who as much as he would irritate me with his constant marriage proposals, was also one of the most alert and understanding people in my village, in terms of his understanding of my work. He would constantly ask me about projects I would mention (including constantly harassing me to get him his own private latrine behind his room back in May) and also harass me about all of my work and the fact that I never took time to rest. I know that he enjoyed the two weeks between coming back from my US vacay and going to Dakar because I sat around our compound rather than constantly being on the go. He took care of me (I think my eating with him and his grandkids was because he thought I couldn’t get my fair share eating in the chaos of the rest of my family) and made sure I took care of myself.

I know sometimes they say someone who is dying may wait a bit for something or someone before they feel like they can properly move on to the next life. I don’t know if it’s true, but I like to think it is. MANY people in my village said that George waited until I came back before he gave in and let God take him back; that George wanted a final few words—maybe that he even hoped I would finally accept his proposal. All I can hope is that my simple gifts of the shirt in August and the dates and tea (a big Senegalese tradition) were enough to let him know I care. I miss him, and I was very hard to hear my friend Seynabou (and others…) say to me, “George left you [me],” but it’s true. The village is sad, I’m sad, and they know and understand how sad I am. They have found their way into my heart and I think I have found my way into their’s.

O kiin a paax a ref'u, yasam Roog malaka paax a ngetwin.

He was a good man and may God keep him in Paradise.

---------------------------------------

Thanks and sorry for this being long-winded and kind of nonsensical and sentimental. Hopefully there will my a more upbeat and light-hearted post next time around.

really quick update

Hi Everyone! I'm back in Kaolack, but only overnight. I really just came to grab my computer and head back to site again, with barely even a chance to check my email (of the 60 in my inbox, I read maybe 7, all from you guys though!). It was a rough week and a half at site, for many reasons, but that post will have to wait another few weeks. It's mostly written but this connection is too slow for it to be of much use...

Anyways, I'm alive and apart from my itchy pre-Dakar spots returning the moment I returned to my site, and mold taking over almost everything in my hut, I'm doing well and thinking ahead about the last 7 or 8 months I have here in Senegal. The Rainy Season is ending, school is starting in a few weeks (Inchallah), and work is picking up again, so I'm trying to figure out the best use of my time here. Our internet hasn't gotten set up again since moving to a new Kaolack House, but hopefully soon because I have a ton of stuff to take care of (PC work, updates, grad school, etc).

Ok, that's all. More later, I promise! Love and miss you all!

quick update

So...

It was really good finally going back to the village after over a month away. My family and friends in the village LOVED their gifts. Of everything, the pictures were the most widely appreciated and shared among everyone. There's still a few more that I'm trying to distribute around. The tshirts were also a big hit. George (93 year old man) LOVES his long-sleeved shirt from Dad--seriously, he has made it known throughout the village that I love him because I brought him back such a nice and beautiful shirt. It's actually quite amusing seeing my brothers and sisters wearing their shirts--including Group Workcamps Red Shirts (I know I wasn't "supposed" to give those away, but I have tons of them), my Cheerleaders Kick shirt from freshman year of high school, and the "Be Kind to Animals and Kiss a Flute Player" shirt. My sisters also liked their gold earrings (yea Claire's!) and their nailpolish (technically a no-no in Islam, especially during Ramadan, so they are waiting until after and will then wear it on their left hands). The kids have put on the nail polish and my dad marked one of his chickens with some bright red polish. Yep... The young girls loved their bracelet making kits I put together from old jewelry kits from when I was young and the boys loved their little sports balls, plus my brothers loved the Chicago Bulls playing cards I picked up last minute at O'Hare Airport. The little babies liked the stuffed animals (or so I hope), but really it was the photos. And the candy! Holy cow, they LOVED the Skittles and the Starbursts! Seriously, American candy ("whoa, it's sweet!") blows their minds. It was really fun sitting around the compound in the evening after having my sister distribute the candy for me and smelling the Skittle breath as they all tried to figure out how to best open the bag, pronounce the name "Skittles" and pointing out the "S" on each little candy, and figure out the flavors. The same happened at Sally's compound when I brought the Starbursts--I ran out the night before Ramadan started to make sure they had their candy before fasting insanity started--and it was fun. I remember when I first became a health PCV I was all "I'm never going to bring my family candy--just fruits and veggies!" Then I realized how disgusting Senegalese village candy (a spicy mint thing... or cherry cough drops) is and how much joy they get from fruity delicious imported stuff. Yea, blame me for rotting their teeth or undermining local industry. Bad health Volunteer I am...:)

Anyways, the gifts went over well. One of my sisters had prepared my hut prior to my arrival, sweeping, making my bed (did not ask her to, but still nice), and evicting a mouse family, plus preparing my backyard for my brothers to weed the massive (6ft+) weeds that had taken over. Unfortunately, my brothers were over-zealous and also weedwacked two of my new trees, but I replanted and am moving on. I was glad I had arranged with my sister Ami to prepare my hut because it was dark by the time I arrived in my village and had I not, it would have been a DISASTER. The first few days back were spent cleaning, washing mold that had grown on just about everything I own, and visiting people in the village. Everyone was glad I was back, said that "America was good to you" (meaning I looked like I had gained a little weight) and was happy I had seen family and friends. And of course they asked when Katie (or anyone) will come and visit (seriously Sissy, come and visit!).

It was a really good, though kind of dull and not super exciting, two and a half weeks in the village. Though I wanted a chance to check my email, I actually wasn't quite ready to leave the village (I was REALLY enjoying reading and doing sudoku puzzles, evidently), even to do a little traveling around Senegal. I'm trying to get to Tamba/Kolda to visit the PCVs in that part of the country, including one of my best friends here, but am instead hanging out in the med hut in Dakar with some fun rash, hoping the A/C (and meds) can clear it up. I'm just delayed on my travels a few days and since not much is going on, it's giving me a chance to catch up on email and computer work, as well as fruit consumption (!) and the most recent season of the Amazing Race which someone had downloaded, yay!

Miss y'all!

Also, pictures from the last few weeks are uploaded and updated on Picasa. Check 'em out!

If I had Twitter…

(written while I was in the village)

So normally I’m extremely against Twitter (insert comment about its creepiness/voyeuristic/self-indulgent, etc here), but lately (probably because of all of the celebrity gossip magazines Jodi keeps me stocked with) I’ve been thinking of certain aspects of my life as a series of “Twits” (did I really just type that?) or Facebook updates (I know, I know…). I’ve recently found myself at a loss for blog ideas because I’ve basically “gotten over” some of the more minute (or more “interesting”) aspects of my life, which may or may not be of interest to you, my loyal reading public. J

So, over the next week or two, I will fake “Twit” while I have nothing “exciting” planned, to see what interesting things happen in my life.

Thursday, August 20, 5:15pm “What, has no one walked into the garden since I left? My tree nursery is totally overgrown and the weeds are taller than me! (or almost)”

6:50pm “Stupid football (soccer) players destroying my young mango trees. As much as I enjoy tree planting, I could never be an AgFo because I can’t stand knowing not all of my trees will survive.”

Friday, August 21, 11:15am “New addiction: Sudoku puzzles, shoot!” (I was temporarily out of desirable reading material)

3:23pm “Sowe (homemade yogurt—ie spoiled unpasturized milk) destroying me from the inside out…”

Saturday, August 22, 7:45am “First day of Ramadan and woken up at 5am not by the mosque call to prayer, but by an army of frogs in compound croaking away loudly. Happy fasting!”

7:30pm “I think I have bed bugs. Or clothes mites. Or both…so much itching!”

Sunday, August 23, 8:15am “Waiting for breakfast. Bro coming with milk straight from the cow—can’t wait! It's been two months since I’ve had milk and couscous!”

9:30am “I just killed my first scorpion (it was in my hut, behind my med kit) and found an empty condom wrapper outside my front door. My work here is done.”

4:45pm “Bethany’s bad idea of the week” trying to beat a big rainstorm…getting soaked as it starts pouring less than 1km outside of town and having to walk the 3+km barefoot back to my village, fording the river that my dirt road becomes during the rainy season. Umbrella not big enough. Soaked through and through."

5:10pm “Still walking barefoot in the rain. This is becoming comical. I really am the crazy laughing white girl of my area.”

5:35pm “Finally made it home. Brothers think it’s hysterical. ‘You’re wet.’ ‘No, I’m not wet at all, thank you very much.’ (sense sarcasm…)”

Monday, August 24, 8:40pm, “I just carried my dad on my back for the first time ever! Good thing I didn’t drop him!”

August 25 “Though they taste good, Starbursts are not actually real fruit…” (I went 12 days without eating any fruit at all!)

August 26? 8:28am “Why do I keep having a dream about being a new employee carrying around a trashcan at a giant movie theater? Oh mefloquin.”

8:04pm “When you pour fish juice on my foot, dinner’s over.”

August 27 “I hate being woken up at 3:40am by anything—be it mice in my hut or these spots all over my body itching like crazy.”

9:15am “What would I do without (raw) milk and millet during Ramadan?”

10:45am “Bethany is counting down the days ‘til she can burn her old underwear for COS.”

4:10pm, “So glad I liver near a river, this is awesome!” (spent the day working, relaxing, and swimming at the river)

8:10pm “Mm chicken here is soooo good! (beans too!)”

August 28, 9:53pm “Bethany thinks more of her friends should figure out skype and/or international texting. It’s really not that hard and then I could hear from people more often. Hint hint. J “

10:44pm “When you keep totally screwing up the sudoku with incorrect answers, it’s time to turn off the headlamp and go to bed.”

August 29, 11:23am “Weeding a rice field is what I imagine mowing the lawn is, without a lawnmower.” (see pictures on Picasa)

August 30, 2:57pm “I would kill for a cold drink right now…”

Well, even looking back over these “Twits” and random comments, my past two weeks really have not been very interesting at all, oh well. Work-wise, I’m at a fake temporary work lull as I’ve been calling it. I’ve been outplanting most of the remaining trees from my tree nursery and doing a lot of weeding, but nothing much else. People are in the fields and fasting for Ramadan, so no one is around and when they are, energy is extremely low. School is on summer break for another month and a half. I have some project evaluations to do, as well as grant-writing and event planning for future activities, but I have to talk to some people here in order to totally finish them. I have a village survey to do for PC, but I don’t have the questions and no one is around right now to talk to for the answers, which also means no one has time for health talks, etc. Everything else is computer work, like the Serere dictionary. It’s ok, I’m enjoying this downtime, riding, doing Sudoku, and whatnot. I need to enjoy it while it lasts, I can already tell the next few weeks and months will quickly fill up and I only have 8 months left here!

P.S. Anyone, anyone at all, interesting in coming to visit me here? Come on, ya know you want to J

back to the village and back to reality...

So I tried to include some pictures with that last post about my vacay, but Blogspot was not cooperating, so you'll just have to go to my Picassa web page listed on the side of this page.

I am back in Kaolack after 10 days in Thies, working with the training staff and meeting the 50 new trainees (and 3 Mauritanian PCV transfers). This is the last group of Trainees before my Stage's replacements come in March, which is crazy to think about! I am heading back to site today, loaded down with a huge hiking bag, a small duffel, and a purse, hoping to get a bus-thing headed directly to my road town. I called the family in the village last night to tell them to send a charret for me, so hopefully they pull through for me. I'm going to greet everyone back in the village, finish outplanting my last few trees, and sleep for a few days before even thinking about work--or at least that's the idea. It's weird to think that my next month at site is relatively up in the air--I've got some ideas for things that I want to do or places that I want to see, but nothing that has a time restraint or is extremely time sensitive at this point, which is a shock after the past 6+ months.

Ramadan supposedly starts Friday night and Saturday should be the first day of the fasting month. Enjoy something delicious for me this weekend!

Btw, a street cat gave birth to a litter of kittens in the Kaolack house (side bedroom, underneath the bunkbeds, in a box). Though they have now been moved in box outside, they are very cute--still blind, can't really move, and just beginning to squeak. Adorable! If only I had time to take care of a kitten at site...

Amerik, Alhumdouliliah!

(Written about a week and a half ago, when I had just returned from my vacation and was still jetlagged)

From mid-June to July 20, this was my mantra: I’m going to America, Alhumdouliliah (Praise God)! Well, my all-too-brief trip came and went and now I’m back in Thies getting ready for a new batch of “greenies,” or new Trainees, as the PC Training Director was calling them earlier today.

My vacation was incredible. I don’t think I actually have words for it, adequate enough to describe all of the feelings and thoughts going through my head during the trip. It was exciting, overwhelming, invigorating, exhausting, refreshing, eye-opening, reassuring, and any other word you can throw at it. Most of all, it was too short.

I know many PCVs I have talked to feel ready to return to Senegal by the end of their US vacations, but I must admit, I wasn’t. Had you given me a few more days in CL, I probably would have been. However, as it was, I was so exhausted from constantly being on the go and traveling about so much trying to see as many people as possible, that I could have used a few more days in CL to just relax and veg, and go through all of the junk in my room—plus have time to acknowledge while everyone else over there have lives to get back to, mine is over here in Senegal. Oh well, no time to dwell on too-short of a vacation (and now I have a few extra days to use on traveling somewhere around here!).

Honestly, it’s good to be back. Though I’m in Thies, I really wish I could bypass this step (though the start of PST is why I cut my trip short in the first place) and just hide out in my hut in my village for a few days, but that can’t happen. Well, at least not for another 10 days or so—welcome the newbies and show them around a little, regroup in Kaolack, get back to the village, give out gifts, finish outplanting the last few trees from my tree nursery, and then sleep for a few days with the start of Ramadan (end of next week, probably). Gotta hit the ground running and plan the last 9 months or so of my Service, can you believe it?

So back to my trip…AWESOME! After some relatively quick flights from Dakar to JFK to O’Hare, I arrived in CL and immediately got to work hanging out with friends and meeting fiancés. Immediately I was overwhelmed with all of the choices around me, especially related to food. I can’t tell you how many times people asked what I wanted to do or where I wanted to go and I had nothing to offer in response except an open jaw, look of disbelief, and muttering “I don’t even know where to start…” Seriously. America is the land of plenty—really, the land of way too much, but I feel like that is a post for another time.

So to the surprise of many, I’m sure, I didn’t have my first coffee until I had been back for four days—Conscious Cup Latte, so good! However, my body has been off of caffeine, especially espresso, that I didn’t realize what the side effects might be…so I dragged my parents to the gym and had the most intense workout I’ve had in recent memory (I even ran, of my own free will!). I was on fire, full of energy and couldn’t stop, until I crashed a few hours later. It was rough. That wasn’t the first time I felt such extreme effects of caffeine on my trip—kinda worrying, but so delicious that it was totally worth it. It was quite interesting to actually be able to notice the direct effects of the caffeine. This doesn’t mean I plan on cutting my coffee habit upon my return to the States—maybe just curb it a (very) little. I really enjoyed being able to be back in the coffeehouse/café culture in both CL and DC, even as I went from one coffee date to another to another (though I can count my actual coffee drinks over the entire trip on one hand—I think). Absolutely fabulous!

After a few days in CL, I headed to DC, my post-University home and met up with some of my faves. A highlight was my Serere-titles “Garyo, I yeriik margaritas” (Come, let’s drink margaritas) party at Cactus Cantina. I was honored and amazed by everyone who showed up to say hi and give hugs. Seriously, it was such an awesome mix of people (MT, AU, XA, Brussels, etc, all showed up to say “hey”) and while I was worried at first about people not knowing each other or getting along, my worrying was for naught. It was awesome and my only regret is that I didn’t take any pictures that night (turns out my battery was dead anyways, but still)—instead I will have to save the images in my memory. Fabulous, seriously.

Other DC highlights included Mama Marcia’s West African Dance class at Dance Place, seeing the ladies from Women for Women International, hanging at MTC with those cool cats, getting a Whole Foods salad with a former resident, bridesmaid dress shopping with Em, innumerable coffee/breakfast/coffee/dinner/random chat dates with people, the Mahan housewarming party, seeing the White House and wandering around DC/MD, and so much more. Special thanks to the Lewis’, Mahans, Abby and Co, and Em and Brian for housing me throughout my DC stay and many more thanks to everyone who showed me such kindness and generosity while I was around. Your kindness will not soon be forgotten.

Weddings, weddings, weddings. All of us over here in Senegal are convinced there’s something in the water over there (the US), because it sure seems like 90% of the people I know are getting married (only slight exaggeration). Tainted water however allowed me to have an INCREDIBLE time at the weddings of two different very close hometown friends. I had so much fun dressing up in pretty American-style dresses (made from Senegalese fabric), putting my contacts in, wearing makeup, and doing my hair in something other than a ponytail/bun. While being able to eat delicious food and then dance to fabulous music is a staple at Senegalese celebrations as well, they just aren’t the same as American weddings. I traveled with Em and her fiancé Brian down to South Carolina for our good middle/high school friend Michelle’s oceanfront wedding. I had never been through the Carolinas, so eating real Carolina BBQ (before and during the wedding!), wandering the streets of Charleston, drinking Sweet Tea, and reuniting with high school friends was a blast—the rain only made a very brief visit before dinner started. Early the morning after, I headed right back to CL for my good friend Jason’s wedding, which was also a blast! The guests were some of my closest CL friends, the music was rockin’, everyone looked beautiful/handsome, and I caught the bouquet (woot woot!). Both weddings were different and equally enjoyable in very different ways—thank you for inviting me to join you guys on such special days! Congrats to Richard and Lori Shelmerdine, Jim and Michelle Gribble, and Jason and Colleen Deal, all of whom got married during my visit to the States.

After the wedding extravaganzas, I was able to finally spend some (all-to-brief) time with my sister and family for a few days. Lots of shopping with my sister, gym time, a quick trip into Chicago, a pilates mini-class with Deb, strawberry shortcake, Italian and Mexican foods, and a fabulous big family party were all highlights of the brief four days I had in CL before returning to Senegal. A lot of time was spent stressing about gifts (cadeaux) to bring back to my Senegalese family here, but I hope I have some good stuff. [Side note: apparently nail polish is NOT appropriate in the Muslim culture…oops!] It went by way too fast.

The trip was good for my spirit and soul. It reminded me of the people I have in the US whom I care deeply for and who care for me as well. I had several amazing conversations with different friends about a variety of subjects which alone made such a long trip worth every penny. Things have changed in the 18ish months I’ve been gone, but not as drastically as I had feared when I left (and thus would miss while serving here). It was reassuring and affirming. Life goes on and people change, but the important stuff still matters, which I needed to see.

So after my excited (and long) post about my vacay, please don’t think that I’m not excited/glad to be back here in Senegal. As hard as it was to leave, there was never a question of me not going back. My life and work are here right now. I have family here and there, friends here and there as well. God sent me to Senegal for a purpose and I don’t believe (err don’t know if) I’ve fulfilled that purpose, so I’m not leaving quite yet. There’s so much I want to do in the last 9 months of my service—probably more than I should attempt to get down—in order to fulfill my commitment to the US Government, myself, and most importantly, to my village. In this next year, look forward to hearing about the second year of the school garden, a reproductive-health lesson training conference, a girls’ leadership day, a first edition copy of the Serere-English dictionary, health lessons in my community and at the school (yea hand washing and water treatment!), and anything else I can get my hands on and conceivably work on, a feelanga Roog (If God wills it; literally: if it’s delicious to God—don’t you love that?!).

And, of course, musings about where God will send me in the next chapter of my life…

Thank you again to everyone who made my trip to the US possible. To my parents, sister, extended family, DC/MD/VA hosts, breakfast/coffee/lunch/dinner/random meeting dates, thank you for sharing your love and opening your arms to this sweaty and dirty PCV. Your kindness will not soon be forgotten and if any of you want to make it out to my part of the world, I will do all in my power to make sure you experience some real Senegalese teranga, or hospitality, for all that you showed me during the 2.5 weeks of my stay.

brief...

I promise a (ridiculously long) post about my trip to America is coming (not like I didn't see many of you while I was there...), but until then check out the pictures from the trip.

Amerik, Alhumdouliliah!

Hopefully I will get the update posted tomorrow, before the new Trainees come on Thursday morning, Inchallah. Miss you all already and enjoy the heat! Just remember, you have access to A/C!

Belated 4th of July Post

So as I was traveling back in our 7 Place from Kedegou to Tamba on July 6, I had all of the words for a nice blog post about the 4th of July. Ya know, about cross-cultural sharing and community and a new landscape, but by the time I got to a computer, I was too tired and the words escaped me. Now I'm still tired and can really only think about my upcoming vacation. :)

So, if you want to see the trip, click here to check out my Picassa site and see what happens when a bunch of PCVs take a road trip to the land of hills and waterfalls. It was a great trip and a great chance to see a new part of the country. My friend Daniel was a great tourguide for the waterfall at his site in Dindefello, so thanks for showing us around! Honestly, the best part was getting together with a bunch of PCVs from my Stage as well as seeing the new kids for the first time since the end of April. Man, how I missed them!

Also, I've "secretly" updated a bunch of other pics on the Picassa site as my parents discovered.

Time to run off and finish packing my stuff for traveling to Dakar this afternoon. I fly out of Dakar early early Monday morning/super late Sunday night and should arrive in Chicago before noon. Can't wait to see everyone on the other side of the ocean!

Fighting Malaria 1 Bar of Soap at a Time

Lately I've been doing my bit as a Health PCV to fight Malaria by cooking up batches of what is warmly referred to as đuu book (the d and b have to be pronounced by making a difficult swallowing sound as you say it), or mosquito "neem" lotion (made from the leaves of the neem tree, which naturally keeps bugs away). I held two different formations (training sessions) with women of my village, teaching them how to make it, talking about how to prevent Malaria, and passing out bags of it (for a 50franc participation fee, or I would be making lotion for the entire village). In total, I've made 7 batches of the stuff and have very few bags remaining (I also gave away some as cadeaux to various people). The stuff is a hit, so hopefully people will use it to keep off the mosquitoes and make more of it when they run out.

How to Make Neem Lotion (đuu book)

Step 1: Grate a large bar (240g) of Fanico Soap. It can be any large bar of soap, but Fanico smells better. Soap is easier to grate once it's been sitting out of its package for a few days.


Step 2: Bowl 1.5L of water. While the water heats, tear up two large handfuls of neem leaves. (Go to the tree, grab several stems of leaves, tear them off the stem, and tear them up)



Step 3: When the water is boiled, put the two large handfuls of broken up leaves in the water and cook for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the water is green.

Step 4: Drain the leaves from the water. This can be done by pouring the leaf-water through a clean cloth into a bowl or bucket, or by using a slotted spoon to manually pick the leaves out.

Step 5: (Sorry the picture is sideways) Stir in the grated soap, little by little, until it's thoroughly mixed and the soap has melted into the hot water.

Step 6: Add 1/4L (or just 100f worth) of cooking oil, little by little, stirring as you add it.

Step 7: Let the hot mixture cool for a bit and then put it in bags or containers to give/sell to your friends. If it's too hot, the bags will break and hot liquid will spill in your hut.

Step 8: You're done! Rub it on yourself and your kids to prevent mosquitoes from biting you at night (before sleeping under a mosquito net). Make more to sell in your village or at the weekly market. It's soooo easy and only costs about $1.50 to make!

Quick Update

I don't have a lot of time or very much to say so I will keep this short. I just got back from spending nearly a week in Dakar (way too much Big City time for this village Vol) for my Mid Service Medical Appointment. Mid Service Med basically means general physical and dental (free cleaning and flouride treatment too!) checkups to see what kind of a toll life in this country is taking on a PCV. Good news, I am healthy! (or at least as healthy as a Rural PCV can be, with the usual ailments) The best part of Dakar was being there with several good friends from my Stage for their appointments and thus being able to hang out, get icecream (mmm Obama Cookie and Strawberry!), buy fabric, and run errands around the PC Office/Dakar.

As for the village, rain has been slowly starting, a bit delayed from last year. I overheard a bunch of different convos between people last week about how they were worried that we won't have a very good rainy season because all of the rain clouds kept passing over us without any rain. Surrounding areas are already planting, but we haven't had enough rain yet. Hopefully there will be a good Rainy Season and harvest, Inchallah. The one positive about the delay in the rains is that NO ONE in the village is done with their dry season work. Yes, the Dry Season lasts about 8 months and yet it's mostly been in the last month that people (men) have gotten off their butts and been building batiments (homes), roofing huts, and building latrines (my project). This just amazes me because March and most of April, the men of all ages in my village just sat around, playing games and listening to music, and now are running around trying to get everything done--and having to start prepping their fields. Good job guys. I guess procrastination is a problem here too (not like I should be one talking...).

Anyways, so the influx of hurried work before the rains has slowed down our village mason and my latrine project. Where several weeks ago he was doing two latrines in one day, the past few weeks have gone by with just 3 latrines being done in one week. Not cool with me because, frankly, I am ready to be done with this project (at least til next dry season, as I've told people). When I left my village, only 6 were left to be done and told the mason it would be GREAT to come back to them all being done. Here's to hoping!

So I only have a few days in the village before heading on my first real traveling in Senegal: down to Kedegou to celebrate the 4th of July with the majority of PC Senegal. In the four or so days, I hope to make a few more batches of neem lotion (natural mosquito repellent...I did 2 causeries on it in the last few weeks and have sold approximately 50 bags of it for about $.12), check up on the latrines and talk to people about covering the latrine holes, help transition the school garden to the Rainy Season, hold an end-of-year evaluation meeting on the school garden, outplant a few trees, talk Malaria (I think we just got a bunch of free nets last week, yay!), and prepare people for the fact I will be gone most of the summer.

And so begins my summers of travel and generally being out of site...

I love and miss everyone!

My Weekend at Sin Fest

Muslim Sin Fest, ie a big Catholic pilgrimage/party!

Story to follow...

So this weekend was perhaps one of the best weekends I've had in Senegal in a very long time and definitely one of the best since I arrived. Saturday, feeling stressed and annoyed at the people around me, I boarded a bus with 10 other PCVs headed to the beach to celebrate some birthdays. I was along for the ride only, as I was not in the mood for a big crazy beach trip of that nature, asking the bus driver to drop me off in Sindia, a small crossroads town known for it's towering bowls of mangoes available for around $1 each. I found a bench in the shade, greeted the men sitting nearby, and pulled out my latest reading book, expecting nothing but non-stop "hey, let's annoy the toubab" games as I waited for Jen, another PCV from my Stage coming from Dakar to meet me. Amazingly, apart from some general questioning and people finding out I speak Serere Sine/Saloum (and thus making other friends who spoke to me in Serere), I was allowed to read my book in peace. No probing questions about my marital status or "Hey Toubab!" or anything. It was such a pleasant wait!

When Jen arrived, we bought a few bowls of mangoes and hopped in a car headed to Popenguine with one of my new Serere buddies, a quiet Serere (Serere Safen, very different from Serere Sine/Saloum, so I don't understand it...) beach town to meet up with the PCV who lives there.

Popenguine, a small town of perhaps 2,000-some inhabitants is a popular spot for PC Trainees to visit for a weekend during PST, but this weekend would be anything but quiet as over 100,000 people descended on it for Pentecost. In the late 19th Century, some missionaries in the area were walking along the beach and saw an image of the Black Madonna--an African Virgin Mary--and Infant Jesus. Ever since then, the Catholics of Senegal have celebrated this apparition and this was the 121st celebration.

Some information on Senegal: Senegal is something like 90% Muslim, 8% Christian (mostly Catholic), and 2% indigenous beliefs, and that's being generous to the Christians. Popenguine itself is really only like 10-20% Christian, but it boasts a beautiful church in the heart of town and beautiful grounds for its priests and brothers, and hundreds of thousands of pilgrims each year. In Senegal, Christians are most likely members of either the Serere or the Diola (Casamance) ethnic groups--major generalization, but true. These groups, especially the Sereres (who fought slavery by hiding in the islands and were some of the last to conform to Islam), converted to Christianity and found favor with the French, and thus have a history of generally being wealthier, better educated, more powerful (2 former presidents, etc), and with smaller families (imagine, Catholics known for small families?!?!) than their Muslim counterparts. Again, I am overgeneralizing, but I'm trying to paint a picture of one aspect of Senegalese society. In my own (Serere) village, myself and a teacher (not from the area) are the only Christians, but there is a handful in the roadtown 4km away and a scattering of others in various villages. That is all to say that there were a lot of Sereres (of all dialects) around this weekend, which was awesome!

Anyway, we arrived in Popenguine on a Saturday afternoon only to find it quite transformed from the sleepy beach town we knew and loved. A few thousand people had already arrived, camping at relatives' homes or setting up tents in random patches of grass or gravel across town. Street food vendors were beginning to set up shop in a way that was strangely reminiscent of the Taste of Crystal Lake (or any other similar event), selling sandwiches with chicken, eggs, onions, fish, you name it--plus pork! (An obvious rarity in a mostly Muslim country) All 3 Senegalese phone companies were around, promoting their products, plus cooking oil companies, Coca Cola, tea companies, Obama Rice (a new brand), and many other companies had signs and tents, giving away free hats or shirts to people around. Ankith, the PCV there, showed us around to all of his "hot spots" and introduced us to his friends and "village" family while at the same time being totally astounded by the transformation that was taking place in his village and would only get crazier the next few days.

On Sunday afternoon, THOUSANDS of marchers converged on Popenguine--walking from Dakar, Thies, and Mbour (distances of 30-60km, if not more). Groups were divided by parishes, coming from each of those cities, and farther regions such as Kolda and Zuiginchore (below the Gambia) and even from a few neighboring countries such as Cape Verde. It was an awesome site to watch: exhausted marchers walking/running/skipping in, singing fabulous songs, spraying water from bottles and branches, and wearing matching white march tshirts and matching brightly patterned wax pants. There was so much energy in the air, I couldn't help but clap and dance along (only a little, I did have to restrain myself from really busting it out!). It was a hot day and reminded me of Toronto in 2002 when I was a pilgrim along with 800,000+ other people to World Youth Day in Toronto. There was one super energetic group that sang, ran forward, and then turned around, ran backwards thus confusing people behind them, danced, and then ran forward again that totally reminded me of any one of the St Elizabeth Ann Seton mission teams I had been a part of over my high school years.

Earlier that morning, Jen, Ankith, and I visited an American girl one village over, who is in Senegal on a university fellowship--she is basically doing her own Peace Corps thing, but without all of the benefits of healthcare, support, etc--named Brittany (she is awesome and super brave, I couldn't do what she did!). She joined us as we welcomed the pilgrims into Popenguine, climbed around, and explored the enormous and beautiful stage area and greater Popenguine that was all abuzz with the event. In Senegal, religious events such as this (or similar Muslim equivalents Gamou and Magal), are basically GINORMOUS shopping events as well. Vendors appeared out of nowhere (ie Dakar, Kaolack, Thies, all of the roads from Podor to Zuiginchore and everywhere in between), peddling tshirts with the Virgin Mary and Jesus, glow in the dark crucifixes, laminated prayer cards, plastic church hats, rosaries, Bibles, and other "religious items," not to mention hats, used clothing, shoes, purses, dvds (not real, of course), beaded bracelets and shells, etc, AND all types of street snack food and drink, including kinkiliba (a type of tea--I purchased a HUGE bag of leaves for my vil fam), homemade popsicles, cookies, gum, local juices, fried foods, mangoes, water, beignets (Senegalese donuts), and so MUCH more! As always, prices were only "kind of" set and thus up for negotiation (except on food), but amazingly, since this was a Senegalese celebration and not a Western one, we were mostly given fair prices and treated like everyone else, AMAZING!

So Sunday evening, there was a big mass for the youth while everyone else took private prayer time and later that night was a big mass. It started an hour + later than it should have, and for obvious reasons (the heat and walking 30+ km that day), most people were practically asleep during the mass or out in the village eating and drinking up. The mass (what we saw before we left 2+ hours into it) included an interpretive dance segment and a (long) theater piece about the life of Paul. The mood around town was one of excitement, friendship, and celebration of the Catholic faith. It was cool, and there were so many freakin' people!

Monday morning was the big mass of the weekend, and I mean BIG! Seriously, well over 100,000 people crammed into the large space, specially created for this event each year. And, there were probably another 20,000+ people not at mass--either sleeping, standing around, selling things, or helping with crowd control (military, police, firefighters, Red Cross, etc). The picture to the side is taken during mass. We were standing on the grass behind the alter and thus couldn't really see anything except Red Cross officials and military people carrying people who passed out due to the heat, out on stretchers every two or three minutes. The music was pretty good, but the mass was hard to follow since they kept turning off the speaker nearest us every time the priest spoke. This was mass meets Senegal in the fact that people were standing, sitting, squeezing past other people into tiny spaces, and the heat made it necessary for people to drink water and suck on popsicles and frozen juices in the midst of mass. However, everyone that wanted to, received Holy Communion, which was pretty incredible. It was done similar to the World Youth Day I attended back in 2002: teams of priests, nuns, alter servers, and boy/girl scouts (scouts and "guides" are run through the Catholic Church in France and Senegal), were dispersed to various locations across the entire grounds to give out the Eucharist. It was really cool. The music was also, as it should be here in West Africa, pretty rockin'.

After mass, we wandered around, amazed by all of the vendors (and all of the ridiculous junk they had to sell) and the crowd. At one point as we walked by, an obnoxious person selling tshirt from the back of a truck and using a loud speaker called out "I miss you!" a phrase that made me think "typical Senegalese...finding the white girls in the crowd and calling out to them," until it was followed by "Khady Diouf, I miss you! Khady Fall (Jen), I miss you!" I looked up and saw that loud speaker man was in fact my good friend Bartholomew from Thies (he is the best waiter in Senegal and thus Jen and I became good friends with him)! He proceeded to chat with us, while leaving the loudspeaker turned on, and I couldn't stop laughing for a good half hour after. Oh what a small world! While shopping around, we found a Serere Bible (which I now own), a partially translated Wolof Bible for Jen, and a fabulously ridiculous and horribly-printed muscle tank (Mary on one side, Jesus on the other). As we worked our way through the crowd, Brittany unfortunately became the victim of a pickpocket (lame!) who snagged her phone, but fortunately Jen had just received a freebe phone from a Dakar expat, so Brittany wasn't out too much (just a bunch of numbers). It was unfortunate, but could have been worse. And then we ate delicious cashew fruits on our way to the make-shift garage set up for all of the thousands of people.

I rode with Jen back to Mbour, rather than head straight to Kaolack, which was a good decision. We talked about the fun weekend, how good it was to get away, and generally catch up over delicious PIZZA!

So back to the whole "Sin Fest," which I am sure that you are all wondering about... first off, ANY Catholic event here in Senegal comes complete with cheap Senegalese alcohol--beer, wine, hard liquor, as well as palm wine--and these things were in the plenty as make-shift bars and palm wine vendors littered the roads everywhere the eye could look, and people were definitely partaking. Islam does not allow followers to drink alcohol (many do, but they aren't supposed to), so both alcohol and pork (which was being grilled up everywhere as well) are big defining characteristics of Catholic events. The authorities actually had the good forwarning to close down the beach, since there aren't any lifeguards, to prevent any intoxicated people from doing anything stupid. Another big thing was all of the couples everywhere--like seriously! In Senegal, it is rare to see a guy and girl hold hands or display any affection in public, with the exception of male/female prostitues and Westerners, while it is very common to see groups of men only touching each other and holding hands or groups of women doing the same. This weekend was a different story. Young guy/girl couples were talking together, holding hands, hugging, and generally interacting together in a positive way. We were all kind of, admittedly, shocked to see such a change, not realizing that the lack of handholding, etc, was probably a result of Islam's influence on local culture. And finally, there was the fact that for the better part of the weekend, no one harassed us at all. As a group of four foreigners, we were large enough to watch out for each other but small enough not to draw too much attention to ourselves. People just let us be, rather than saying "Toubab! TOUBAB!!!!!!!!!" over and over, which was just incredible. Catholics, go figure!

I also want to express my surprise and appreciation towards the planning committee who put the entire event together. There were tons of military people, police, firefighters, and general security people, plus ambulances, Red Cross volunteers, and several make-shift hospital areas for people who got sick/dehydrated/injured/otherwise ill. There were tons of port-o-potties all around town so people wouldn't relieve themselves in public, which is the first time we had seen such things in this country. There was a lot of water, though people didn't drink as much of it as they should have, and things were generally clean (no cholera, unlike Touba). The people of Popenguine will have a good amount of cleanup to do, but nothing compared with how bad it could have been. The local TV station had been showing public logistic meetings for the two weeks before the pilgrimage, so they had definitely been planning ahead. Things were as orderly and organized as they get in Senegal and we were genuinely impressed.

Thank you Ankith and your Popenguine family for being such kind and generous hosts for us for the weekend. Ankith kindly gave Jen and I his double bed for the weekend and his family kept us fed (when we weren't indulging in delicious street food).

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Tomorrow I am headed back to site. This weekend was the first time in over a month where I went two whole days without doing any work, which was incredible. It wasn't the type of spiritual retreat that I had hoped for, for various reasons (in many ways I was more of a spectator than a pilgrim, or so it felt), but it was a great psychological break from everything. I have to remind myself that it's ok and actually quite good to do that once in awhile rather than work myself to exhaustion. This week will be more latrines, scholarship follow-up (hopefully more on that in a future post), maybe some garden work/planning ahead, and spending time with friends and family in the village because I haven't done that in awhile. My APCD (boss) is coming to visit my site in a week and a half (Inchallah) and I need to plan ahead the next three weeks before life gets really crazy for 2 months straight. Love you and miss you all!

Btw, pictures are updated on my Picasa website, so check them out!