Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Tabaski...Like Christmas except without warm fuzzy feelings...mostly just warm.

Tabaski or Eid-al-Adha is celebrated by Muslims worldwide to commemorate the willingness of Abraham to sacrifice his son Ishmael as an act of obedience to God, before God intervened to provide him with a sheep to sacrifice instead. I don't know how many of my villagers actually know that, I might have had to wikipedia it myself...
In my village this is an excuse to dress fancy, eat well (slaughter a goat), make (more) tea and not go to school. Thanks be to Allah, no fasting is associated with this holiday so it is my preferred Senegalese celebration.



Our breakfast of party noodles and potatoes before prayer as opposed to corn porridge.



The women praying at mosque.




My mom with all of her grandchildren.



My brothers lookin snazzy!



My namesake and her daughters.



My BABIES! Hawa, Ami and Binta...getting bigger everyday!

Life Update in Pictures



A recent trip to Kedougou, Tambacounda's southern neighbor. This place looks more like Guinea than the rest of Senegal. Greenery, mountains, waterfalls and Pulaars...Senegal's most scenic region by far.



Move in day!!! These are two of the girls in my Girls Club and I waiting for a bus because Fatu (left) and Hadja (Right) were moving to Tamba for school. This was such a rewarding day, checking out their new school and houses and touring Tamba. Who run the world, GIRLS!



I got a visit from some American University students a few months ago. They are in a study abroad program in Dakar that matches students with Peace Corps Volunteers to give them rural village experiences. I always love sharing my village and Pulaar culture so we had a great time!



Back when my village was beautiful post rainy season. Now everything is dead again, but oh to remember...

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

'Til the Cows Come Home

Here in Pulaar land, households are made up of workers devoted to farming, herding and household/child raising duties. In my family, my brothers farm millet, corn, cotton, and beans, while the women farm rice and peanuts. I have brothers that take turns herding our cows and of course every woman takes on the responsibility of child raising, cleaning, cooking, etc.

Insight into herding: This little excerpt is about an event that takes place six times during the transition from rainy season to harvest time. I like to call it, "The Cow Party." Let me take you through the days events.

6 a.m. I wake up to the women pounding raw salt, leaves and bark with their mortar and pestles. People are excited because TODAY is COW PARTY DAY

7 a.m. One of my brothers knocks heavily on my corrugated tin door. "Aissatou! It's cow party day!" Although really its something like, "give the cows a medicinal drink day."

8 a.m. Whoever is herding that day goes to collect the cows and take them to the special spot in the woods where we will all meet.

9 a.m. The rest of my brothers, younger siblings and I start power walking to said special place to prepare for the cows arrival.

9:30 a.m. Those of us preparing for the cows arrive at the special spot and start digging a perfectly round 'bowl' for the cows. We take out rocks and try to make the bowl a perfect circle and as clean as possible (I mean it is a hole in the ground.)



10 a.m. We start filling buckets from a nearby seasonal pond and fill said cow bowl.





10:15 a.m. We break open a certain kind of branch to extract the insides that are good for the cows health.



10:30 a.m. We start washing these chunks of branches in the bowl. It produces a slimy substance that makes the water the right consistency. I am told that the slimy stuff prompts the cows to eat more. Anyways we scrub these pieces of branch for quite awhile to get all the good stuff out.


11 a.m. The consistency of the slimey water is checked over and over again.



11:15 a.m. The little girls and I get hot and decide to cool off in a little seasonal pond.


11: 30 a.m We all the pounded leaves to the mixture, next the pounded bark, then the pounded salt. Everyone tastes the mixture and determines if it is fit for the cows yet.

Noon. We heard the cows in the distance and my herding brothers and the cow drink preparation brothers start calling out to one another in random noises.

A little later, the cows come running in, excited, knowing wait is awaiting them. Here is a video of my brother Mamadian bringing in the cows. Pay attention to the calling noises of my brothers. I think they are pretty cool. (I didn't know I was still taping half way through. Whoops.)



My brother explain that they do this to keep the cows healthy. Each element has medicinal qualities. No one can quite explain it, as it is a tradition that has been passed down since the Pulaars started herding. It seems to me it's simply an oral rehydration drink for cows. Either way it is a fun past time and I thought it was interesting enough to share with ya'll. Hope you enjoy!

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

"Who run the world? GIRLS. Who run the world? GIRLS!"

One of my secondary projects in Senegal is Gender and Development (GAD) work. Peace Corps Senegal has put emphasis on exploring gender issues and working particularly with youth to improve understanding of gender and problems surrounding the concept of gender. These problems definitely affect both sexes but I have approached it from mostly the teen girl point of view with such problems being forced marriage, female genital cutting, early marriage, lack of schooling for girls, etc.

The reason I bring this up is because it is the beginning of the school year here in Senegal. The time of the year when parents decide if they will be sending their kids to school. In a country with an extremely high birth rate, and low employment, parents often can't afford to send all of there kids to school. This many times means that girls are not sent to school or are forced to drop out very early.

Something Peace Corps Senegal does to help combat the drop out rate is provide scholarships to promising young women. The program is called the Michelle Sylvester Scholarship and it is in memory of a Peace Corps Volunteer who was dedicated to girls' education. The scholarship provides funds for school entrance fees for nominated girls and additional school supplies for winners. Girls are chosen through a process of essays, interviews, teacher recommendations and grade reviewal. Other important factors are strong motivation and demonstrated ability by the girl and lack of financial and familial support.

This year I got the chance to administer the scholarship at my local middle school. It was a lot of jumping though loop hoops, tracking kids down throughout several villages, dealing with unmotivated teaching staff and other annoyances BUT in the end I couldn't be happier to have participated in the scholarship program. The nine nominated girls were inspirational in their courage and motivation even without financial means or familial support. Reading their essays and giving interviews I learned about each of their personal obstacles and aspirations. It reminded me how privileged I am to come from a society that values women's education and made me so grateful towards the American women who fought to make that the standard. It also taught me more about what it means to be a woman. To strive through the seemingly impossible with a smile on your face and determination in your heart. These young girls were simply amazing.

Here is a picture of the three scholarship winners at my middle school after we went school supply shopping. What a fun thing to do with such grateful rays of light! There names from left to right are Makhamba, Fatou and Iline Tama. Tomorrows leaders of Senegal. Inchallah,



Another way GAD work has impacted me is through my Girls Club. I started the group primarily to focus on life-skills, the importance of education and obstacles that Senegalese girls face. The girls and I have very close and now our meetings are mostly just hanging out and having fun. We dance, play games, swim and act oh so silly. Fortunately, depending on how you look at it, these issues tend to come up in conversation anyway. It has been rewarding to be a part of a group that started as acquaintances awkwardly talking about uncomfortable issues to a family where the issues are thrown on the table and worked through together.

This year two of the girls in our group are having problems continuing school because of birth certificate problems. I have checked out a private middle school in our regional capital and am hopeful that they will attend school there with some financial help from some pretty cool parentals back in the U.S.of A. Anyways keep all the girls, especially these two, in your thoughts and prayers.

Here is a picture of us making bracelets with the cool beading kits that my grandparents sent. Thanks Rava and Papa, the girls loved it and now we all have matching jewelry.



The Michelle Sylvester Scholarship is still underfunded for the current school year. If you would like to make a donation (and you would) please do so at: https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=donate.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=685-181

Who run the world? GIRLS.

It's Raining Babies or Three Babies in Three Months or This is the Most Effective Birth Control

On October 5th my family and I celebrated the healthy delivery of a yet another baby girl into the world. That makes three baby girls in three months in my immediate family.

This time the mommy was my tokora (name-sake) Aissatou, the woman I am closest to in my family here in Senegal. With two healthy babies and mommies already in my family I started to worry statistically what that meant for Aissa in a village where it is very common to have childbirth complications. We also started getting anxious that Aissa might be carrying twins, increasing the risks dramatically.

Needless to say I was instantly full of emotion when my mom Penda knocked on my door at 7 am on the 5th, shouting "Tokora maa jibbini!" "Your name-sake has given birth!" I booked out of the room frantically, needing to know NOW if Aissa and baby were both healthy. I ran into her hut and found her laying on the floor, next to her, baby was laying on a sheet, still connected to the placenta maybe a few minutes old. I surveyed everyone, tearing up and laughing, seeing that both mom and baby seemed to be doing well.

Although I hoped to be there for the birth it was such an honor to help them afterwards. My moms tied the cord and cut it and I helped Aissa get the baby to breast-feed. It was such a raw few moments when everyone was simply human and we were just souls working together in love.

Here is a picture of baby Adama Hawa Becky, at a week old on the day of her baptism and naming ceremony. Her Koranic name is Adama Hawa after her aunt and you might have guessed the Becky is after my very own american mother.



Binta, my sister Hawa's baby, is now two months old. Here is a picture of her and Ruby bonding.



And then there is my dad and second mom's child Aminata who was named after me. Aminata/Amanda...you know. She is about two and a half months now and quite the chunkaroo.



Life has been all about these little girls and their mommies for the past few months. I've taken on the household responsibilities of a Senegalese woman; pounding corn for meals, bathing kids, cooking, sweeping, washing dishes...you name it. It's been nice to take some of the weight of Penda, Hawa and Aissa's shoulders and pamper them as much as you can pamper someone in Senegal.

You join Peace Corps thinking, idealistically, you are going to change the world and that your service is going to center around projects attempting to do so. Then, you realize, that while you hope you are making a difference, just important are the human connections and love that grow out of nothing. I am happier than I've been at most points in my service, just being a part of a family, taking care of babies and watching them grow. How rewarding to know that I am truly part of the family. These women are my sisters, these babies are my nieces. Thanks be to God!

Friday, September 30, 2011

Ma and Pa do Senegal: Heart warmth. Hardship. Hilarity.

My parents’ plane landed at the crack of dawn on my 25th birthday. I, being the responsible adult that I am, somehow slept through my alarm after my ‘anniversaire’ celebrations and was an hour late to pick them up. They, still with bright smiles on their faces, welcomed me with birthday hats and kuzos…on themselves and all of their newfound Senegalese friends. I hadn’t seen them in 9 months. How could a birthday get any better?

The two weeks they were here my parents experiences the full scope of my life in Senegal. Dear Senegal both wrapped its loving arms around them, while jabbing its knee into their stomachs. Here’s the jist of what went on.

My parents and fellow peace corps volunteers finally got to fall in love. It was nice for my American family here to meet the real live Amerian people who raised me and vice versa. My parents and I had a lovely seafood dinner in Dakar with some of my besties. They wasted no time getting to know one another and within minutes all of my embarrassing moments, as witnessed by either party, were thrown onto the table. It’s like my friends and parents were made for one another.

Team Tamba and mom and dad also got a lovely night of togetherness. It was neat to show my parents the house that I skype them from and that we Tambanites conduct our costume parties in. (PS: Tambacounda is my regional capital…we like to call it Sweet Home Tambacounda). It’s hard to explain to someone the bond that we PCV’s share, at first, simply because we share a region so I’m glad my parents got to see it firsthand and meet my dear Tamba folks!

Village. Oh Village. You are a lover and a beast all in one. My parents were both lucky enough to experience being REALLY sick without electricity or running water, in the hot, loud African bush. But seriously each of them were confined to bed…and the douche… for several days. This was real…shitty (haha)…no but seriously a real bummer considering what we had all had in mind.

On the upside, and it’s a big one, after everyone was healthy it was absolutely amazing to share my families with one another. For my Senegalese family, who has always known me as an independent adult, to see that, I too, have a mother and father who raised me. And for my parents to see that my Senegalese family is just that, my family. To see how deeply I love them and how deeply they love me.

You could just see the bonds of love form between my parents and my Senegalese family, ever so easily. My five year old niece teaching my dad clapping games, my mom playing bubbles with the kids and giving them light up wands to chase the bubbles with, my dad’s wrestling (hilarious considering my Senegalese dad is a midgety old man that probably weighs 85 lbs), mom showing my sisters my childhood photos , dad teaching Souleyman Jenga…all precious.

Mom fell in love with my very pregnant tokora (namesake), Aissatou. She took such good care of her, seeing how hard it is to be pregnant here, and made it her mission to see that Issa was comfortable and laughing at all times. Issa LOVED being doted on! She said that my mom was her mom too now. It’s hard to think of many women whom I love as ferociously as these two amazing women, so seeing their love beyond language to one another was enough to make me teary eyed at times. Mom and my younger sister Fatu also bonded quickly. Fatu has had a rough childhood and it was no surprise that my mom would swoop in and be the first to love the underdog with all her heart. Many nights my mom, sisters and I stayed up late talking and giggling...just like in America.

For my dad my brothers Mamadian and Souleyman were what made village so special. I often found them hanging out, regardless of whether or not I was there to translate. They somehow found a way to communicate just fine most of the time. Mamadian took my dad on a hike to a lookout spot in the woods and Mamadian came back with a random new English vocabulary. Big log. Small stick. Souleyman and dad were Jenga rivals and soccer fanatics. Souleyman made it his mission to beat dad in Jenga, where dad made it his mission to cheer Souleyman and Diakari Yow on at their soccer games (even though he couldn’t tell who was who after dropping his glasses in my douche).

It is funny how my parents gravitated towards the family members I am closest too. I don’t know if it’s because of my obvious love for them or because they are just that good. Probably both. Anyways, what an overwhelmingly meaningful few days. I really can’t compare how significant it many other mile stones in life.

Not only did my family love mom and dad, but (obviously), my whole village did. We had quite the dance and drum circle to welcome my parents (after they were finally feeling somewhat better). All the women danced their hearts out, including my rhythmically talented and sweet as can be girls group and my very pregnant sister and neighbor, both hard to take your eyes off of.

Out in vil my mom got to spend time with my work partner Ablay and his family, and again some of the girls from my girls group, all of whom have played a big role in my life over the past year and a half. An ancient old lady, Salemata, also tried to breast feed from my mother because, “Your mother has come! Our mother has come! Let us breast feed until we are full!” Yep.

Before leaving village my parents and I went to Wassadou to spend the day with my adopted Catholic family there. This is a family I hands down cannot imagine my service without. There are three girls about my age, Veronique, Terise and Marie Madeline, who are unmarried and without kids. Pretty much unheard of in Senegal. Thank you Catholics. This means that they are essentially the only women who I can relate to well and relate we do. We have a blast whenever put in one another’s company. They are my escape from village. My sleepover haven. Their dad, Illi, is the leader of the church and someone who I trust and have no problem going to for advice. That and the nature of our constant joking makes our relationship similar to that of me my Papa in America. Love this family.

My parents and Illi sat in our little cement and corrugated tin church and thanked one another back and forth. My parents know how important having this home away from village has been for me and thanked Illi over and over for welcoming me into the family and taking care of me. Illi told my parents how special I was to their family and church and thanked them over and over for raising me well and accepting my time in Senegal. Maybe I was just emotional during my whole parents visit but this was yet another time I wanted to cry out of pure joy and love.

My parents gave the church a black Madonna that made Illi the happiest man in the world. He insisted that I take a picture of my parents and him posing in front of the church, my parents with Mary in their hands giving her to Illi. Cheesy and freaking adorable.

That day my parents got to spend time with the catholic sisters I love so much. They are what the Senegalese call si-si’s. This has no English equivalent but is a combination of silly, playful, a little naughty, outgoing, etc. We joked around, all laughter. The theme of the day was, “jay fundae,” big butt. My parents were pretty good at that joke by now, pointing to me and saying JAY FUNDAE. It was refreshing to share yet another facet of my life here in Senegal with mom and dad.

As village time came to a close it was a very sad goodbye. My mom, my tokora, and I stayed up past midnight, all exhausted by clinging to the short time left we had with one another. As my parents and I headed towards the car, every single family member came and gathered around for one last goodbye. I don’t think there was one person who was not teary-eyed. It put real fear of my final goodbye into view. That is going to be one of the hardest things I will ever do. Anyways, in those moments of goodbye, it was obvious love had taken root and relationships had begun. My family. American and Senegalese. “Fof ko gotun (all are one).”

The trip doesn't end there...more to come...with pictures...God willing!

Thursday, August 11, 2011

It's a Girl!!!

At the wise old age of 24 I have a brand new baby sister! Amanda (Yep she is my name sake!!!) was born on Friday July 29th and she is healthy and beautiful in every way.

I could not be more relieved at her healthy birth. My mom was sick for awhile and I was terrified that there would be birth complications, knowing that her health and the health of the baby were at risk. I also have seen so much sickness and death lately that I am really not sure I could take more.

When my family finally took momma to the health-post the doctor told her she was in the early stages of labor. Then, my brother brought her back to village. It is seven kilometers by donkey cart to the health post so it makes absolutely no sense to bring her back to her dirty hut to give birth. I really didn’t want to be there for the birth, because like I said, I wasn’t ready for more heartache and also am not a midwife, but I also didn’t want her to give birth in the middle of the night all alone, like my sisters have told me happens a lot so I told her to send for me if she needed me. Needless to say I didn’t sleep at all but by morning she still hadn’t popped.

The next day I went to meet some friends at the river, urging my family to take my mom back to the health post. By the time my friends and I came back, only hours later, there was a brand new baby to greet us. She had beautiful, thick, curly hair (before they shaved it off at her baptism) and is light skinned enough that everyone says she looks like me. I am so happy that Penda gave birth during the day with plenty of women around her giving her health and support and that everyone was healthy.

I asked my sister what they do with the placenta, as I was warily looking around the hut and it seems we arrived just in time for the afterbirth ceremony. My other mom and two of her ancient lady friends dug a perfect cylindrical hole in the backyard. My friend, Shannon, and I watched as my mom brought out a gourd bowl with the afterbirth inside it. The old women lined the hole with leaves and then, WEAK STOMACHED PEOPLE STOP READING HERE, my mom picked up the placenta by the umbilical cord and placed it in the hole ever so gently. Then they threw a couple grains of rice and corn in, poured blood from the bowl over it all and then tipped the bowl upside down breaking it into the hole. We all covered the hole with dirt and then put a giant rock on top. There you have it. Placenta taken care of.

In Senegal, they wait a week to name a baby at their baptism. New baby girl was named Amanda, although her Senegalese birth certificate will read Aminata. Everyone here calls her Amanda and it’s the first time most people realize that I have a name other than Issatou. When someone is named after you, you never address them by the name but call the “tokora (namesake).” It seems silly but it creates an unexplainable special bond like the one I have with my brother’s wife Issa.

Amanda’s baptism was pretty uneventful because Ramadan has begun. That means no cooking food, dancing or singing at the baptism. Lame. Back to fasting daily from 5 a.m. to 7:30 p.m. I am not partaking this year as I don’t really feel the need to prove my solidarity anymore. I will be drinking as much water as I want, a cocktail every now and then, eating protein bars and cuddling my new tokora. Happy Ramadan!

Pictures to come after my camera cord starts working!

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Time for Africa Part 2

(This is the second part of my guest blog! Scroll down to the entry below for the first part of the journey).

So after visiting the Campement, we biked back home and went to bed. Since Amanda's bloc of villages is Muslim, we had been hearing the first of the five calls to prayer each morning around 5 am. About 15 minutes after the mosque announced the first call to prayer, the wind picked up, it started thundering, and all of a sudden there was a huge downpour! Whoever was at the mosque put on another round of "Allah Akhbar!" (Praise Allah!) to thank Allah for the first rain of the season. How beautiful, thanking God as a whole community for something like that. Couldn't help thinking of the Toto song... "I bless the rains down in AAAAAfrica!" Amanda and I moved our mattress back inside her hut and slept blissfully in the chilly 78 degree weather.

The next morning we said our goodbyes to her host family, and Mamadian surprised me with a verse he had clearly been rehearsing since Amanda taught it to him the night before: "You are my wife!" Good joke, y'all. Mamadian was probably my favorite member of Amanda's host family, yes, even more than baby Mamadou. So we headed back to Tambacounda. We ran into one of the girls from the Catholic family, Mary Madelin, and hung out with her for the afternoon. We ate beef and rice stew and mangoes mixed in delicious Senegalese full-fat, full-sugar vanilla yogurt. Ardo yogurt, I bless you. Turns out Mary Madelin knows more than ten languages! Her friend Asmau knew six. I was astounded at this Pope-like feat. In the US, we're an anomaly if we know more than one!

We went to the tailor to have some dresses and purses made, and spent the evening with other Peace Corps volunteers. We fed our "bad selves" with many rounds of "Hot Seat." Apart from the questions of a sexual nature (have pity on a poor affection-starved PCV!), there were some really bizarre questions brought up. For example, "Would you shoot a live baby out of a cannon at Hitler if you knew it would end World War II?" It led to a lot of metaphysical conversations, which are pretty scarce in village.

I loved spending time with the other PCVs. They're just such a passionate, unique, and driven group of people who have gotten a dose of tough reality, but still maintain their optimism and belief that something can and should be done about injustice. It refreshes me to be with people like that and strengthens my own resolve to work for a more just world.

The next morning we headed out of Tamba and waited a few hours for our station wagon to fill up. We didn't leave before entering a Mauritanian man's shop and buying Senegalese Nutella, called "Choco Pain," which would be roughly translated as "Bread Chocolate" in French. I prefer 100% the English version, since it is usually what happens to me after eating the amount of chocolate that I like to eat: pain. Choco Pain. At this little convenience store, Amanda asked the man whether he would extend her the hospitality of letting us use his toilet before we started our voyage. He replied that he didn't have a bathroom in his store. Amanda insisted that he let us use his toilet, and he kept bantering back that he didn't have one. Finally, Amanda threatened to pee on the floor of his shop if he didn't allow us to use his bathroom. (Mind you, this is in a country where women would never mention the word "pee," you'd say "I need to make a stop" or something of the like). Our Mauritanian friend just smiled and laughed. I think the presence of another toubab emboldened Amanda and made her say things she normally wouldn't have said traveling alone. We ended up peeing in an alley.

On the trip to Mbour, we had a beautiful conversation about faith and about living abroad, and how that changes your perspective on so many things. When we arrived to Mbour, a little beach town, we took a walk on the beach at dusk, showered up, and ate a delicious dinner of sauteed shrimp and calamari. The next morning we ate a breakfast of coffee au lait, OJ, French bread, butter, and apricot jam. So satisfying. I'v'e never appreciated butter more in my life. I was almost starting to see it as a source of protein... When you eat corn and millet mush three times a day, food starts becoming a really big deal. More accurately, an obsession. The PCVs in Tambacounda get together and go on a website called FoodPorn.com to drool over pictures of gorgonzola and spinach stuffed chicken wrapped in bacon.

We spent a beautiful day on the beach, but I forgot that my malaria meds made me very sun sensitive and sustained a spectacular burn. Every time we were accosted by a beach vendor or a Senegalese man asking "You are from France? America?," we would pretend that we were either a) mute, or b) from Russia. As Amanda put it, "This is my vacation. I am nice to everyone in Senegal in every other moment, but right now I don't want to have a 30 minute conversation with every Senegalese man who approaches me." Well put. We packed up and headed to Dakar, and spent the evening at the PC house eating one last meal of Senegalese sandwiches and talking about post-PC plans.

Amanda, at various points during the trip, would pull a blank face and say "Toubab. Toubab." imitating the men, women, and children who would announce our presence everywhere: "Whitey!" When Amanda would get sick of being called "Toubab" and say "My name is Amanda, please call me that instead," very few people understood the root of her frustration. They would say, "It's just like if you saw someone black in America and said, 'Black person!' It wouldn't make them mad!" Eahh, try to explain that cultural nuance of America!

I have been blessed to be able to live in the Dominican Republic for a few stints, which is part of the Spanish-speaking Caribbean, and where most people are of mixed Spanish and African descent. During the time of slavery, most of the people brought to the Americas were from the Western coast of Africa, and it was so, so interesting to see where so much of Dominican culture had originated from. That Senegalese directness and "calling it like it is" is very much alive in Dominican culture as well! People are regularly referred to as fat, ugly, pale, or black as coal, without it being considered offensive. You're just calling a rose a rose, people! Senegalese music also reminded me so much of the influences that Africa has had in Latin American music! It swelled my heart to hear the same accordions, repeating lines, and drum rhythms in Senegalese music that I love so much in merengue and salsa. Food was another clear African influence - Dominican food incorporates meat into rice dishes a lot, like thiebou djien or mafe. Even the structures that people lived in were similar - gazebos and the roofs of Dominican homes in the countryside are often made with thatched palm, and the same style of woven fences are used a lot, especially where there are a bunch of Haitian immigrants living. Comparing similar things from the two cultures also made me realize which parts of Dominican culture are definitely influenced by Spain! Physical affection was the biggest one I noticed. Dominicans are so touch-friendly and outwardly affectionate, whereas a handshake was the norm in Senegal instead of a kiss on the cheek or a big hug.

I haven't written about any of the difficult things that were going on in Amanda's village, but I was so impressed by her resilience and grace in dealing with these issues. While I was living in the DR, I had a really hard time handling certain cultural differences, especially women's inequality with men, and just suffered and felt isolated and powerless. Amanda, on the other hand, has learned to deal with these issues in a way that can be understood and accepted by any Senegalese person. She knows how to "work the system," if you will, and do so gracefully. I was so impressed by this beautiful, mature, and competent woman who has been so resilient in seeing tough realities but not losing her drive to keep working towards a better future for others.

Amanda, thanks for opening up Senegal to me and being my interpreter, dear friend, and dehydration specialist for all those moments of boiling rage. I can't wait until you're back here! Know that I'm sending good vibes your way and asking God to protect you and comfort your heart in the hard moments. I love you, "everything friend"! Can't wait to take off on our next step of the adventure.

Alyssa

P.S. As a public service announcement for the good of Amanda, please send packages if you are able! You would not believe the joy that a bottle of Italian dressing or a package of M&Ms brings to a Peace Corps volunteer. When I was unloading all the goodies that Becky had sent along, you would have though that Santa Claus himself had paid Amanda a visit. She was overjoyed! So take a look at the list on the side of this page and send that girl some lovin'!

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

"It's time for Africa!"

Hi all! As Amanda mentioned in her last blog posting, I was so blessed to be able to visit her in June! Let me tell you a little about our adventures in Senegal.

My first impressions of Amanda in Senegal were of a confident, graceful woman who has learned well how to fit in with the local culture. She negotiated a cab ride from the airport to the Peace Corps house in Dakar with drivers who spoke Wolof (not Puular, the language she speaks in village). She made jokes with the cab drivers and laughed when they quoted her an astronomical fare made just for Americans, and said "I live here! So how much is it going to be?" instead of getting angry, Ugly-American-style. I just stood to the side with my huge backpack and thought, "If I keep my mouth shut, maybe everyone will think I am an albino Senegalese woman!"

We ate delicious seafood that night, after walking around Dakar and taking in the crazy mix of cultures. Talk about creole. There were women wearing their traditional "comples," the beautiful dresses with headwraps and men wearing long tunics and prayer caps, right alongside women wearing skinny leg jeans and guys wearing baggy jeans with hugely oversized shirts promoting Money, Respect, Power, Bob Marley, etc. Bob Marley seemed to be hugely popular there, even in the remoter villages.

Next morning we ate these delicious breakfast sandwiches with pigeon peas, hard boiled eggs, homemade mayonnaise, and french fries served on the remnants of colonialism, the French baguette. Heavenly! While we were waiting for our station wagon to fill up with people, we were presented with an onslaught of people hawking a very wide assortment of wares. We tried to guess what the next person would bring to offer us. There were baby Senegalese clothes to choose from, squirt guns, washcloths, sticks used for toothbrushing, apples, sunglasses, posters of Michael Jackson. Walmart on foot, in other words.

On our way to Tambacounda, we ate thiebou djien - deliciously seasoned rice and fish - and it got progressively hotter as we went inland. I had never been hotter up to that point in my life. The scalding breeze that was going through the car just made your internal temperature increase! Also noteworthy during this trip was my first encounter with a Senegalese bathroom - aka a porcelain hole in the ground. Peed all over my feet, but luckily the bathroom's owners gave us a kettle of water to wash up with.

The next day we went to the Tamba market, where there were all kinds of beautiful crazily patterned fabrics. Most of it was open-air, but there was a section of it that was underground, lit with blacklights and was apparently the "black market" area where risque items were being sold: crocheted lingerie, incense, sequined fabrics, buckets of woods used for medicinal purposes,etc. As Amanda put it, "It feels like a bad club that you know you're getting roofied at, even though your drink is in your hands at all times." Well put.

In a country where malnutrition is common, if you're heavy, you stick out a lot. Amanda introduced me to the concept of "ceeb mamas" (rice mamas), which are the regal and enormous women who often sell food (and eat half of it themselves, as the story goes). The ceeb mama that we ran into at the market was hilarious, because she never stood up to do anything herself, she just sent others to do her bidding. Amanda had to take a few bolts of fabric off the wall and go make change at another stall while the lady just sat there looking queen-like and beautiful.

We bought a chicken at the market to make dinner with, and Amanda once again showed me how Senegalese she has become in carrying the beast through the market for an hour by its feet. It kept squawking and carrying on. We got on a pretty crowded bus and arrived to her village, where we greeted her host family, who was very excited to meet us. We ate pounded millet (with lots of crunchy desert sand in it!) with leaf sauce, which was actually pretty good. One of Amanda's favorite village foods now. After dinner, Ruby and her friends invited us to dance, and dance we did. We sang Shakira's "Africa," the first of about 30 times that we would hear the song in a week. It surprisingly never got old, and gave me goosebumps to think, "This really IS Africa! Man, I am so blessed to be able to be here!"

The next day was the end-of-the-year party for the school, which involved a bike race, a soccer match, tons of drumming and dancing, and a feast of beef and rice. Meat is a once-in-a-blue-moon thing in Amanda's bloc of villages. We went back and hung out with Amanda's older host brothers and sisters for a while, and I had the really strange experience of not knowing ANY words to communicate with. There are no cognates between English and Puular, nor Spanish and Puular, so I mimed animals and their sounds while Mamadian, the brother (who also would later be presented to me as my betrothed!), told me how to say dog, chicken, donkey, man, woman, corn, etc in Puular. Now armed with my Puular arsenal of important words, I tried to converse with Issatou and Hawa about menfolk. Apparently, the concept of "boyfriend" doesn't exist in Puular. You're either someone's "gorko" (husband), or their "kele" (casual sex partner). Errr. no in-between.

The next day we went to Wassadou, the closest village up the road where there was a Catholic church. Elie, the father of the Catholic family, gave the service in French and gave an explanation/homily in Puular. We said the Our Father, and gave the sign of peace, but the service ended there because there was no priest to celebrate the Eucharist. Amanda said he comes once every few months, if they're lucky. Made me sad to think that people can't receive God in Communion but a few times a year because they're considered a backwoods village.

We painted the Stations of the Cross in the church and had an audience of about 20 little kids just watching us in silence. We took a break for lunch and had my FAVORITE meal in Senegal, which was seasoned rice with dried fish and root vegetables with a tart hibiscus leaf sauce. Amanda's PC friend Spence, also known as Baba Nding (which translated means "Little Daddy") arrived and helped us paint the rest of the scenes, which we painted in Puular style with Mary and the women of Jerusalem wearing comples and headwraps! When we finished, Elie was ecstatic, told us that the paintings were a better gift than money, and said he was so happy that he wanted to sleep in the church that night. Talk about immediate gratification! :)

The daughters of the family offered Amanda and I a cup of palm wine, after which Amanda said "You should do your burp [which is my infamous hidden "talent"], they would think it was hilarious!" So I did, and it was NOT hilarious. It went over like a rock, and the entire compound fell silent! Haha, really popular. Amanda said, "Well, they probably just think we're drunk on a cup of palm wine now." It was a quick and shameful escape for me, and we biked back home. At this point, I had never been hotter in my life, and couldn't find a way to cool down, so I just poured water on myself, still clothed, and fanned away. Issatou, Amanda's host sister, could not fathom why I was doing this. "She's watering her gifundae (big butt)! She should just get a shower." However, first I needed to bring my 104 degree internal temperature down a notch before I showered and started sweating immediately afterwards.

The next day, we went out on our bikes to the Campement, a ritzy little place alongside the Gambia River where hippos and monkeys can be spotted. We went out during the hottest part of the day, and again, my internal temperature arrived at a new peak. I think I might have been a little dehydrated, as I started to seethe with intense anger at the most minor of things. I like to call it "boiling rage." We saw some baboons up close on the road, but they couldn't even distract me. All I wanted to do was to jump into that inviting body of water, but guess what? If I did, I might have contracted schistomiasis, a parasite that enters your body through your feet. Even my boiling rage couldn't convince me that it was worth the risk. To be continued in the next post! (Read above!)

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Alyssa does Senegal and other headlines...

Yep. I'm still here. I know it's been awhile since my last update so let me catch you all up to speed.

The coolest news by far is my unexpected visit from a super cool American. As in, Alyssa left the comfy old U.S. of A. to come catch the last of hot season here (mwaahaha)! From the time I caught a glimpse of her in the airport to the time I dropped her back off every minute was spent with a smile on my face.

Alyssa got to see and experience it all. Public transportation, dehydration to the point of slight insanity, corn mush meals, pooping in a hole, dancing Pulaar, rotting animals, countless marriage proposals, the first rain, riot threats and so much more. She's kind of a big deal.

We started out painting the town in Dakar. We went to visit a beautiful seaside mosque and climbed up to the top of a lighthouse for the best view of the city. The best part though, was catching up on the last 6 months of each others lives.

The next day we went to the garage (a big "parking lot" full of cars going to other towns) and waited several hours to leave for "Sweet Home Tambacounda." This was the day that Alyssa started mentioning that this was the hottest she had ever been. In Tamba we checked the market scene and ate petrone (rich people) Senegalese food.

Village. I really can't think of anyone from 'the outside' who could embrace my village better than Alyssa. She fit right in with my Senegalese family and before you knew it there was a marriage announcement between my brother Mamadian and her...I always knew we were meant to be sisters! Our first day in village was the end of the school year party so all kinds of village festivities were taking place and we were able to dance to our hearts desire, hang out with my girls group, meet the teachers and watch my brothers soccer game. The following days were full of greeting, helping my sisters pound corn, dancing and usual village stuff with one extra toubab. We went to my church in a village along the road where we spent a day painting the stations of the cross and spending time with my adopted out of village family.

It meant so much to me to share the people I love most here with a friend I am so close to back home. I can't explain how special it is to have someone I love bridge my two lives. Someone I've been friends with since grade school, who knows my family, my strengths, my weaknesses and now my whole other life that no one from back home knows. You're the best chica and Senegal and I miss you greatly!

Since Alyssa has parted with Senegal things have been flowing along as usual.

* We had our annual Peace Corps Senegal debaucherous 4th of July party. Americans abroad KNOW how to celebrate the birth of the greatest nation on Earth! Fireworks? Done. Underground roasted pig? Several. American flags? Present in abundance. Beer? One or two. Dancing? Duh. Joyeux Anniversaire Amerik!

* Rainy season has begun. I LIVE for the thunderstorms. I forgot how every sunset during rainy season is magical...and seeing the rains come gets me all giddy. My village has gone from brown death to lush rebirth! With the rains come the mosquitos and other buggies that I hate but I guess that the trade off. The other downer is that rainy season is farming season, which is wonderful, buuuut it makes it really hard for me to be productive work wise because everyone else is preoccupied in their fields. Taking everything into account I still thank sweet baby Jesus for rainy season.

* Two of my sisters Hawa and Issa, and my second mom, Penda, are all pregnant. I made a joke about not drinking the water and apparently that does not transcend languages/culture. They thought I misunderstood what causes pregnancy. It's been clarified. All this reproduction is frustrating as people already cannot afford to feed their families or send the kids to school. Also I am worried because my village's maternal and infant mortality is incredibly high and women are my family. I don't know how I would handle something happening to any of them. On the positive side my sisters are preggers and that's kinda fun. They are radiantly beautiful and as big as can be. It is insane how different it is to be pregnant here. Still cooking three meals a day over an open fire, chopping wood, carrying buckets of rocks back from the wood on their heads, farming, sweeping, hand washing laundry, etc. They are bullet proof, these african goddesses! (Sidenote: I've been out of village for a week and writing this I realized I miss it. That's smile worthy.)

* NEWS FLASH!!! My parental unit is coming to Senegal in September. I cannot wait to share my life here with them. I can talk all day and night but until they have experienced it firsthand it's just not enough. The thought that my American and Senegalese families will finally know one another brings tear inducing excitement!

So that's the big stuff. I am missing Amerik. 9 months left. A peace corps pregnancy. Minus the baby. Thanks to the corn I still get the weight gain. Oh Senegal, you beast. Thanks for reading yo! Miss and love you all!

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

مرحباBonjour, Hola, Hallo, Bonjourno, Γεια σου, Hello!!!

After an amazing month of traveling, I am back in Senegal. The vacation was a lifesaver, coming at the perfect time. The reality, frustration and heartbreak of village life were really taking a toll on me and making me question my continued prescence in Senegal. Luckily, as the difficulties of life in Senegal were weighing me down, my tour d' Morocco and Europe approached as my saving grace.

First of all, I traveled with amazing friends. April and Camille, who were done with their service and on their way back to America and Kim and Emily, who I met over a year ago now in D.C. on our way to Senegal. Each one of them made the vacation extra special. Five easy-going, considerate, adventurous, goofballs=fun!



(From left to right: Emily, Camille, me, Kim and April)


Morocco: Africa, but not really. This was our starting point and one of my favorite parts of the trip. It was hard to believe we were still so close to Senegal as we walked the clean, paved sidewalks. Some other things that made it amazing; fresh squeezed orange juice on every corner (for under a dollar), healthy, well-treated cats, beautiful tiles, rugs, couches and overall decor, instead of salt and pepper shakers, it was salt and cumin (!!!), all kinds of fresh seafood, fruits and vegetables, charming, walled-off old cities, so many kind people, the best couch surfers ever, etc. While in Morocco we visited Casablanca, Fes and Chefchaouen.

In Casablanca we went to Mosque Hassan II, second only in size to Mecca. It was right on the ocean and apparently has a glass floor so that worshippers can stare into the sea as they pray. We also met some really talented musicians who treated us to a private band practice viewing.




Fes, ahh Fes. I need to go back to this place. We stayed with an amazing couch surfer named Jamal who made great company, showed us around, sang to us and told us all of the places we needed to go. Plus he had dreads and a mullet. Party in the front. Party in the back. Hence we loved him.

You enter the old medina of Fes through a huge, blue tiled doorway that is gorgeous and step into the unique alleyways full of vendors with food, leather, jewlery, juices, etc.

Our other favorite thing about Fes was the hammam. This is hard to explain but here goes. The hammam is the equivalent of going to a sauna for Moroccans. It is a bathhouse seperated by gender. It is traditional for Moroccans to go once a week, usually before fridays prayers. As we walked in, the only travelers with all Arabic women and no common language, we debated on how naked to get, finally deciding to wear just undies no bra (is this too much info?)

We walked into the bathing room and naked Moroccan women lined the walls with their buckets of different temperatured water in front of them, bathing one another. We, however, just maturely, stood against the wall covering our chests giggling as quietly as possible about the situation we had put ourselves in. A nice woman came up to us and guestured to sit down and start bathing. As we did so, the women working, with lovely uniforms of pink granny panties and black headwraps, scrubbed us down and washed and braided our hair. At first it was akward, but after the weirdness it was relaxing and bonding. As a traveler, in Morocco you rarely interact with the women so this was a treasured experience.

After Fes, we moved onto Chefchaouen, a village in the mountains. The whole town is painted different shades of blue, accompanied also with blue taxis, blue clothing...pretty much everything was blue. They say it keeps the mosquitos and flies away.




We spent most of our time in Chef hiking and picnicing in the Rif Mountains. Being at an elevation, surrounded by rivers, streams, waterfalls, trees, mountains, plants, etc. was all too refreshing!



I love Morocco! Who wants to go back with me???

Barcelona was next up. What a big city, full or history and architectual wonders. My favorites were works by Gaudi. His architechture is so unusual. In Park Guell, which is a magical park full of his buildings, sculptures and mosaics, I really felt like I was in a Dr. Suess book. He also is responsible for the design of Sagrada Familia, the most unique church I've ever been too. It has numerous angular stone carving depicting biblical stories and enormous ornamental towers, testaments to the twelve apostles.



Avignon, in the south of France, was our next stop. It was a cozy little place with an old city that had a wall built entirely around it during war. Avignon is called the city of popes because it used to hold the papacy, but now is just full of beautiful old churches and buildings. It was an adorable little city to relax in after the hustle and bustle of Barcelona. Also, Amorino's rose shaped gelato, (the best in the world!) is in Avignon. You can choose a different flavor for every petal...YUM!




In Switzerland we visited Geneva and Zurich. Lake Geneva was beautiful, surrounded by the mountains. We took a paddle boat, complete with a slide, out on the lake. There is a huge water fountain in the same lake that was actually installed to create another outlet for the hydraulic power plant, but now is a huge attraction. The water shoots up 140 meters tall at 200km/hr, pretty intense.




Geneva was the land of mountains, lakes, beautiful parks, NGO's, namebrands, banks and watches. The most expensive place I've ever been too. I would love to go back and hike in the Alps and discover the countryside, as opposed to the cities because the beauty of Switzerland is overwhelming.

To get to Italy we took a train from Switzerland. It was the most gorgeous ride I have ever been on, through the farmland and mountains. At one point the valleys of two mountains met at an immaculate waterfall.

In Italy we went to Cinqueterre, Florence and Rome. All special in their own way. Italy is ranked up there with Morocco in my favorite destinations during our trip.

Le Cinqueterre is a collection of five villages on the coast of the Ligurain Sea. We stayed in the village of Riomaggiore, full of bright colored, stacked houses. Our great adventure in Cinqueterre was hiking from the first village, Monterosso, back to the last village, which was ours. The hike was up and down the mountains because each village was in a valley. The whole path was coastal, so every step of the way there was an amazing view.




Something about the old Italians here really got to me. I don't know if Italians are more wrinkle prone or if they live longer, or maybe in this village they made it what it is through their hard work, but either way, they look ancient (in the least offensive way). Like they have wisdom engraved in their faces. I went to Mass in this village and between the beauty of the Italian language singing God's praises, the organ and these old italian worshippers, the whole service my heart was smiling.

There is something powerful about the interactions you have without a shared language. As we all offered the sign of peace this old woman and I looked into one anothers eyes and you knew we both meant it with all of our hearts. Anyway, that service left a little impression in my heart for whatever reason.

Florence. We stayed with a guy who was more than a bit off kilter. He had us load the dishwasher and then stood over us the entire time telling us how we were doing it wrong. He also described every blanket he owned one morning and got mad at me for not telling him I wanted to make my own instant coffee for breakfast a day in advance. There are so many other funny stories associated with this guy...what an experience.

The city itself was beautiful. We spent most of our time visiting churches and museums and chatting up random Senegalese people who tried to sell us things. It was so fun to throw some Wolof their way and see how suprised they were. You could tell it made them excited to think of their homeland and know that we shared something so important in common.

My two favorite things in Florence were the Duomo (a giant, ornate cathedral) and the Uffizi Art Gallery. The Uffizi claims to have the most complete Renaissance art collection. Michelangelo, Botticelli, Rembrant, Da Vinci and so many others are represented here. It crazy to examine Botticelli's "Birth of Venus," in its emmensity and to picture him standing over it making the brush strokes.



(The Duomo, meaning house in latin beacause it is the house of God.)

Then we fell in love with Rome. We stayed with Kim's somehow relatives, who were the most welcoming and generous people. We had big Italian three course dinners with heaps of amazing food and wine. At night their kids would take us out to spend time at different Piazza's. Piazza's are all over Italy and are just public areas with some special church or building and usually fountains. They are meant for only pedestrians and typically have outdoor seating for food and drinks and live music.

Rome was a healing city. You couldn't help but be renewed by the beauty, culture and spirituality that you were surrounded with. Saint Peter's Basillica was my favorite. I have never been in such an ornate church. There were so many statues, paintings, mosaics, relief scultures, chapels, etc. Detail was worked into every square inch of this place. Despite all of the tourists it still felt like such a spiritual place.



The Sistine Chapel was overwhelming. Just covered in Michelangelo's frescos. The size of these paintings are unimaginable. "The Last Judgement," covered an entire wall and his known painting, "The Creation of Adam," was in the middle of the ceiling and so much more powerful than you can imagine with a replica. Standing in the middle just surrounded by these painting was incredible. A must do in Rome.

My other favorite was the Colosseum. It was one of those places that you know hasn't changed much since the first couple of centuries. It was used for gladitory fights, animal fights, public executions and other bizzare forms of entertainment for the public. It felt so weird to be in a place were human beings had death shows. To know that this was a central hangout spot for families, when now we couldn't imagine that sort of punishment or entertainment. The architecture was incredible...to think that it was built between 72-80A.D. was hard to believe. We got a view into the intricate maze of tunnels under the colosseum used to store gladiators and let out the animals. It was a pretty cool feeling to stand right where the emperors and gladiators did so many centuries ago.



The Pantheon is another place I need to share. It is a 2000 year old church with an unreinforced open dome as a ceiling. It's an architechtural wonder because it is still the largest unreinforced dome in the world. The inside is simple and the sunlight from the open dome, illuminated certain things at different parts of the day.



I may be boring you but I have only one country to go...Greece. We took an overnight ferry to Patras and after a night there went to Stoupa. Stoupa is a little community in the mountains on the beach, with mostly retired people. It was nice to be in a place with no tourists, and you all know how I feel about the combination of mountains and ocean! The food was so yummy. Pitas, souvlaki, tzatziki, greek salads!




Last but not least was Athens. We didn't have much time there but did get to visit the Acropolis, which was astonishing. The Parthenon, built in 440 (ish) B.C. still stands today, overlooking all of Athens. It was a nice way to end our trip. Downtown Athens is a little seedy so it helped ease Kim and I into returning to Senegal.





So. Now I am back. It was the trip of a lifetime and it couldn't have gone any better. This might have been way more information than you wanted but it was fun for me to reminisce so I hope you enjoyed! Thanks for the help Rava and Papa and Mom and Dad. I still miss everyone back home like crazy. Thanks for all of the love, letters and packages recently... hearing from everyone means so much to me!

Back to the bush...

Friday, March 18, 2011

Hellos and Goodbyes

I am heading back from Dakar after a bad Alhum (mini-bus) dismount resulting in a small ligament tear or just a bad sprain. At first I was uber bummed at the change of plans. I was heading to see a friend of mine in her village and the last thing I had scheduled was an entire day of travel to Daker, but apparently that is what Allah had planned.

Turned out Dakar is amazing this time of year! The weather was BEAUTIFUL. Tambacounda is getting hot, HoT, HOT, so it was lovely to be chilly and remember what not sweating is like.

I stayed in the med hut, which is in the Peace Corps Dakar office. It was clean, comfy, quiet and peaceful with just of few other cool people to keep me company. It was rejuvenating to hear quiet. It's been a long, LONG time and I'd forgotten what it was like to have time by myself.

I took full advantage of my time in Dakar. When I could start hobbling around, I gimped myself right to the nearest cab and went directly to the beach. I even managed to ice down a cold one with the ice packs I brought for my foot. It was really quite rough.

When my foot got a lot better and it turned out that I didn't need x-rays I got to visit Thies and meet the new group of volunteers. They arrived March 9th and are our year in group of health and environmental education volunteers. Yesterday, which was when I visited them, they were leaving for the very first time for their training villages/families with two language classes under their belt.

The nervous energy and plethora of questions reminded me of how completely terrified I was to take that leap into Sangalkam living with a Pulaar family. This group seemed a lot more calm and prepared then we were, but you know what's really running through people's heads. I expected that first night to be one of the worst in my life. It was difficult, don't get me wrong. I've never done anything like it and it was awkward, uncomfortable and frightening. But, as I reassured the new group, its really not as bad as you expect. It gets better, easier.

It was great meeting the new stagiers. It made me feel accomplished to now be the one giving advice. It was also refreshing. A group of new, idealistic faces setting out to do the same work you are doing, for the same reasons, and not yet having any reasons to be anything but idealistic. They seem like a great group of people and I'm excited for what they will bring to Senegal!

Last night I got to have dinner with a few friends I haven't early enough time with lately, Meera, Leah and Nathaniel. We dined seaside at sunset. Clams, oysters, prawns and wine. A perfect night to end my stay in Dakar, with wonderful friends, atmosphere and food.

Here I am in a Peace Corps car (lucky as can be!), riding back to sweet home Tambacounda. Tonight is our last party as Tamba nation, as it stands. Some amazing people that have made Tamba what it is, will soon be heading back to America. Katy, Melissa and Camille will be heading back to the states and Erika will be extending in Dakar. This will change to face of Tamba for sure. So sad to say goodbye to people you have come to love, but we are all excited for what the world has in store for them back home. Tonight we shall celebrate like we mean it!

Friday, March 11, 2011

A little bit of my life in pictures

A picture from the banana plantation in Laboya that Spence and I visited during our tourney around our district publicizing the eye clinic.



The cotton has all been harvested (luckily mostly when I was in America because it is painful work). These huge fenced in areas are where they stored the cotton before the government came around to buy it all.



The inside of my church.


The cross Sana made that I brought back from America has been blessed and proudly hung.



Making snowmen in Senegal!



The Tambacounda Regional house has taken on a sweet new kitten to hopefully, in time, resolve our mice taking over our house problem (As long as Mika doesn't eat her first...village has made him desperate). Her name is Collin, which has definitely led to some gender identity crisis. But look how cute the little alien is.


My WAIST (West African Invitational Softball Tournament) Team. We were pure awesome. Dressed as Senegalese cops with squirt guns and intimidating moves...madess on the field I tell you. Great weekend with great frieds. (PS: I stayed with the Ambassador of the United States of America during WASIT. Pretty freaking cool.


A Belgian owned liquor tasting garden in Mbour. All the liquors are made from natural fruits and flavors. Beautiful and delicious.


Sunrise in the Baobab trees outside my friend Sarah's village. So peaceful. I'm obsessed with the raw beauty of these trees.


Fun murals at the preschool with the kiddos.


Finished product.


This is the first grade class near my village. One teacher + 84 students= pure chaos everyday.


Senegalese home made wagon. I'll try to start collecting pictures of their other home made toys. They can get pretty creative.


The girls group I've been trying to start finally had our first meeting. Name games, clapping games, friendship bracelets and TWISTER! There was a lot of laughing to be had. Perfect way to start off.


Girls Group. Aren't they beautiful!?!



Handwashing painting I did in the preschool bathrooms. I finally convinced the director to buy soap and we did talks about the importance of hand washing and lots of fun hands-on activities about germs. Now they wash their hands before lunch and sometimes even after going to the bathroom (baby steps).


I even found these hand washing kits in the storage facility of the preschool. (It was built and is funded by a french organization so the school is beautiful and they are blessed with may supplies most schools don't have.) Here are a few of the kiddos showing us that they can properly wash their hands.


Mud stove I helped a neighbor make. A pot sized to the top opeing goes in the top and cuts down on smoke that the women inhale when cooking over open fires, which is their main method of cooking. It also prevents burns because kids are constantly falling into open fires. And it cuts down on wood usage and labor to cut down and bring home lumber.


Cashew fruit apples. Just thought you might find them interesting. They taste weird to be and make my mouth go numb and dry but people here love them.


Gan-Ga-Ran. Tradtional Pulaar Dancers accompanied with really neat drummers. This was in celebration of International Women's Day in the earest town to my village.