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'!