(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'!
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
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!)
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!
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!
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