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...

'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!

"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!

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!

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!