"I just got paid to play Scrabble!"

Scrabble!

Okay, that title is probably a bit of an overstatement, but it’s kind of like I just got paid to play Scrabble.  As my role implies (Peace Corps VOLUNTEER), I’m not exactly being paid here, but the good tax-paying people of the U.S. do put a few CFA in my account every month to help pay for my rent, food, and transportation costs, so most of the time I pretend like I’m being paid.  A couple of weeks ago I responded to a request from the Embassy to assist with “Celebrate America Day”, an event hosted by the Senegalese English Teachers Association.  It was held today at the Cheikh Anta Diop campus of the University of Dakar, the same campus that was the center of political riots just a month ago.  Aside from a quick drive-by from the vantage point of a taxi, I’d never spent any time at the university until today.

My friend Amanda also volunteered to help with this event so, despite out lack of direction from the Embassy staff about where we were supposed to meet them or what we were actually supposed to do once we got there, we hopped in a cab close to her Dakar apartment this morning and 15 minutes later got let out in the middle of campus.   After wandering around aimlessly for a bit, we asked a passing student where the English department was located and he said he was headed in that direction so we followed him.  Alhumdullilah!  When we arrived at our destination the Embassy staff were there waiting and a bit apologetic that they’d failed to mention where we were supposed to meet them.   I guess they figured that if we could survive out in the hinterlands of the Sahel, we could figure out how to find them.  They were right.

Letters & Sciences building at Cheikh Anta Diop

Campus library

     

American Cities display with the
Jefferson Memorial and the Cherry
Blossoms smack dab in the middle :-)

Amanda was entranced by the iPods
and Kindles the Embassy had on display

The day started with a grand assembly to welcome the kids from several local middle and high school English Clubs.  The US Ambassador gave a speech, as did the Minister of Education and the Ambassador of Indonesia.  That last one had us all scratching our heads, but I suspect there was a loose “Barack Obama once lived in Indonesia” connection there, plus the Indonesian Ambassador was adorable and smartly clad in an island-print shirt, so who were we to question his presence at Celebrate America Day?

The auditorium was crowded, with standing room only, but apparently not as crowded as the average university classrooms are.  Our Embassy point person told us that it is not uncommon for kids to be listening to lectures while peering through the windows, as the university is overenrolled.  The campus has 5,000 dorms and currently 60,000 students.  On a quiet Saturday with not that many students milling about this was hard to envision this, but certainly not hard to believe.

After the initial welcome speeches the young audience broke out into an adorable rendition of the American National Anthem at which point, I experienced a patriotic pride most likely only felt by US Olympians when they stand alone on their podium to accept their medal.  That probably sounds overly dramatic, but when you are only one of five people in a room of over five hundred who is standing there with your hand over your heart while your national anthem is sung it’s a significant moment, no matter how cynical of US affairs you may have become.

The US Ambassador (with hand over heart) and
the Indonesian Ambassador (the little guy in the print shirt)

When the assembly was over, Amanda and I split up into two rooms to oversee the games section of the day.   Lucky for me, a girl who has at least twelve “Words with Friends” games on-going at any given time, I was assigned to the Scrabble room (she was just as happy in the Quiz room).  The Embassy supplied three brand-spankin’ new boards which I laid out on consecutive tables and then waited for the kids to arrive.  In typical Senegalese fashion, things started slowly and I thought that I would spend the next couple of hours playing a couple’s game with my new friend Lamine.  As soon as I took my second turn, however, the room started to fill and I was overseeing three, then five (somehow, two more boards appeared out of nowhere) four-person games.  With this large group of kids came another supervisor of sorts, a Senegalese English teacher who had participated in this event for the previous several years.  He thanked me for being there and then quickly pointed out the error of ways, of which apparently there were many:  I had had the kids sit in the order in which they arrived instead of by age group (mistake #1); I was not timing the kids as they took their turns (mistake #2); and not all kids were able to play because there were only three, then five boards, leaving 15 kids on the sidelines (mistake #3).  This attention to the mismanagement of what I thought would be a friendly game of Scrabble mentally transported me back to an evening at the Albemarle County Fair about ten years ago.  I was there with a small group of friends who had volunteered to sell ride tickets.  We all took off work early to arrive at our post in time to receive instructions before the rides opened.  Our instructor was old guy who’d been selling tickets at the fair for decades.  He described in great detail (way more detail than was necessary) how to take the money and hand over the tickets.  He then repeated those instructions in case we didn't understand them and then stuck around to watch out first transactions.  When my first customers arrived and I took their cash and handed over their tickets, the old guy said with a kind of gleeful, Ha!, I knew you couldn't do this tone, “Now, that’s a mistake already!”  That statement has been rattling around in my head ever since and I heard that guys voice echoing in my thoughts today.

Needless to say, I let Mr. Scrabble Aficionado run the show and concentrated my efforts instead on proctoring one of the games.  The group of middle school kids at my table, despite being of similar ages, was clearly at different language and skill levels.  With constant pressure from the Scrabble Nazi, I was instructed to use the stopwatch on my cell phone to move these players along.  One poor girl ended up passing more than she played because her time kept running out.  Because there were coveted prizes at stake, I wasn’t allowed to help them along by giving hints, which pained me because I could clearly see words available to them on their little wooden trays--“Jar, Jar, don’t you see it? You can play it right there on the Triple Word score for 36 points!!”  The competitive nature of the whole thing made me question why I’d traveled three hours to participate.  Maybe Bobby Fisher thrived in this environment, but I kind of thought I was doing more harm than good in giving these kids confidence in speaking my native language—“nope, sorry that’s not a word”, “if you don’t play in the next 10 seconds you have to pass”.  Regardless of my anxiety over whether this was fun or not, the kids actually seemed to enjoy it and Mr. Scrabble Head walked away with a list of winners that he could announce at the closing ceremony, so all’s well that ends well.

We left the festivities before lunch so I was able to spend the afternoon sitting at a sidewalk café, playing Words with Friends, eating pizza, and enjoying a carafe of wine.  It’s all in a day’s work!

Now, if only I could figure out how to be paid to eat Scrapple!?!

The Scrabble room

Deep in concentration (the guy in purple won this round)

This gal was told (by guess who) to redraw her score card
using the flat edge of her tile tray.  Oh brother!

Wait...This Is Beginning To Feel Like a Real Job

It’s been 2 months since my last blog entry and I've been on-the-go the entire time.  They say that your project work picks up after the first year of Peace Corps service, and apparently “they” know what they’re talking about.  This is beginning to feel like a real job all of a sudden!

Before the rush began, I took my second vacation of the year and spent 3 weeks back in the states visiting with friends and family and enjoying the splendors of autumn in Virginia.  Although I wasn’t able to catch up with everyone I’d hoped to, I did see quite a few people and many a four-legged friend.  Being home wasn’t as overwhelming as my trip to Europe this past summer.  I’d already experienced the shock of the modern world and my mind was no longer making comparisons with everything I saw.  In fact, it was more like I’d landed on a different planet, Planet America, and therefore I didn’t expect for things to be the same.  I did have a few first impressions, though.  It seems I’ve spent the better part of a year telling Senegalese folks who are enthralled with the idea of the U.S. that America is not really like it appears on T.V.  After having been back just a day, I realized that, well, it actually kind of is--clean, pretty, organized, and filled with things that cost a lot of money.  I guess I’ll have to change my tune on this and just accept it for what it is.  The other things that caught my eye were the little trends that had popped up since I’ve been gone.  Everywhere I looked there was Greek yogurt, scan squares, Angry Birds, and eyebrow threading.  Odd, what catches on so quickly.  Other than that, home was pretty much like I left it.  I filled my days sightseeing, walking in the woods, enjoying the company of friends and family, hanging with my dog, attending a film festival, eating good food, sipping tea, drinking good coffee, and appreciating fine libations.  I overextended myself a bit with all of the socializing I tried to fit in, so by the time I left I was fighting a cold and cough, but it was totally worth it.  How often to you get to be a vacationing visitor in your own home-town?  Click on this photo to open an album with pictures from my trip.

My Love Affair with America

Special thanks go out to the many friends and family who hosted me while I was back.  It was a bit strange not to have a home to return to, but the hospitality extended to me was grand and I was happy to see that my renters are taking great care of my house in Batesville.  Also, a big “merci” goes out to The Peabody School for holding an assembly so I could tell them all about my adventures in the Peace Corps.  After the assembly, I spent an hour with the kids from the French classes with whom I’ve been corresponding and it was really great to meet them in person.  Then there are folks who came to the Cider Dinner at my friend Kevin’s house, who were gracious enough to donate almost $800 to my “Bringing Books to Senegal” campaign.  This is a project I was working on with a group of volunteers in Senegal.  We were teaming up with the non-profit organization, Books for Africa,to raise funds to bring over 22,000 local language books and text books to local libraries and schools Senegal.  Unfortunately, I just found out this week, that the campaign has been cancelled, as the request for funds has exceeded the time limit allotted.  Never fear, the $4,400 already donated to this project will be diverted to the Peace Corps Marathon fundraiser whose proceeds will be going to a scholarship program for middle school girls.  I’ve been involved with this scholarship program for some time and, in fact, some of the recipients of this year’s scholarships are the ones who attended our Girls Leadership Camp in September.  Click here for a clever video clip promoting the Peace Corps Race for Education Marathon.   Although I'm not planning to train for this race (are you kidding me?!?!--I struggled to train for a 5K while I was home and this is taking place in Sub-Saharan Africa!), I do plan to go down to cheer on those brave souls who will be running and make sure everyone stays hydrated.

On 11-11-11, just a couple of days after returning to Senegal, I organized a World Hoop Day celebration to spread my joy of wiggling and giggling (aka hoop dancing) with the people in my community.  World Hoop Day is a non-profitorganization based in the U.S. that granted me funds to make a slew of hoops for the kids of Diourbel.  I teamed up with my friend Nar Dieng, who heads a roller-blading association, to put on a grand spectacle for the kids.  A local youth center donated the space and Nar and his friends helped me make and decorate 50 new hoops for this event.  A couple of Peace Corps Volunteers from neighboring villages came in for the day to help me out and several school officials came to partake in the festivities.  We had well over 70 kids join us for an afternoon of hooping and roller-blading.  The local radio station even covered the event in their evening broadcast.  Aside from the usual annoyances, like having to transport chairs and hoops on the back of a horse-drawn cart, people showing up late, and a sound system that was many decibels too loud, everything came together and it was a fun-filled afternoon. Click on the picture below to open an album of photos from the event.

World Hoop Day

The following week, I gathered a training group in Dakar to conduct another round of Safe Zone Training to discuss gay awareness and sensitivity with our local Peace Corps staff.  This was our third round of training and was, again, well-received.  This always provokes lots of discussion and controversy, but that’s why we put it together in the first place. We give the staff a safe place to talk about these issues and to better understand how to support homosexual volunteers who are serving in a country where homosexual acts are treated as both immoral and illegal.  During this session, one of the staff members shared with us her concerns about an Islamic belief that if you touch a homosexual, even a casual touch upon the arm, then your prayers will not count for 40 days.  Since Muslims pray 5 times a day, that’s 200 prayers down the drain.  She understood that she has a professional obligation to interact with homosexual volunteers, but wanted to make it clear to us that she was uncomfortable with this.  Fair enough—we weren’t there to change their opinions, just broaden their understanding and hopefully identify some folks who could step up to provide support.  Regardless, it was hard to hear.  Soon after this discussion, however, one of our openly gay volunteers returned a pen to another participant and to thank him for remembering to give it back, she hugged him.  Yes, right there in front of Allah and everybody, with 200 prayers in jeopardy, she hugged him. It was beautiful.

The next week I returned to Dakar to attend a Thanksgiving feast at the home of the new Ambassador and his wife, Lewis and Lucy Lukens.  They arrived in Senegal in August and were brave enough to follow in the tradition of previous ambassadors and invite the Peace Corps Volunteers over to their house to celebrate the holiday. I say brave, because letting a group of mostly 20-somethings who’ve been living meager lives subsisting on rice and millet for many months around unlimited amounts of good food and wine can be a scary sight.  Many volunteers chose to stay in their respective regions, hosting smaller gatherings at regional houses, but there were still over 100 volunteers who signed up for the pot luck in Dakar.  In addition, 30 or so embassy employees joined us, so it was quite an impressive gathering (that’s a lot of toubabs) and the food was amazing.

Stanzi rolling out pie dough with a beer bottle--classic Peace Corps ingenuity!

An impressive variety of foods at the pot luck

One of the MANY long tables set up for the event.

So I over-indulged a little!

The Tivaouane gang had a Thanksgiving reunion of sorts.
Phil, Kelsey, April, and Chris

The following day, a small group of volunteers hosted a Black Friday Art Expo in Dakar.  I brought two artisans from Diourbel: Mamadou, who I’ve introduced before, and Dibor, a new tailor with whom I’m working.  She and I designed some satchels and bags made from recycled rice sacks and these sold really well.  I also worked with her to create some other new items that we thought would interest the ex-pat community of Dakar.  She made placemat and napkin sets, adjustable aprons, and wrap-pants.  Dibor sold so many things the first day of the Expo that she stayed up late at her sewing machine that night to replenish her stocks.  In the first two days of the sale, she netted well over $200, which in an economy where people survive on less than $1/day, is pretty substantial.  Her husband called me later that week to thank me personally.

Dibor at the Art Expo

Dibor's rice sack bags

Mamadou and his friend Matar

Hanging with my artisans

Khady returned to France at the end of November and won’t return to Senegal until after my service has ended.  I’m going to miss having her around, although it will be nice for Ibou and me to have the compound back to ourselves.  This time around we’re not exactly alone though.  We now have a young French volunteer named Anna who has just started working with us.  She arrived in Senegal a few weeks ago and will likely stay for the three months that her visa will allow.  So far, she’s settling in and getting used to the heat, culture, and language.  That’s a lot to come at you at once, I know.  Soon, she’ll be helping us with our Eco-Ecole program and our village garden projects.  Although she doesn’t speak a lick of English and my ears strain to understand her accent (so different for the African French accent), it’s nice to have another toubab around.  Her arrival was also a good excuse not to return to eating lunches with the family across the street.  As much as I enjoyed their company, I’m happy not to be forced to eat my weight in rice every day.

Another welcome change that’s occurred since my return from the States is that we’ve had over 2 straight months without any electricity outages to speak of.  I’m not sure I’ve ever had two straight days prior to this.  Not sure what’s afoot, but the upcoming election surely plays a part in this.  Unfortunately, now that I have reliable power, my internet service has been on the fritz, working only periodically. This has been annoying and disruptive for me, but knowing that the majority of Peace Corps Volunteers in Senegal (or around the world) don’t have the luxury of WiFi, I really shouldn’t complain.

The first weekend in December, a reporter from Voice of America came out to Diourbel to do a story on our paper briquette press project.  She attended our Saturday morning Eco-Ecole and interviewed some of the kids and school directors.  She was impressed with our little compound oasis and the projects that we’re working on. Here is a link to the radio transcript. 

Last week, my friends Andrew and CJ came up from Kaolack to conduct a training seminar about the wonders of the Moringa tree.  My neighbor Stanzi came from Bambey, as well.  The first day we brought several people in from neighboring villages for a train-the-trainer session, teaching them how to best grow and cultivate it, the nutritional value of its leaves, and how to incorporate them into their diet.  The next two days were spent in the villages repeating these same lessons, but with the help of the participants from the first day.  The information was well-received and each village now has a small Moringa nursery to tend to.  I’ll be following up with them in late January to see how things are going.  Click on the photo below to open an album of our Gardens of Moringa Training.

Gardens of Moringa Training

Here's a special bonus--a short video of the women of Khokhe who broke out into song and dance while pounding moringa leaves.

Moringa Powder Song & Dance

And finally, last week marked another milestone for me; I turned 44.  To celebrate, I traveled to Thiès to join a few friends for lunch and then went on a little shopping spree to replenish my cupboards.  As a special treat, I bought myself a bottle of Scotch, a frying pan, a can of artichoke hearts, a hand-blender for making soups and smoothies. That alone equaled half of my monthly living allowance—but, heh, I’m worth it, right?!  All in all it was a good day and it was so nice to hear from so many of you.

Wishing you all a very Merry Christmas.  May Santa's sleigh be filled with sacks of rice and boxes of live chickens!

I shared my ride into Thies with a box full of chickens

Ice Cream - Yum!

Joyeux Noel

My Mediterranean Get-Away

First Impressions of Barcelona
A few weeks before leaving for my vacation, my friend Alys, who’d just completed her Peace Corps service, began a long and winding journey through Europe on her way home.  Her first stop was Barcelona, from which she reported, 

Hello Barcelona. You're beautiful, but please don't make me fall in love with you. I just got out of a long term relationship with another continent and I'm still getting over it. But damn, you're temptingly sexy...”

I chuckled when I read this and then spent the next couple of weeks daydreaming about what lay ahead for me.  I mean, let’s admit it; sexy has not been in my vocabulary for a very long time.  When I arrived, I was just as smitten as she was.  This city’s got it going on!  It’s beautiful, clean, artsy, proud, colorful, exuberant, historic, organized, kind, picturesque, smart, tasty, charming….and yes, even sexy.  The only discomfort for me was that the Spaniards in this part of the country are so proud of their culture and heritage that they speak their indigenous regional language, Catalan.  Having just left a country where I struggle to communicate, I was a little worried that this might send me over the edge. But no, the Catalonians have mastered many languages, including Spanish, English and, for some, even French.  Believe it or not, I even ran into a few Wolof speakers on the streets.  For the first 24 hours, I was completely tongue-tied and my brain didn’t know what sounds to produce.  People would speak to me in English and I’d try to answer them in some combination of French and Spanish.  Luckily, by the second day and after a good night's sleep, this problem subsided.  I'd planned a few days in Spain before my parents arrived, so I could adjust to the modern world again.  My first impressions were that everything was so pristine and that everything worked.  For some reason, I’d only left Senegal with the name of my hotel and no address and knowing that I’d booked a room in a tiny privately owned establishment, I was concerned that a taxi may not be able to find it.  So, I paid for the airport WiFi to search for the address and then asked a guy at the information desk at the airport if I should call them to get directions.  He said “most taxi drivers have GPS devices—no worries.”  I just stood there a minute laughing out loud at the wonder and absurdity of it all.  When you get in a taxi in Dakar and ask the driver to take you somewhere, the driver will first argue with you about the fee and then finally agree to take you there for some negotiated price. Halfway to your destination he’ll turn around and ask you how to get there and then, inevitably, start yelling at you for not knowing the way.  More than likely, he’ll try to charge you more when he stops to ask directions.  Sometimes, this whole process gets so infuriating that you just get out of the taxi have to start all over again.  So, the news of GPS devices, taxi meters, and “no worries” was like music to my ears.  I grinned the whole way to my hotel.  The other thing that immediately hit me was how clean the streets were.  I mean, you could eat off them they were so clean—I’m not just talking generic American-clean, I’m talking Wisteria Lane clean.  They had recycling bins to sort glass, paper, plastic, and even compost on every corner from inside the airport to the smallest little neighborhood street.  Needless to say, I was very impressed.  The tapas were the next thing to catch my eye—so artfully crafted were these little flavorful tidbits.  The first evening, I sat alone and ordered a slew of them, one at a time, while enjoying some lovely Spanish wine. I could have sat there all night.  It was just divine.

Montblanc 
The next morning, I caught a train to the medieval village of Montblanc, which is situated about 2 hours southwest of Barcelona in the Tarragona region.  The patron saint of this village is St. George because, it is here, they claim ,that he slayed the evil dragon and saved a virgin princess.  That's quite a claim to fame!  Montblanc is also the home of my friends Annaïs and Eric, a Catalonian couple who had stayed with me in Diourbel when they were traveling through Senegal back in January.  They run an organic farm called. Xicòria, which means 'chicory' in Catalan, a plant with many culinary and medicinal properties. Together with another couple, Sylvia and Maximo, they manage a cooperative association, employing a group of local association members and WWOOFing volunteersto help them coordinate educational programs, distribute baskets of produce to shareholders, and manage catering jobs using their homegrown products.  The group was about 10 people when I arrived and they welcomed me into their communal family without the blink of an eye, sharing both their work and their meals with me.  The two nights I was in there, the neighboring village was hosting a street festival, so after we finished work, we piled into a couple of vans and headed over the hills for artisanal beer, music, street food, and festivities. This was how a typical day at Xicòria unfolded:

Shareholder baskets ready for pickup

• 7am – Head out the door to begin work on the farm (e.g. picking tomatoes or onions)
• 10am – Communal breakfast set up on tables at the farm: coffee/tea, fresh baked bread, homemade jams, cheese, Iberian ham, tomatoes, and fruit
• 11am – 1pm – More farm work (e.g. cleaning and bundling onions or assembling shareholder baskets)
• 1pm – Communal lunch back at the apartment consisting of something yummy like fresh gazpacho, a hearty vegetarian dish, a fresh salad, and grilled veggies drizzled with delicious local olive oil.
• 2pm – 5pm – Siesta (they really take this seriously in Spain—things shut down completely)
• 5pm – 8pm – More farm work (e.g. handpicking beetles off cabbage plants)
• 8pm – 11pm – Village festival in Valls

Each night we fell into bed sore and exhausted.  It reminded me of my Horse & Buggy Produce days but with a lot more breaks for eating and resting.  The second day I was there, Eric, Maximo, and I drove to a friend’s place with a vanload of tomatoes and spent the afternoon washing and slicing to prepare them for drying.  Their friend makes artisanal breads and pastas and constructed a giant ventilated drying machine in his kitchen to dry his pastas.  In trade for vegetables to feed his WWOOFing volunteers, he let us use it for drying tomatoes.  There’s a lot of bartering going on in this community and it was nice to be a part of it for a few days.  My hosts were so welcoming and, with a mixture of languages, we were able to communicate effectively.  Our visit ended way too soon.

Cruising the Mediterranean

Mom & Dad on the docks in Monaco

Mom and Dad arrived in Barcelona on Thursday just as I was getting back from Montblanc.  I literally walked into our hotel from the train station and there they were waiting at the elevator with all of their bags. Although they were tired from an all-night flight, we ran around the city enjoying the colorful atmosphere.  They had been in Barcelona two years ago and were anxious to show me around town.  Unfortunately, we walked a little too fast and furious that afternoon which caused Mom to pull a ligament behind her knee and that slowed her down for the remainder of the trip.  On Friday, we headed down to the port and boarded our cruise ship.  I’d been on a cruise last summer, a Girls Trip for a long weekend in the Bahamas with my mom, sister, aunt, and cousin, so I knew what to expect, but still, somehow, the over stimulating décor still took me by surprise.  There were patterns everywhere—on the floor, on the chairs, on the walls—chrome and bright lights, too.  It was sensory overload at times.  Luckily, our room was big enough that we weren't stepping on each other and it had a window looking out onto the water that made it seem even bigger.  This served as a good escape from the crowded decks above.  It’s a good thing I like hanging out with my parents because we had a lot of “together time” on this trip.

Our 9-day itinerary took us around the western Mediterranean Sea.  We stopped in (or at least near enough to visit):  Monte Carlo, Florence, Naples, Messina (Sicily), and Marseilles.  We also docked a couple hours outside of Rome one day but decided to explore the port city for a couple of hours and then spent the rest of the afternoon having quiet time on the ship. Our stop in Palma de Mallorca was cancelled due to a port-worker strike so we ended up with an extra day in Barcelona, which was just fine with us. Mom, Dad, and I seemed to be in the same mindset about wanting to relax and not run around like crazy people trying to see everything there was to see in a city in just one day.

One of the highlights of the cruise for all of us, but especially me, was the overabundance of food available at all hours of the day and night.  I’d made an early decision to mentally separate myself from the developing world so as not to be riddled with guilt the whole trip.  Instead, I was appreciative of the many choices presented to me each day.  At the morning buffet I could have made-to-order omelets, an assortment of cheeses and cold cuts, freshly made cottage cheese, fruits, and yogurt, bacon and sausage, home-fries, etc.  Lunches were often eaten on shore or were another version of ship’s buffet with a Mongolian Wok, salad bar, deli sandwiches, various hot entrees, and frozen yogurt (which, of course I had daily!)  What I had previously mocked as “trough food” back in the States, was now a sight for sore eyes.  Dinners were a bit more structured and were served in a dining room with a full menu of daily specials.  At times, my mother convinced me to join her in ordering multiple appetizers (because we could) and we had dessert after every meal.  I likely ingested more food in any given day than I do in an entire week back in Senegal, but at least I was eating well-balanced meals and got my fill of protein and vegetables.

Several days into the cruise, my body started feeling rejuvenated again.  I was getting plenty of sleep (in a comfortable bed in an air conditioned room), my diet, although excessive, was healthful, and we were walking a lot at each port of call.  I decided to take my now-kind-of-squishy-body that hadn’t seen any real physical exercise in over a year up to the gym and started working out again.  I can’t tell you how good it felt to get on a Stair Master and make myself sweat.  In Senegal, I sweat all the time because it’s either 110 degrees or if it’s a tad cooler, like it is now, the humidity is through the roof.  Sweating because you live under the African sun and sweating because you’re pumping blood through your veins and making your muscles ache are too entirely different things.  I was so grateful for just a few days the latter.  It gave me hope that someday, my body will get back in shape and I’ll feel good about myself again. I also treated myself to a haircut in Sicily and had my first “good hair day” in over a year.

Back to Barcelona

At the Olympic Museum in Barcelona

Because we ended up in Barcelona a day early, our post-cruise visit there was increased to 5 days.  Even so, there was still so much more of the city we could have explored.  We left our hotel by 10am each day after making ourselves breakfast in our room and didn’t return until 8 or 9pm each evening.  We ate our lunches out, enjoying the neighborhood restaurants offering Daily Menus (an appetizer, an entrée, wine, water, and dessert) for reasonable prices (but, man is the dollar weak over there!!).  We usually picked up things from the local mini-marts to have in our room for dinner when we returned late.  The highlights of our wanderings through Barcelona included the Modernisme architecture that peppers the city (including all things Gaudi and especially Domènech i Montaner’s Music Palace), the plazas and infrastructure built for the ’92 Olympics, the Spanish Village built for the ‘29 International Exhibition, the St. Joseph Market with its colorful produce displays and meat on a stick, the Els Encants flea market, the many impressive art museums, and all of the colorfully decorated balconies.  We shared our visit to Barcelona with thousands of young Catholic revelers who trickled in from all over the world before heading to World Youth Day in Madrid as well as a slew of soccer fans who were there cheering on FC Barcelona as they won the Spanish SuperCup the last night we were there.  We really had such a great time that it was hard to leave, but I did so with a promise to myself that I would be back.  To lighten the mood as we were preparing to leave, Dad looked at me and said (with tongue in cheek), “As many people our age tell their children, ‘We’re going to a better place.’”  ;-) 


Home in Senegal 

Fundraising koozie

Flying back “home” to Dakar felt strange, but this is where I find myself these days.  It was nice not to have the deer-in-the-headlights feeling when I got off the plane and it was fun being able to speak to some of the Senegalese on board in their native tongue. However, I was also welcomed back to Senegal in true Senegalese style.  We landed at 3am in the pouring rain (that same storm eventually headed west and turned into Irene) and I was immediately accosted by no fewer than 8 aggressive taxi drivers who all wanted my business and had all laid claim to my luggage.  There was a lot of yelling and I had to pull my bags back out of people’s hands but, eventually, I negotiated with a driver and within seconds of getting in his car he got pulled over and had to bribe the police before we could be on our way.--oh, Senegal!  With very little sleep, I attended the new volunteer Swear-In Ceremony later that morning, spent the weekend doing laundry, and then had my mid-service medical exams early the following week.  I’m now back at site and am settling back into work and my way of life.  The rainy season has brought dampness to everything and new bugs and smells inhabit my room.  Although this makes daily living  uncomfortable at times, it’s no longer new.  The power and water cuts are just part of life here, as are the ants in my food, the mosquitoes buzzing around my head, and the mold growing on my belongings.  This is my life and my home now, at least for the next year, and I can find comfort in anticipating what will come as I make my way through the last half of my service.  Keep me in your thoughts, as you are in mine.


More Photos
Here are two photo albums from our trip:

• Mediterranean Cruise (Monaco, Italy, France)
• Barcelona and Montblanc

Not Just Toubabs, But Three!

Threebabs!

Traveling to Africa is not for the faint of heart.  In fact, when I found out I’d be living here, I wondered if anyone would come to visit me.  The tickets are pricey, there are a slew of shots required, and the accommodations are a little more rustic than those to which people I know are accustomed.  Lucky for me, I have adventurous parents, who are healthy, still quite young at heart, and who decided to throw caution to the wind and come see me, bringing with them two extra suitcases of things I’d left behind and some much appreciated consumables.

Abdullah's article sparked a friendship

A couple of months before planning their trip, my Mom read a “When I Was In Senegal” article that a young boy had written for a local newspaper in which he described visiting his parents’ native country and spending the summer with relatives in Dakar.  My parents made contact with the Abdullah’s parents who live just a few miles away from them in Springfield, VA and told them that their daughter was living in Senegal.  Rama and Idrissa had Mom and Dad over for Thieboudienne (a traditional rice, fish, and vegetable dish) and they all became fast friends.


Mom and Dad arrived in Dakar before dawn on the 21st of February, the last day of the WAIST, the West African Invitational Softball Tournament, where Peace Corps volunteers from West African countries join other Americans who live and work in Dakar for three days of sportsman-like frivolity.  We volunteers take this opportunity to dress up in team costumes, bond with others from our regions, and drink beer in the middle of the day.  My team, although handsomely attired in African print cotton lederhosen, did not go onto the finals which meant the last day of the tournament and the first day of Mom and Dad’s trip was freed up to do other things.  Because there were over 200 Peace Corps volunteers in Dakar that weekend, we were hosted by American families and I was staying, with 11 other women at the US Ambassador’s house.  Madame Bernicat was kind enough to welcome Mom and Dad (and all of their luggage) into her home for breakfast the morning they arrived before we headed out to explore the city and check into our hotel.  Unfortunately, they didn’t get a chance to meet each other, especially since I’d found out the day before that she and her family live about 5 miles from Mom and Dad back in the states and will be returning in July.  Who knew Springfield was such a Senegalese hotspot?

Team Lederhosen @ WAIST 2011

Dad arriving in Dakar

Breakfast Chez Madame Ambassador

After recuperating from their flight and relaxing after breakfast, we walked through N’Gor and caught a crowded bus to Mermoz (different neighborhoods within Dakar.)  The rickety old bus was hard-core Senegalese, falling apart and over-crowded, but they were troopers and hopped aboard anyway.  In the afternoon, we checked into our hotel in the urban Plateau district and were pleasantly surprised to have ample space and air conditioning.  During our three day stay in Dakar, we enjoyed lunch at a French bistro, real ice-cream, street vendor omelets and coffee, Portuguese food at a Cape Verdean restaurant, and lunch at Rama’s family home, where we met her parents, her father‘s first wife, one of her sisters, two of her brothers, and a couple of nieces.  They were incredibly hospitable and we enjoyed their company for hours.  We also visited Île de Gorée, an historic island just off the coast of Dakar that served as the launching point for African slaves from all over West Africa during the latter part of the 18th century.  It is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site and serves as a tourist destination.  The island is stunningly beautiful and filled with bougainvillea-lined streets and colonial architecture.  Because no cars are allowed on the island, there is a peaceful, meditative feel to it, and the colors are rich and pleasing to the eye, especially in contrast to the urban hustle and bustle of Dakar which is just a ferry ride away.

An afternoon with the Fall Family

  

Goree Island from the ferry

At the House of Slaves

Bougainvillea-lined streets

Colonial architecture along the beach

  

Thursday afternoon, we hired a Sept-Place to take us back to Diourbel.  What felt luxuriously spacious to me (just 3 passengers in a car that’s usually packed tight with 7) felt archaic to Mom and Dad.  To their credit, you could see through the floorboards to the street below and exhaust was blowing in the windows of this 30 year-old, non-air conditioned, Renault station wagon .  As we drove east away from Dakar, the temperature rose significantly (20 degrees F) in the 150 kilometers that we traveled.

We stayed in Diourbel for just over a week, pausing every couple days to consider a day trip here or there, but deciding each time it was just easier and more pleasant to stay at my compound and venture out for a couple of hours each day either before or after the heat of the day to explore different parts of my town.  Although the mornings and evenings are still cool, the midday temperatures are surpassing 100 degrees F again as we get closer to the “hot” season.  On their first full day in Diourbel, Mom and Dad woke up early to accompany me on my 3-mile walk to school.  Unfortunately, when we got there, we discovered that the kids were excused for the day to study for exams the following week.  That would have been nice to know before we headed out.  C’est la vie au Sénégal!  We visited with the school director and then headed into town to explore the market.  Along the way, we stopped to say hello to Mamadou, a woodworker friend of mine.  He presented Mom and Dad with wooden bowls he’d made for them and gave us a tour of the artisan village where he works.  From there we explored the market and bought ingredients for dinner.  Before leaving Dakar, we’d stocked up on some essentials at the large grocery store, so we cooked breakfast and dinner every night they were in town.  We ate lunch with the Gueye family across the way, who served us Thieboudienne with a mango-tamarind sauce, everyday.  Although they enjoyed this dish (as do I), they got a good feel for the monotony of the Senegalese dining experience.  Mom and Dad joined the women’s bowl where they were given short stools to sit upon and, although it was a little difficult for them to get up and down, they managed to eat every lunch on the floor with us.   That being said, Mom’s first trip down was a bit eventful, as she aimed for the back of the stool instead of the center, which sent her toppling over onto her back, lifting her dress up over her head, and providing a very white flash to my very dark-skinned neighbors.  The Gueye’s were very welcoming and glad to open their home to my parents.  Adji-Fatou, the 12-year old girl who’s become my friend, planned a large party for my parents to welcome them to Diourbel.  She and her mother made crevettes (Styrofoam-looking fried shrimp chips) and fataya (fried dough with onion sauce) and she invited about 10 of her friends to come over for a dance party.  They all dressed in their sparkly clothes, rolled out a mat, and danced to the same three songs over and over again on Adji’s brother’s tape player.  It was adorable.

Mamadou and my parents

At the Diourbel Market

Sporting their new duds

Youngsters on the dance floor

Awa Gueye with crevettes and fataya

The electricity went out a lot during my parents‘ visit, sometimes for the entire day.  This is pretty common here, but seemed more inconvenient when trying to entertain guests.  They’d brought headlamps and a couple battery operated lights with them, so we just made the best of it.  During the day, I would get some work done, grading tests, reviewing lesson plans, etc., while Mom and Dad read on my porch.  We invited Ibou to join us for dinner most nights and I served as translator for our dinner conversation.  Had everyone spoken the same language, I think they’d become good friends.  Dad brought Ibou his entire collection of mp3 music and they quickly bonded over this gigantic old music collection.  Mom brought him a Hawaiian print shirt she’d bought at a yard sale and he wore it for days.  We all spent a good deal of time photographing and identifying the many beautiful birds that seek shelter in our compound’s garden oasis.  The last day we were in Diourbel, Ibou organized an all day event, in three parts.  First, he had one of our neighbors come over to cook a big platter of---you guessed it--Thieboudienne and we ate that with a few friends.  Afterwards, we enjoyed Attaya, a strong sweet Senegalese tea served in shot glasses, and then were instructed to go rest.  Later in the afternoon/early evening, members of the eco-village and a group of neighbors came over to express their appreciation for Mom and Dad’s visit and my presence in their community.  We ate cakes that had been made in the solar oven, several neighbors gave speeches, and we even had a griot sing a song of praise while others entertained us with dancing.  The group presented Mom and Dad with gifts of traditional clothing and then the party dispersed again.  A few hours later, another neighbor came by with a dinner she’d prepared for us (meat cooked in the solar over, French fries, salad, and bread).  She and Ibou left it for us to eat it on our own (in the dark), hence Part 3 of the all day affair was held with much less fanfare.

Ibou, Richard, and Nancy

We spent a lot of time birdwatching 

Mom adapting to the local way

Lots of meals, lots of dishes

Mom journaling

A fond farewell

Singing and dancing to celebrate

Dad napping

Dining by headlamp

Gifts from the neighbors

A farewell lunch

Friday afternoon when I returned from school, we departed with a hired a car and driver for Tivaouane, my training village.  We arrived at my host-family’s house in the midst of preparations for a baptism.  My host-Uncle and his wife had had a baby girl the month before.  There were many friends and family there helping to prepare for the big event to be held the following day.  My family was so pleased to see me after 5 months of being away and I was happy that we’d decided to make the trip.  It was especially nice to see Cheikh, my tall young host-brother who had been my communication link to the family.  We brought him a soccer ball, as he’d asked for one so many times when I was there.  When we gave it to him, his eyes lit up and he told us that he planned to take it to school, as their physical education class no longer had a ball.  We were all touched by this sweet gesture.  The family served us a platter of Thieboudienne, even though we’d already eaten lunch, and we ooh’ed and aah’ed over the baby for awhile before walking around the neighborhood to visit with the host families of the other Peace Corps Volunteers who had trained there with me.  Each family was surprised and happy to see us.  It was a really nice visit overall.

Cheikh with his long-awaited ball

A reunion with my Tivaouane family

From Tivaouane, we headed into Thiès where we visited the Director of the Training Center and had dinner with my Language/Cultural Trainer, Sakhir.  It was quite the day for reunions.  We stayed at a nice inn attached to my favorite restaurant and headed out the next morning for Bandia.  There we stopped to talk with my beekeeper friend and took a tour of his beekeeping warehouse and his garden.  He’s agreed to come to Diourbel to conduct a “How to Get Started in Beekeeping” class with some of our eco-village members.  Bandia is also home to a large wildlife preserve where we spent the afternoon.  I was concerned it might be a bit overly touristy, but we were impressed with its authenticity and how well the reserve is managed and maintained.  In the two hours it took to drive through the grounds, we saw hundreds of animals, all scattered about living amongst each other.  There are no predators roaming within the 3500 hectacres of grounds so rhinos, giraffes, ostriches, zebras, monkeys, and warthogs can all live together without fearing for their lives.  It really was amazing to be amongst this African menagerie (unfortunately, my camera was acting up while we were there so I'm awaiting copies of the photos that Dad took.)  After our guided tour, we enjoyed lunch by the crocodile pond  and fed curious monkeys from our table.  After lunch we drove to Popenguine, which is just a hop, skip, and a jump away.  We checked into a two room villa near the beach and had a relaxing afternoon and evening, buying trinkets from the vendors, visiting with PC Volunteers who were gathered for a fête, and watching the sunset over the beach.  I even talked Mom and Dad into a game of Yahtzee.

Abdou and his papaya tree

Abdou's bees enjoying a drink

On the beach at Popenguine

Sunday morning came much too quickly, as this was the last day of their visit.  After our petit-déjeuner, we drove to Saly, a resort town south of Popenguine.  This is the town where many European vacationers come to experience Senegal and because of that it’s a bit more developed than other beach towns.  I was surprised to see that just off the beaten path, however, there was still a great deal of authenticity to the community.  They were having an annual artisan fair, so we were able to see lots of handmade items all in one place.  Unfortunately, the Senegalese (yes, I’m about to make a broad statement here) do not understand how to approach a potential customer.  As we walked down the aisles of artisan booths, vendors grabbed us by the arm to pull us into their booth or threw their own arm out to block our way.  This form of aggressive marketing does not work with me, nor does the need to wheel and deal to get a fair price.  Normally, in a market setting, the Toubab price quoted is double or maybe three times what the vendor would charge another African and finagling is necessary to get them down to a reasonable price, however, at this artisan fair, prices were being jacked up 10-fold or more.  Mom ended up buying a pair of wood carved hand brooms for $20 US (still probably too high) after talking the vendor down from $240 US.  This negotiation took 20 minutes and became rather unpleasant at times, with us walking away and him chasing us down.  Experiences like these always do a disservice to the vendors and I wish I knew a way to effectively teach them that they‘d sell much more if they just left shoppers alone.  We ate lunch at an outdoor French restaurant where Mom ordered crêpes (she’d been taste-testing and comparing notes in every restaurant we dined) and a chocolate mousse, and was a very happy diner.  From Saly, we made our way back to Dakar, relaxed for a couple of hours by the pool at the Atlantic Club, and then met up with Seyni Fall, Rama’s sister, for dinner.  It’s really nice to have new friends in Dakar.  When we stopped by her house to pick her up, we caught the last few moments of a wresting match (Sumo-style wrestling is huge in Senegal) and witnessed the favored wrestler pin the underdog, thus winning the match.  The house erupted in cheers, as did the neighbor’s houses, the surrounding streets, and all of Dakar.  When we drove down the street to find our restaurant, we had to maneuver through the crowds that had filled the streets chanting and singing in celebration.  Our driver got nervous as a crowd of revelers jumped on the car in front of us.  I later learned that this sporadic celebration spread all the way to Diourbel and beyond.  It was an amazing sight to see and a nice way to send Mom and Dad off.  We dropped them at the airport after a late dinner and I headed back to Diourbel in the middle of the night with the driver, plopping into bed at 2am.

Breakfast at our beach villa

Relaxing poolside at Club Atlantique

Our new friend Seyni Fall

There are so many little stories that have been left out of this synopsis of my parents’ visit, but those of you who know them can get a play-by-play in person.  They left here comforted to know that I am surrounded by friends and people who care about me, that little by little I’m making a difference in peoples’ lives, and that I lead a simple yet, engaging life here in Senegal.  I am so glad they made the journey to see me and were able to witness a part of the world that is so different from the one we, as Americans, have come to know.  I told my friend Rebecca that I think this trip added 5 years to their lives and I hope that it’s true, for their sake and mine.