Sweaty Angel by Sweaty Angel

There are many things I’ve learned about myself during the past 21 months living abroad in a developing country, so many, in fact, it would be hard to list them all.  At times I feel as if I’ll take away more from this experience than I’ll leave behind. One thing I know I've learned is that I like to write and, even more surprisingly, that people like to read what I have written.  Luckily, my schedule has also allowed me to do a lot of writing and a lot reading.  These really go hand-in-hand; it’s hard to do one without the other.  It seems that exploring other people’s style, their rhythm, and their cadence, is an important part of developing your own.

Recently, I read a series of novels by Anne Lamott that follow a young girl and her family over a 10 year period as she grows from a sweet little angelic child being raised by an anxious widow to a manipulative teenage addict who challenges her mother’s new marriage.  When reading any series of books, whether it is Harry Potter or the Millennium series, I always find it interesting to watch the characters grow and change as the storyline evolves.   I was happy to come across a fourth book by Lamott in one of our regional house libraries, Bird by Bird, a non-fiction book that, as its subtitle suggests, offers “some instructions on writing and life.”  The book is filled with stories about how Lamott became interested in writing and some of the challenges she’s faced along the way.  It follows the same format she uses when teaching writing classes at UC Davis, giving new writers tips and tricks for assigning writing tasks, dealing with perfectionism, discovering characters, and letting plots develop alongside them.  She’s very funny, so in addition to this being an interesting read it’s also entertaining.  One of the first exercises that she suggests for learning how to craft a story is to give yourself a manageable, short writing assignment describing a brief moment in intricate detail.  She references some advice her father once gave her brother when he was ten years old and had procrastinated about writing a report on birds.  He’d had three months to complete the report, but waited until the last minute to begin it.  Seeing his frustration and despair, their father, who was also a writer, suggested that he take it “bird by bird”, focusing his writing on the description of each bird instead of being overwhelmed with the entire assignment.  This advice stuck with Lamott and she recommends it as an exercise for focusing on the details of a single situation and letting that set the scene to expose characters and settings that can later be explored. I liked this idea so much that I decided to give it a try.  Here is what I came up with:

Having lived in the midst of the Sahel for the past 2 years, she still had not gotten used to the intermittent brown-outs that roll through during the hot season.  These brown-outs have nothing to do with electricity, although that’s often a problem as well.  Instead, the brown-outs  are aptly named because of the color they change the sky.  The hot dust-filled Harmattan winds that blow in from the north are still as eerie to her now as they had been the first time she’d experienced them, well over a year ago.  This time they came on quickly.  She was sitting on her porch admiring a couple of neighborhood kids who were studying in the outdoor classroom recently built in the courtyard of her compound when the winds began to pick up and the late afternoon temperature began to rise.  Within minutes, the sky above and the air all around was sepia-toned and filled with fine particles of sand.  After the girls ran home, she took shelter in her hot cinderblock room closing the door and shutters behind her and drawing the curtains in a futile attempt to keep silt and sand from coating her belongings.  Unfortunately, the small cluster flies that usually only torment her in the early morning while she enjoys a cup of coffee and a crossword puzzle decided to follow her.  To avoid them, she took refuge under the mosquito net on the small twin bed that occupies a quarter of her room.  Luckily, the power stayed on despite the high winds, so she was able to use her most valued possession, the oscillating fan she bought when she’d first arrived in Senegal. As the evening descended, she ventured out a few times to refill her water bottle and check on the weather.  Not much had changed; it was still hot, still brown, and still windy.  

What seemed stiflingly oppressive to her, surprisingly did not affect the neighbors who’d come by earlier in the day to pick up the stackable plastic chairs that she and her host father rent out for parties and events.  Soon after the 7:30pm call to prayer, she heard the sound tests from their rented speaker system and then the amplified drums that would continue on throughout the night.  When she returned to her room and splashed her face to cool off, she noticed that the water returning to the sink was brown and that her whole body was covered in grit, which prompted her to rinse off completely.  After a quick shower, she patted herself dry and then crawled back under the mosquito net, unclothed.  Being completely naked in this conservative Muslim country is a rare event, for anyone, and it felt a bit risqué.  Although women are not shy about walking around topless, especially in the extreme heat, being totally naked is something that rarely happens, even in the privacy of one’s own room.  She’d recently learned that some women even keep their bottom halves covered with a crocheted wrap skirt when showering or giving themselves bucket baths.  That night, however, she did not hesitate to disrobe.  It was too hot for her to care about modesty or cultural integration.  She lay on her bed with arms laid flat above her head and her legs spread wide so that no part of her skin was touching another part, as if preparing to make a sweaty snow angel atop her damp sheets.  On occasion, a limb would bend in an attempt to find a comfortable position on the lumpy bed, but as soon as the skin on either side of the crease of her knee or her elbow would touch a stream of sweat would work its way down the limb like a raindrop on a window.  The fan positioned just two feet from the net provided some relief  as it attempted to dry the trickle of sweat before it reached its destination.

Sleep was not an option, at least not until she was thoroughly exhausted.  The neighborhood drum-fest was loud and intrusive.  Even her host dad was trying to drown out the beat of the tam-tams by blasting Miles Davis and John Coltrane from his computer speakers.  The sounds of both kept her from sleep so she picked up a book and tried to read.  The hum of the fan did not completely drown out the drone of the mosquitos and flies that zoomed around the net attracted, no doubt, to the headlamp she was using to read. The wind, the insects, the drums, the jazz, the heat, all mixed together in the air filling her room with an amplified agitation.  The insects soon outsmarted the net and many of them found their way through the small holes that had been created when the bracelets she wore to mark each passing month snagged and caught on the delicate netting.  After a while, smashing mosquitos between the pages of her book became less fulfilling and more of a hindrance to her actually being able to read the words in the book, so she turned off the headlamp and resigned herself to a restless night, pulling a sheet above her head to keep from being feasted upon in her sleep.  Just two more months of this, she thought, and then the rains arrive.  

So, what do you think? Do I have a novel in me?  I think I should probably just stick to blogging.

If you're curious about where I've been living, I've recently made an album entitled, "My Digs in Diourbel".  Check it out.  Also, the "Keur Cheikh Girls Club" album has also been updated with new photos.  Both of these live on the My Photos tab, but you can also click on the links above.

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

Meet Mamadou

One of the things I like most about my role in the Peace Corps is the variety of work I get to do.  On any given day, I may be teaching a Business class to high school students, ripping paper with little kids to make paper briquettes, collaborating with other volunteers on gender and development issues, talking with farmers about new water pump technology, or helping an artisan market his goods—and that’s the short list!   Recently, I traveled to Saint Louis, the former French colonial capital of West Africa, to attend an Artisan Exhibition with one of my artisans.

Dakar Artisan Expo, Dec '10

Saint Louis Artisan Expo, Jun '11

Mamadou Dioum is a woodworker I met when I first arrived in Diourbel.  The two volunteers before me both worked with him, so I basically inherited this partnership.  Mamadou learned to work with wood from his father at the age of 8, as did his brothers and cousins.  Wood carving has been in their family for generations and there continue to be young apprentices hanging around their workshop.  This is a family that takes pride in what they do.  Mamadou is in his late twenties and is trying to move the business forward.  If you come to Senegal, you’ll see many similar wood artisans selling their products along the streets of Dakar, but Mamadou is trying to differentiate himself from the others.   He works on new designs for the chairs and tables he creates, spends the time to do quality control, and experiments with new shapes and types of wood to make his bowls and plates more appealing.  His traditional mortars and pestles, tam-tams, and djembes cater to the local market, but he also makes the small statues and masks popular with tourists.

Salad Bowl

Djembes and Tam-Tam

A cousin at work

Mamadou's newest design

Masks

Chairs, tables, and fruit bowls

The next generation

I think my host dad, Ibou, cringes every time I leave the compound to work with Mamadou because, by definition, woodworkers are contributing to the deforestation problems that plague this country.  At the same time, however, he understands the importance of promoting traditional arts, and this is certainly one of them.   Each piece of wood is maximized to make the most of it and the wood chips they create are gathered daily by neighborhood women who carry them away in buckets on their heads to use for cooking.

Makes interlocking legs

One piece of wood

Watching Mamabou or one of his cousins carve a criss-crossing interlocking set of table legs out of one piece of wood is truly amazing, especially with the size of the tools they use.  I am continually amazed at the precision they can get wielding large adzes and the detailed finishing they can do with chisels that are old and  falling apart.

Although his work is beautiful, Mamadou has a hard time making a profit.  Like most small business owners in Senegal, his personal finances and business finances are merged so money coming into the business is usually spent the same day on keeping the household afloat.  In fact, hoarding (or saving) money is considered to be unsocial.  According to David Maranz, who wrote African Friends and Money Matters, a book which we were required to read as part of our training, “it is a general rule that people expect that money and commodities will be used or spent as soon as they are available.  If the possessor does not have immediate need to spend or use a resource, relatives and friends certainly do.”  This is challenging for me as a Small Enterprise Development Agent and also as a community member.  I often find myself in the position of loaning Mamadou money so that he can finish a commissioned job for someone I know.  This has become increasingly frustrating for me as it’s become more commonplace.  At least in this scenario, I know I’ll get the money back when my friend pays for the piece because they can pay me directly and give Mamadou the remainder.  It's not exactly a sustainable practice, though, and I know that. All of my efforts to talk Mamadou into saving some of the money he earns from one sale to invest in the next one have been for naught.   Fortunately, I have some back up assistance with this.   My friend Alyssa, who is a volunteer in Thiès, worked on creating a Peace Corps Artisan Réseau (Network) as part of her service.  Mamadou is now a member of this group.  The artisans who work with volunteers meet regularly and pay monthly dues that go towards transportation and table fees at exhibitions.  One of the Peace Corps technical trainers conducts training seminars in their local language to assist them with managing their businesses and we have a volunteer who works with the West African Trade Hub to help those who are interested in exporting their goods.  The volunteers who work with the artisans reinforce that training at site. It’s a slow process, but we’re headed in the right direction. 

An Artisan Reseau Training Seminar (Dakar)

Alyssa leading an Artisan Reseau meeting (Thies)

In my office, reviewing photos

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.