No Reseau

I've been having cell phone network connection problems (or no reseau, as they say here) off and on for a few weeks. It's been better the last few days, and now that I'm back in the city of Kédougou my cell phone's working just fine. 

The internet, however, is another story. I'm using a little USB key to connect. I buy credit and log on; today I opted to spend 1000 CFA (about $2 USD) on three hours of internet access, which I can use all at once or in bits over the next three days.  It's really not a bad deal, it's not too slow and I get to use my own computer, which is great. 

Yesterday I biked in from Salémata yesterday -- the rains starting meant that everything was starting to turn green and lovely, but also that the road was muddy, so it was slow and messy going for a few big stretches. It was a good ride, though, my neighbor Jackie took my backpack in on a car and gave me a mocha-flavored Clif Shot packet, which was fantastic. After I got in, washed up, and got over the disappointment of no wifi at the Regional House Tatiana and I made home fries and a big pan of sautéed eggplant for dinner, which was amazing and delicious after all the rice I've been eating in village lately. 

Tomorrow we have a big Malaria Fair and then a big 4th of July celebration, so we're very busy with all the preparations today. I have a bunch of photos I'm really excited about uploading and posting, but that won't happen until things settle down and the real internet comes back, hopefully early next week. 

Radio Party

Until just a few years ago the Kédougou was just a somewhat forgotten Department within the larger Region of Tambacounda. Now Kédougou has full regional status and over the last year we've been seeing all sorts of changes. For instance, as of last month the National Highway is now completely paved (but it wasn't last year) all the way to the city of Kédougou, our regional capitol, and they've started putting in sidewalks and streetlights along part of the main road through town. There are even (still non-functional) stoplights being installed at the main intersection by the market. It's all very impressive. 

Within Kédougou, the Salémata Health District (where I live) is still pretty much the least developed and most isolated. The road out to the Salémata Health Center is rough, unpaved, and often impassable in the rainy season, electricity is scarce, cell phone service is often patchy and weak, and until very recently just about the only radio stations that we could pick up were coming from Guinean stations, missionaries, or the BBC World Service. And then U.S.A.I.D. showed up built this lovely little community radio station and set up a broadcasting tower, which is really fantastic for a variety of reasons.

I didn't even know that the radio station was done (the U.S.A.I.D. agent in our area isn't exactly known for being thrilled about Peace Corps Volunteers) but my host family invited to the inauguration and it turned out to be quite the party; people really wanted to put on a show because the new American Ambassador, Lewis Lukens, actually came out for the inauguration ceremony. Because Americans are stereotypically extremely punctual, people here thought it was funny that he and his entourage showed up a little late (frequently people used to Dakar don't take into account how much slower one has to drive on a washed-out laterite road when calculating driving times) and couldn't stay long, but people were still really glad he'd come. It made them feel like Salémata was important, and that the American government cared about their community specifically. 

Middle school students dressed up like traditional Pulaar villagers, drawing on pretend face-tattoos (which you still see on older women sometimes), chewing on teeth-sticks, wearing blue leppi fabric outfits, and carrying traditional decorative woven discs. I gave my camera to Mamadou, my little host brother, and he took some great photos, including these ones of me sitting in the crowd (I'm still shocked sometimes by how much I really just don't blend in at all) and of my host mother Mariama (below left, you can see a snippet of her bright orange headwrap) dragging me up in front while she slipped the griot singers some change and had them sing my name in a song, which is a really nice thing to do for someone.

The Bassaris were the main attraction, though, and they lined up to pose for photos before starting to dance and march around to the music and singing of the griots.

A lot of Mamdou's photos were of his friends posing with the Bassaris or posing with the kids dressed up in traditional Pulaar garb. This his Mamadou and one of our neighbors, posing with my host sister Mariama Gaulo (one the left) and her friend, both dressed up in leppi and make-up.

Having a community radio has already started to make a big difference in how things work in Salémata and all the surrounding villages. Everyone listens to the radio, which makes it a great way to make community announcements, remind people to come to baby weighings, get the word out about vaccination campaigns or upcoming trainings. People also really love to hear their names on the radio, so people will swing by and give the D.J. a few coins to have him greet their friends and family live on the air. I haven't done that yet, but I'll definitely be sending a greeting to my family in the near future. 

Highly Fashionable

I wear things here that I just wouldn't wear in America, (unless I was at summer camp, where I once wore a vividly teal full-body rain suit with yellow cuffs) especially when I'm in village. This is a country where an all-fuchsia outfit with sparkly gold trim is considered pretty but not at all out of the ordinary, and I've gotten used to it. A few months ago I was walking to the water pump with my purple bucket, and noticed that I was wearing pink flip-flops, bright red pants with yellow squiggles, a bright green t-shirt, purple glasses and a tan hat. At least my glasses matched my bucket, I guess. 

So when I came in to the Regional House, (where there are other Americans) looked down at myself, and all of a sudden realized I was pretty much dressed like a giant crayon, right down to the green flip-flops. I couldn't find my green hat, or I would have put that on, too. 

Crayola Green

Writing with Adama

I’ve been working in my hut the last few afternoons, doing prep work for a latrine project and typing stuff up. I don’t usually let little kids into my hut, especially if there are a bunch of them, but if they ask nicely and aren’t being too rowdy I’ll let them in, give them a stack of scratch paper and some pens, and watch them “write” up a storm. 

Here are Mankaba, Ablaye, Diame, and Diabou (above) and Diouma, Mankaba, and Daouda "Petit" Ba (below). They’re usually pretty well behaved, and they do a good job of keeping an eye on each other, calling out things like “Hey! Mankaba! Don’t touch Adama’s pillow! She washed it!” and “You can’t have all the paper! Give her one!”

Yesterday Diabou, the youngest of my host sisters, came into my hut for the first time. The mere sight of me made her cry for the first few weeks after I arrived, but I gave her plenty of space and she progressed to just glaring at me, then sitting near –but not next to - me, and then a few months in she started greeting me with little waves. Now she has a lot of affection for me, and expresses it by doing her best to feed me mushy crackers, lightly chewed-on bits of baobab, and handfuls of rice with sauce. Anyway, yesterday she came in and sat down and scribbled, and I was pleased that she was there and it was all very cute.

 And then she peed on my floor.

NEVERMIND...

...about heading back to village today. This morning, a little after 8:00 am, I biked over to the Kédougou garage (a big dirt parking lot hemmed by tin-roofed boutique warehouses and lunch shacks) and bought a ticket for the next car to Salémata. I settled in with my books for what would turn out to be a futile eight-ish hour wait.

During those hours I ate the Spiced Pumpkin Pie Clif Bar that Santa left in my stocking (which was delicious), rode my bike back to the regional house for snacks and to use the latrine, and made a big impression on a gaggle of older Pular men who grew increasingly impressed as they watched me read three books, one after another.  Those books were Daughter of Fortune, which I really liked, Take the Cannoli [Stories from the New World], which was great even though I'd already heard almost all the stories on This American Life, and Are You There, Vodka? It's Me, Chelsea, which turned out to be pretty much the perfect thing to read after sitting on a narrow bench in a crowded dusty lot all day long.

Around lunchtime I got up and very sweetly told the guy who's in charge of selling tickets that if the car didn't fill up by 4:00 pm I'd need to leave, because after that it would be possible that I'd be arriving in Salémata after dark and my boss at Corps de la Paix forbids me from travelling at night. (That's a real rule, though Safety & Security does make occasional exceptions) As it turns out, I'm really glad I had that little chat, and that I was very polite.  

Eventually 4:00 pm rolled around, and much to the ornery driver's irritation (other passengers were grumbling about refunds and so far had been refused) I quietly got my money back from the ticket guy and rode off to buy a ticket from the Niokolo Transport office, which has a truck that reliably goes out to Salémata on Monday and Friday mornings at 8:00 am. So, sometimes being a toubab means I have to put up with extra hassles, but sometimes being foreign (and invoking Peace Corps rules) seems to make it easier to duck out of unpleasant situations.  Sticking out like a bespectacled DayGlo thumb is a mixed bag.  

Anyway. The water's on for the moment so I think I'll take an outdoor shower, download some podcasts, heat up some soup, make the most of an extra night at the Regional House. And then tomorrow morning I'll actually head back to village. Inchallah.

Baby Mama

Awhile back I was telling someone how cute Saliou, their little boy, is and they exclaimed "You should marry him You think he's pretty! Marry him!" Because my Pullo Fuuta was still just barely functional I was slightly confused, and I guess it showed in my face, prompting my host sister to gently place a hand on my knee while telling me in an overly reassuring tone that they were, in fact, joking, and did not expect me to marry a baby.

Saliou and Sajou Ba, being serious.

Then, the other day, I was chatting with a neighbor, admiring her newborn baby girl, and she said "Oh, you think she's very pretty? Well, then she should marry your father! Because he's the chef du village! And then... she would be your mother! Come greet your baby-mother!" This was pretty funny for everyone except the baby, Kadjitou, who slept through the whole thing. I see them around my village, at the Health Center and in the weekly market, and the mom always calls out "Adama! Come greet your neene! Your neene is here!"

And so I do. 

Revenge of the John Boehner Laterite Road Tan

So, last week when we got on the Niokolo bus from Kédougou to Dakar, a very nice man sitting in the row behind us handed over these disposable surgical masks and told us to put them on. We weren't totally sure we would need them (the bus had windows and everything) but dutifully put them on anyway. (Left to right: me, Leah, Marielle, and New Ian.)

Four hours later when we stopped in Tamba we were very glad we'd done so.

Eight hours after that we were in Dakar, enjoying croissants and fancy coffees and attracting all sorts of sidelong looks from the well-kempt people on their way to work. (Once the Peace Corps office was open for business we went and took showers and felt much more presentable.) 

Ramadan Food

I know that "Ramadan food" might sound like an oxymoron, but there is a lot of eating involved in celebrating Ramadan. First, there are a lot of people who aren't supposed to fast during the day, such as children, the sick, the elderly, women who are pregnant, breastfeeding, or menstruating, non-Muslims, people who are traveling long distances or doing serious manual labor, and so on.

People, like my host family, who observe Ramadan will get up before dawn to have breakfast, and then fast until seven in the evening, when they'll break the fast by eating dates and having tea and snacks while they prepare dinner. During the day they're supposed to be doing a total fast, meaning that they'll give up not just eating and drinking, but looking at, thinking about, and doing and saying sinful things. As my host mother during Pre-Service Training noted, Ramadan is much harder than the Catholic tradition of Lent. (I wasn't really sure how to go about explaining that I don't do Lent either, so I just agreed with her.)

Ramadan started while I was in Dakar, but it's a pretty big city and aside from a few things (cab drivers charging more and being less agreeable, witnessing a late afternoon fistfight in a roundabout, lots of Ramadan-related advertisements for dates and coffee and things) it was easy to forget that Ramadan was happening.

There were more people out praying then usual, especially on Friday, which is traditionally the day that everyone wears nicer clothes, and the men and the older women go to the mosque for afternoon prayers. On the first Friday of Ramadan we were walking over to the French Cultural Center at prayer time, and the streets were echoing with the megaphones broadcasting the call to prayer and impressively crowded with people praying or heading to the mosque to pray. I'm not sure why so many people were praying in the streets - maybe there isn't enough space in the mosques? Maybe people run out of time and it's more convenient?

Photo Credit: travelpod.com

In any case, today I'm going to go over to the Kédougou market to buy snacks, a bunch of dates as a seriche gift for my host family, and some gresil. I'm not sure what gresil is but everyone tells me that if you sprinkle it around the outside of your hut it repels snakes. (Side note: Last month I saw a couple snakes in my hut. They didn't hang around and they weren't black mambas or anything, but I'm going to get the gresil anyway.)

Tomorrow (after I go to the post office and hopefully finally finally the guy who has the keys to the cabinet where they keep all the packages will be there and I will be able to pick up my birthday mail) I'll be heading back to Salémata. 

Arrivederci!

The John Boehner Laterite Road Tan

There are many laterite roads in my region, and when you ride in a Niokolo safari car (or truck or bike or cart) you get coated in a thick layer of fine orange dust, which PCV Eric likes to call a John Boehner Laterite Road Tan. 

If it's really hot out (and it usually is) the best way to wash off a serious road tan is by taking a baignoire ("ban-wahr"), filling it with cold water (ice cubes optional) and sitting in it. 

Some of the Kédougou Volunteers did this while my neighbor Ian H. and I were hanging out at the Regional House, listening to ourselves talk about malaria on the Peace Corps Kédougou local radio show.

I ♥ Eric.

Baignoire Party with New Ian H., Ben G., and Eric

Me and Old Ian H. enjoying the sound of our own voices.

My First 100 Days

A few weeks ago I was listening to a podcast about a lady who wrote a book about Obama's mom, and it occurred to me that I was about to complete my first one hundred days in Senegal. Here are a few of the my early in-country achievements:

My language has advanced to the point where I can say "Hello Mother! I am going to with lunch Taki's friend here. There. There. I am going to lunch. Is not here, me, lunching. Lunch? To eat. With Taki from Etiolo. Friend of Taki house here. Ok? Thank you! Thank you much much much! At afternoon ok!"

All of the little kids in my neighborhood have stopped calling me "Toubab!" and started calling me "Adama!"

I built a little barrier at the base of my hut's back door so that the rat who has been digging a hole in my wall can't scamper in while I'm trying to enjoy my morning coffee.

I have established myself as the Resident Facepainter at the Regional House.

Diabou, the ten-month-old who was initially extremely suspicious about me as a person, has finally warmed up to me and now calls me "Ada!" and waves and gives me brisk little handshakes.

I new have a faint Chacos foot-tan and approximately two dozen new freckles, most of them on my ankles. 

The Castle, Revisited

I feel like my camera has a hidden Funhouse Mirror setting; last time I posted a photo of the Salémata castle it looked like a mini-golf prop, but in pictures from a couple weeks ago it looms over me. You get the idea, though. 

The Day of the Neem Mural 

Volunteer Visit

This is the poster of Bob, the guy who had the castle built. I don't really know what else to say about it, except that in real life is much older and heavier and more leathery than he is in the poster photos. 

This is Bob's poster.

I Love Panoramas.

This is the view of the main cooking/eating/lounging area of the Souaré compound. My hut is off to the right. I spend a lot of time sitting around under this mango tree, smiling at people and trying to keep up with conversations. (Which is still really hard, and pretty tiring mentally, so I also tend to spend a lot of time zoning out and watching the chickens and goats running around getting into things.) For the first week or so I would sit around here with my host moms and drink the super-sweet tea that is so popular in Senegal, but I started to worry about my teeth melting from so much exposure to what is basically hot sugar syrup (also it kinda gives me a stomachache most of the time) so now I just sit around, shelling peanuts and pointing at the goats and saying goats! and so on.

Below is the closest well to my house. I am not so great at sloshing the bucket around to get it to fill up in an efficient way (also I don't have my own bucket on a rope and don't like having to go around asking to borrow one even though no one would mind at all) so I walk to the forage pump on other side of the field, at the elementary school, and pump my water there.

I generally pump one or two 15-liter buckets of water every day in village. I use a bucket with a lid, and I fill it up, strap it to the back of my bike, and ride/walk it back across the field and up the little hill to my hut. Even though most women (and many children) pull and haul a lot more water than that, a lot farther than that, and without the assistance of a bike, everyone clucks and says I am très brave to be fetching water all by myself.

The Cat in the Glasses

There is a very small, very thin, very pregnant orange tabby cat that lives around the Training Center. She's always coming in to loll around on the couches in the foyer and clamber around the buckets where we scrape the leftovers off our plates, teetering precariously while she reaches in after little bits of stewed meat and whatnot. She's a nice cat, and people like her.

Also, a whole lot of the people in my group of trainees (or stage, "stah-je") wear glasses, which is supposedly why our nickname among the current volunteers is the "Library Stage." (It also might be because a certain number of us are somewhat stodgy and bookish by Peace Corps standards, but officially it's the glasses thing.)
 
Anyway, earlier today someone said that they wanted to have stage t-shirts made, and that people should come up with ideas, and that is how I came to have the following conversation:


Cady, coming in & not seeing me at first: "Oh! Hey, whatcha up to?"

Me: " Oh! Hi! Just.... mmm... photoshopping glasses... on this cat picture... that I have."

Cady: "Oh. Wait, what?"

Me: "I'm, uh, photoshopping glasses. On this cat."

Please note the teeny tiny colored pencil set. It is my favorite thing. 

I explained about t-shirt thing and finished my photoshopping and then turned out the lights, put some paper over my screen, and used my laptop like a light table to trace the cat picture. I was in the middle of doing this when someone came in looking for something they'd left by my roommate's desk, and I got to have a whole other mildly awkward conversation about cats, glasses and Photoshop.