Name That Rash!!

As many people know, Peace Corps Volunteers love to describe in unsolicited detail all the positively revolting things that have gone into (and come out of) their stomachs, burrowed into their feet, or raised nasty welts across their torsos. I, alas, am no exception. 

So, a couple months ago I started getting this rash on my right knee. It wasn't particularly terrible-looking, but it was unbearably itchy, oddly hard, and started to flare up angrily in bright red swaths around both knees and across my lower back. I talked to Med, sent in some photos, applied hydrocortizone cream, and things improved. This was right when the nail of my big toe was threatening to become painfully ingrown, but after a few weeks of no closed-toed shoes (which I only wear for jogging) and soaking my foot every day my toe was fine and I went back to my normal routine, toes intact and rash-free. For a few days, anyway. 

To: Med Re: Recurrent Mild Knee-Rash

And then the rash came back with an irritating vengeance. I happened to be on my way up to the Thiès Training Center where two Peace Corps Medical Officers were kind enough to spend twenty minutes looking at my knees, running their fingers over the rashy parts, and deducing the cause of my discomfort. They immediately decided it was contact allergy, and guessed that it was caused by some sort of fabric that, combined with rainy season, my skin finds intolerable. We talked about my clothes, they asked about this and that and if I have any knee-length synthetic pants, maybe ones with seams around my knee and across my back. 

And then I realized - my running pants. My stretchy, frayed-at-the-synthetic-seams, capri-style running pants. The rash went away when I stopped jogging because of my toe. I am allergic to my pants. Problem solved. They gave me some strong anti-itch cream and, only a few days later, the rash has almost entirely disappeared. 

On a related note, while looking through my photos to find this picture I realized that I have an entire album's-worth of photos of rashes, stings, blisters, infections, and swollen lumps, taken by myself and  my fellow Kédougou PCVs and e-mailed to Med in the hopes that they can diagnose us from afar and spare us the long slog up to the Med Office in Dakar. Of course, I thought "Wouldn't it be funny if we all sent these photos in to the PC/Senegal Volunteer Newsletter? They could have a little matching-game-thing in the next issue, where people guess who was afflicted by what. Name That Rash!! Hilarious!" 

My suggestion went over pretty well with the Newsletter editorial staff; it might actually happen. 

Bikram Lunch

So, a lot of people in America are into yoga these days, and Bikram Yoga, where people do all that stretching and posing and whatnot in a humid room heated to 105°F (≈ 41°C), has caught on in some places. From what I understand the idea is that doing this is cleansing, that it builds endurance, that it stimulates good stuff in your body, and that it warms up and loosens your muscles. I like yoga and I like steam rooms, and it seems like a fine idea to me.

However, I was thinking about this the other day, when the temperature was about 42°C (≈108°F), while I was perched on my little stool under the mango tree, quietly sweating, waiting for Gaulo and Bailo, my host sisters, to bring over our lunch bowl (steamed rice with peanut sauce, as usual). I was thinking about the heat, and hot yoga, and what we like to call "the face-sweats" (which is happens when you eat during hot season) and how people would react if, after they finished their hot yoga workout, they were presented with a steaming bowl of rich, salty rice and sauce and told to dig in. It's funny, but not the most appetizing thought.

Pre-Lunch Face-Sweat Levels

I've made plenty of hot-season jokes about how I should have called this blog "Bikram Life" but sitting there at the bowl, spoon in hand, perspiration trickling into my eyes and dripping down my calves, "Bikram Lunch" seemed to do a better job of summing it all up.

Things That Make Me Nervous

Now that the rainy season is long over and even the cold season is beginning to peter out and heat up, people are doing a lot of grass-clearing. These are photos from the lot next to the Regional House, and even though the fire was under control it made a snapping, crackling sound that kept me on edge until it went out. 

Some of it seems to be prescribed burning, and some of it is just to clear fields, and either way it creates lots of smoke. Sometimes it’s really hazy around town. 

The North

To celebrate Thanksgiving I decided to make the trip up North, to Ndioum, where some volunteers were hosting a big Thanksgiving dinner.

It was quite a trek.

Along the way we noticed many things that were different up there - Meera and I made a list, actually.

Dinner was really impressive and overwhelmingly delicious and here is the Picasa album to prove it.

Hope you all had a very happy Thanksgiving, too! 

Tabaski!

So it's Tabaski time in Senegal. that means that day before yesterday I gave my family a whole bunch of onions, Maggi bouillon, and vegetable oil, and spent the morning helping stir pots and chop things for yassa onion sauce.

The day started with my host brothers warming up the skin of the big drum that they used to call people to prayer at the mosque.

Everyone got dressed up in their newest, nicest, clothes, and much to everyone's great delight I wore a new complet, earrings, and a headband thing. I went to the mosque for the morning prayer, and even though I had to sit outside the mosque, with all the other women and children, it was really pleasant and nice to see people and greet everyone. People around here are observant but not particularly conservative, so it's a relaxed atmosphere and everyone was really warm and welcoming even though I was wearing nail polish, had no idea what was going on half the time, and am not Muslim.

Complets are neat-looking, but really hot and not super flattering. 

Mankaba and Sajou Ba and their shiny new clothes.

There aren't any horses in the southern part of Senegal (there are tse tse flies here and their bites are apparently lethal to horses) but there are cows, who stand in the middle of the road when there are cars coming, and donkeys, who usually hang out on the outskirts of the village, braying loudly and eating grass. Every once in awhile, though, they chase each other around and it's terrifying because they come tearing through the compound and everyone scatters to avoid being trampled. The donkeys were  out and about on Tabaski, so people kept an eye out, shooing them away so they wouldn't overturn all the cooking pots or run over anyone.

The most terrifying animal in Salémata.

Aside from the donkey excitement, it was a very mellow day. My family slaughtered a ram, which I thought would be messy but turned out to be shockingly quick, calm, and totally silent, and my host father, Sadat Souaré, portioned out piles of meat for the mosque, for elderly people in the neighborhood, and for lunch and dinner. It's impressive how every possible piece of the ram gets used.

Dividing up shares of meat.

I mostly hung out with my host sisters, watching them steam vermicelli ("cous cous Americain" as they call it) and slicing up onions and garlic, stirring pots, and keeping an eye out for marauding donkeys. There are usually between 20 and 30 people eating meals on my host family's compound, and almost everyone comes home for Tabaski so there are quite a few pots and bowls and fires and whatnot involved in holiday food prep.

After lunch we all put our fancy clothes back on, and I walked around the village, greeting people, being fed all sorts of little sandwiches and bon bons, and complimenting everyone on their lovely new complet outfits.

Bailo and Bineta chopping meat and peeling potatoes 

Host mom Mariama dishing up lunch.

Host sister Diabou smiling in her fancy new clothes.

Me (Adama) and host sister Mariama Gaulo

Host siblings Gaulo and Mamadou

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.) 

More Notes on Camp

The radio show This American Life has an excellent episode called Notes on Camp, and it's totally work a listen.

Here are a few more photos from youth camp:

Tatiana running a Marketing activity for selling
 locally made bug repellent and the weekly village market.

Host Sisters: Mariama Gaulo and Adama

Eric & I, exhausted from teaching First Aid. 

Also, doorways here tend to be really low, and everyone hits their heads pretty frequently. One evening Patrick, one of my Peace Corps neighbors, hit his head one time too many (he had a couple scrapes on his scalp that were actually bleeding a little bit) and went and got his bike helmet. That night was also spaghetti night, and they ran out of utensils at dinner (usually we'd get spoons to eat with) so some of us wound up eating with our hands. It was a total mess, and also almost pants-wettingly funny. Almost.

Patrick, Meghan, & Tatiana

Meghan and me, eating spaghetti with our hands

Tatiana and Patrick on Spaghetti Night

You can tell who sat where by how much pasta
 was left on the floor afterwards. (Those are my toes.)

All in all, I'm lucky to be in a region with such awesome and entertaining people; even when things got hectic and confusing (which happens a lot when cultures and schedules and languages collide) we still managed to have a lot of fun.

Also, just for the record, my summer camp, Camp Unalayee, is still the best summer camp of all time.

Meet the Family

My host mother Mariama, my neighbor and tokora (person with a same name) Adama, my host mother Saliou Njai, and baby Diabou shelling karite (shea) nuts to be punded and boiled into oil and shea butter.

Sajou Ba and Makaba, two of my many host brothers. They like me a lot.

Especially Sajou. He like to follow me around singing "Adama... Adama... Adama..." (That is my name.)

Mankaba and Diabou, my youngest host sibling. Over the last few weeks she's gone from being totally terrified of me to just sort of not liking it very much when I'm near her.

My host sister Mariama Gaulo. She's really smart, very responsible, and remarkably patient with me.

My host brother Mamadou. He's Mankaba's older brother, and a very good kid. 

My host sister Fatimatou.

Alaji, one of my host cousins. I'm pretty sure. He has a fancy moto and often comes over and eats at the bowl I share with my two oldest host sisters at dinnertime.

My host mother Saliou Njai, all dressed up in a complet for going out into the village.

Samba Diallo, a really nice neighbor. He, like many older people in village, is pretty much blind.

My host father and traditional chief, Sadat Souare. He teaches Koranic classes (kids come to learn about Islam and memorize verses from the Koran) most mornings, has a good sense of humor, and is just generally pleasant to hang out with.

This is my host grandmother. I think she's nice; I don't really understand about 90% of the things she tells me.

This is Diame, my youngest host mom's daughter from a previous relationship. She came back from a trip to another village with those nasty sores, and they've been steadily getting better over the last few days.

This is Sarif, my host dad's older brother, who is sweet but difficult to understand, both in French and Pulaar, and is also blind. He lives one hut over from me on the family compound, and we chat most evenings before dinner.

For anyone who didn't go to Camp Unalayee, this is what I look like when it's hot hot hot out, I'm wearing two layers of sunblock, and I haven't washed my hair in 12 days.

This is Bineta. I like her (and her 5-year-old daughter Diouma) a lot. I think she is my host cousin.

 Mankaba, Sajou, Diame, and a neighbor kid hanging around before dinnertime.

One of my host brothers playing in front of the satellite dish. We watch TV a few nights a week, usually when there's power and also a soccer game, traditional wrestling match, and/or an Indian soap opera on.

Diouma and her mom (my host mom) Kadje.

The view from the side of my hut at sunset.

Grinding up peanuts in the afternoon. (It is very fancy that my family has a grinder.) I'm lucky that all three of my host moms, my host sisters, and my host sister-in-law who also makes dinner, are all good cooks. I' also lucky that the family has enough money to buy onions, spices, and occasionally fish for the sauces that go over the rice at lunch and the couscous at dinner.

Ablaye is a cousin, I think, from the city of Tamba. I'm not sue why he lives with us right now.

This is my shadow on the karite/shea nuts drying in the sun.

One of the many chickens and a few of the adorrrable new chicks running around...

One of the goats and adorrrrable little kids...

Next up: How (and why) to make lotion out of Neem leaves!