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

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!

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.