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But I love the emails and comments and promise to respond when I am at a better computer. Mom called and wins the prize. The rest of you are seriously lagging in comparison. I am sick. I think it is all the kids that cough in my face, the emails cheered me up.
Snakes, malaria, diarrhea, parasites, etc… we get a lot of information about the threats to our health and safety in Senegal. None of it is really surprising or scary; well except for the malaria, but one thing - the biggest threat to our safety while here - is. It’s the roads. The drivers here are terrifying, and my host mom talks a lot about her brother-in-law who died in an accident just last month, so it stays very fresh in my mind. I don’t get scared when I am in a bus or a taxi, I just play the statistics game in my head and that’s reassuring enough, but here volunteers travel a lot on their bikes.
Today I walked into town to get my bike from the Peace Corps training center. The bus drove us to and from the center for the first week, but now our bikes are ready and we are on our own. Retrieving my bike turned out to be a lot more than I bargained for. You could say I got lost several times, or that I was just lost for the first two hours. Whatever, no big deal- everyone is very helpful. Walking along the road (keep in mind this was a long walk) I couldn’t stop thinking that the bike ride home was one of those things I really, really didn’t want to do. I wasn’t worrying so much about dying ten days into my two-year adventure, but a minor bike accident can be very painful for what feels like a very long time.
Fast forward two hours and I have successfully retrieved my bike. For the first mile I was able to stick to the smaller roads, but La Rue Nationale couldn’t be avoided. It’s a four lane alley of death; like a lot of third-world countries no one obeys the road rules and drivers like to play chicken with each other. Again, from another vehicle it’s not bad - from the sidewalk it sucks.
I stood on the sidewalk for several minutes trying to prep myself for the crossing (just an aside, I have always hated “road rash,” very inadequate). I was so reluctant to cross the street that I practically flagged down other pedestrians for time-delaying conversations (incidentally, I met a really old man who claimed to have worked in the embassy during Carter’s administration which was sort of cool). Enough was enough though and I knew I had to get home. But, and I kid you not, just as I grasped my handle bars and lifted my foot to the pedal there was an accident directly in front of me.
Couldn’t have worked out better! No one seemed to be hurt badly and the ensuing traffic jam enabled my safe crossing. Also, after witnessing the accident I felt oddly carefree the rest of the ride home.
I wish I could say today I learned my away around the city of Thies, but that would be a lie because while I did actually walk a lot of it, I was never sure where I was at any given time. Seriously though, I should have known what I was in for when I set out with “north, north east” as my direction. It also must be said that this was my fault. My host family would have been happy to show me the way, but I insisted on doing it myself. When I got home and shared my day they told me about a short cut along dirt roads behind the stadium. Not a lot of cars there. Dumbass.
Easter Sunday
I went to mass for Easter Sunday today with the Catholic family from across the street. It all happened sort of suddenly. I'm told there aren't a lot of Catholics in the villages. I guess they are city dwellers, because here the Catholics make large quantities of a delicious fruit stew that they deliver to their Muslim neighbors. I thought this was really nice of them, but my host mom said it is just the status quo since the Muslims deliver huge quantities of some other food during Tabaski. Still, the fruit stew is really good (a lot of the food is really good, but every time I sit down to eat I mentally smile and think of Jen and how much she would hate the meals - Jen, you would have hated the stew too).
So while we were eating the fruit stew I mentioned that I would like to go to mass and before I knew it my host "mom" Ndeye was taking me across the street to ask the neighbors if I could go with them. We just knocked on their front door and entered the hallway where about 10 people were sitting around; one person was washing a huge tub of lettuce, some women were weaving each other's hair, and others were doing I don't know what - whatever it is people do when they are sitting at home. Anyhow, they were really nice and said they would pick me up at 9:45, but they knocked on the front door at 9 a.m. to say we would be leaving twenty minutes early, which happened to be my entire window for getting ready because I was still in bed, but no big deal.
I don't really have a whole to say about the mass, there weren't a lot of surprises (the drums sounded cool though), which is why I enjoy mass in strange places. It was in French, which I am pretty familiar with after I made the mistake in France of mentioning I wanted to go to mass one Sunday, and unwittingly committed myself to attending every Sunday, some Tuesdays and all religious holidays for the duration of my stay.
This is Africa though, so the best description I ca n give of the church is that, except for the statues, it looked downright Protestant. No frills. The priests dressed in white robes with some embroidery, no heavy silks or velvets for obvious reasons.
I am going on just a few days of observation here, but it did occur to me to feel sorry for Senegalese priests when they are assigned to dioceses in America. We were told on day three that there are no atheists in Senegal. The Catholics go to confession regularly and observe the other pesky rules a lot of American Catholics let fall by the wayside. But the Catholics don't hold a candle to the Muslims, who pray (quite loudly from speakers) five times a day.
We must depress priests sent to be our spiritual guides, what with our cluttered lives and liberal interpretations of religion and spirituality. No one would dream of describing themselves as "spiritual, but not religious" here. Poor priests, I bet they hate the air-conditioned churches and organs. They are probably homesick for the open windows and drums. Oh well, not me - I was really just there for the familiar incense and Eucharist, after a week of Pulaar language classes I wasn’t up for following the sermon.
There was some excitement for me during the mass when I realized I was daydreaming in French. That was really cool until I realized I was also thinking rather elementary, short thoughts - that was sort of deflating.
Interesting note, I ran into members of that nice Catholic family on the street after my bike odyssey. We had a pleasant chat, and I was feeling quite pleased with the exchange. Those thoughts ended abruptly when they left calling "see you Sunday!" So looks like I've committed myself to regular church attendance again. Apparently I learned nothing in France.
All in all, I wouldn't describe today as wildly successful. I would never say this otherwise, but I think it is in my best interest here to remind people of that phrase life is in the journey.
Hi Everyone, Sorry I haven't written on my much-hyped blog but I am in Africa and frankly, I am exhausted. I flew into Dakar about a week ago, after two days in Philadelphia. I don't have much to say about Philly except it was cold and the highlight was dinner with Jake (he reads this blog, but only comments using pen names) at a swank restaurant. It was a nice send off and I am sure made the subsequent 20-odd hours of traveling time less painful.
Okay, I am going to skip a lot of the boring details. But now I am in a city called Thies (pronounced chess) and attending language and technical classes all day while living with a host family. The host family is really cool. I can't really put the juicy stuff on a blog, but suffice to say not everyone has been as lucky.
Language classes are killing me. I have been assigned to a Pulaar-speaking region in the south, near the Guinea Bissau border. Speaking of the south, a funny thing happened during the French-language evaluation they give all volunteers when they arrive. I froze up as soon as the evaluator turned on the recorder and forgot how to speak French, but that's not the funny part. After some persistence, the evaluator managed to coax some conversation out of me and noticed I had a French southern accent. A strong one.
This shouldn't be news to any of my readers, but I lived in the south of France during my senior year of high school. I knew everyone around me had a strong accent, but always assumed I butchered the language to the point to the point that no one could pin point it's origins, but dear readers I can assure you I have the accent of a southerner, and good accent at that (I swear, several French speakers have told me so. None of you speak French so you can't take that away). So that's cool.
Okay, I am exhausted so let's see what else is different. I don't want to go into the intricacies of toilet etiquette here, but it's complicated and the left hand is foul. Do an internet search if you don't know what I am talking about.
Other stuff, other stuff, other stuff ... oh yeah, there were fish heads in the lunch dish a few days ago complete with eyeballs. Other volunteers were claiming it was a delicacy, but I don't think any of us know what we are talking about.
I went to Easter mass today with a family across the street. I'll write more on that later though because I am losing day light. I miss all of you, but you know that.
My phone number is area code 221 77107 71 60. The first person who gets through gets a prize, nothing tangible - just my thanks because while it's free for me it's not for you. ha!
WRITTEN SOMETIME LAST WEEK……………
Hi everyone. I have been in Africa about four days, and up until today it felt a lot like summer camp except you couldn’t drink the water. Don’t get me wrong, as camp goes it was pretty nice with lots of cultural lessons and new experiences, but with the exception of a visit to the market yesterday we have been mostly confined to the training grounds.
Today I found out I will be going to Kolda, the southern most region of Senegal. I couldn’t get any further from Dakar or Thies, but still I am pretty excited. I say this because while I didn’t necessarily mind the idea of the northern regions, where it is (incredibly) hot, dusty and dry, the mountainous tropical region bordering Guinea Bissau sounds a little more my style. During my placement interview I made one request, that they place me near some sort of water. I was busy kicking myself later because I can’t remember if I stressed that and I want to swim in that water - but that’s not officially allowed anyway. So all that’s still up in the air, but I think my odds of being near some sort of water are better in the south. Any of you with easy internet access are welcome to look up the Kolda region (region, not city) and report back.
I started learning a dialect of Pulaar this morning. It’s a pretty language, with some letters and long vowels thrown in there that we don‘t use. Fortunately, a lot of the questions can be answered with “Jam tan,“ meaning, “peace only.” It is an Islamic country after all.
When asking someone how they slept you say, “Hono mboddu-daa e bowdi?”
Actually, the direct translation is “How were the mosquitoes?”
I think this says a lot about where I am going.
More later. I miss you all.
Love,
me
