me & me

Not much to say

Hey everyone,
I've been in the city but haven't written because I don't have much to say. I've been hanging out at the regional house, getting ready to go to Thies for three weeks of training. After that it's a few days in Dakar for the environmental summit, then back to the village to start work.

I think my path's pretty set work-wise. A former volunteer told my host-dad, Bala, about a successful waste management program a volunteer couple had set up in another part of the country. Bala, also the village chief, can't wait for me to get started replicating the project. Apparently the couple's project is still going strong, even making money, which, I think, is what captured Bala's attention.

For the past two weeks Bala's been bringing up the project, then - to my recurring surprise - he's crying and the subject has become his children's futures. He never actually says he wants to make money on the project so he can send his children to Europe, but it doesn't take a very smart person to make the jump.

I have two problems with this. One, the tears. Stop crying! Two, does he realize this money is not going to be his? Yes, he knows it is not supposed to be his. But if the project is successful, and that's a big if, someone's got to keep a close eye on the money. I'm going to have to say it can't be just Bala. Now, how do I say that delicately?

great surprise

Forgot to say I got a wonderful pre-dawn surprise yesterday in the form of a phone call from Meg!!! It was great, although I was a little out of it for the first few minutes, forgetting to walk outside for the conversation and waking up my two overnight guests in the process.

Anyway, it was so nice to hear her voice I almost cried, but I had to laugh instead because she kept interrupting herself to complain about the roosters crowing in the background on my end.

Meg had downloaded Skype to her computer and I guess that made mom feel competitive because when she heard Meg called me from her computer she got Skype in the same day. Others, like Jackie, have tried to download Skype, but instead of phone calls I get e-mails complaining they're confused. That's okay, I know you love me too.

Just because I'm here

Please understand I have nothing to write about today. I'm just in the city and feel like I should post something and all I've got that is blog appropriate is this boring little bit...

Remember my abrupt sign-off last time I wrote? Well it turns out I was really sick. I started to feel strange when I got back to the regional house, was feeling weak and a little nauseous at the garage where Laura took over the task of fighting for a reasonably priced ride, and by the time we got to my little hut I was full-on sick.

That night in my hut I was feeling so out of it that for the first time I tried to walk outside to the bathroom with no shoes or a headlamp. That was a big mistake because it had been raining and everyone knows the bugs come out of night. I paused it my doorway because I was feeling dizzy when sharp prickles launched themselves at my toes.

My immediate thought was “Oh God, I’m going to be crying all night because this is a scorpion,” (that's what they tell you here, 'you'll cry all night.') and I frantically started pulling them off and flinging them away as I backed into my hut. When I got the light on I saw my toes were all bloody.

I took a headlamp back outside and saw hundreds of, I don’t know, termites? Crawling around in the cracks of the cement. Their bodies were pudgy and translucent, like they live in the darkness (which everyone knows equals evil) and they had pinchers. They were ugly little things, and surprisingly aggressive.

I went back to bed wishing my world would end. A week later I’m bored with being sick, so I’m not going to write much more except to say Cipro seems to have done the trick.

Goodbye for now

I did include some new photos that I wasn’t able to upload during my last trip to the internet. I’m not in these photos and there’s a good reason for that. See, I’ve had requests for more photos of me, but I don’t know who would take them because Senegalese aren’t very good with digital cameras. In a moment of real boredom I tried to take a self-portrait, but two things 1) It was the hot part of the day and - I honestly forgot until I looked at the picture - I was having my naked-time so the photo was highly inappropriate and 2) I looked scary, nudity aside.

I wish I could hang out longer and wait for mom to wake up so we can e-mail back and forth, but I’ve gotta run because in my infinite wisdom I let two sick Americans stay with me in my hut two nights ago.

My hut’s pretty comfortable as far as village life is concerned, and they really weren’t feeling well. I enjoyed my sick guests, but my stomach is doing some horrible things right now and I have an impending feeling of doom. I’ve got to get out of here. Right Now.

Few things

So this is sort of cool. A group of American high school students are traveling through Senegal and stopped in Kounkane for the week to relax and stay with local families. They are the ones I blogged about earlier from the program Where There Be Dragons (again, someone might want to rethink that name).

Anyway, Carolyn, a mother of one of the students found my blog and e-mailed me to ask if her 15-year-old daughter was staying with me. She is, and she’s doing great. I love having her.

Carolyn was a volunteer in the DRC from ’78 to ’80. I don’t about you all, but my first though was “No I-pod.”  The Peace Corps in the seventies was definitely more intense than it is today. I like to complain … well, the less said on that the better, huh?

Of course Julie was in the Peace Corps ten years ago and all she had was that little walkman with a Shakira tape (this was my first introduction to Shakira. I liked her and hogged the walkman for my entire trip because that’s the sort of little sister I am and Julie’s the big sister she is, so she let me).

Carolyn said she wishes she could have blogged during her service because all she has now is a water stained journal. I don’t know what Julie has. Last time I went rummaging through her things I think she still had some Dominican currency. Our Julie’s not of the “when in doubt throw it out” school of housekeeping.

Anyway, the Americans in town are fun and I’m on my way back soon to tell my guest about her mom’s e-mail.

Before I start responding to your e-mails, I don’t know what’s going on but my internet traffic has skyrocketed. This must mean there are a lot of bored people on the internet. Gee, who knew? Sometimes, when I’m bored I like to look at Julie and Dave’s Wildlands Conservation web site. They’re doing great work to preserve Florida, but I visit because I like the profile pictures.

When you first open the site you’ll notice Dave gazing commandingly at Florida’s wild lands, right above the “Who We Are" section. Click on that, because that leads you to ‘key personnel’ where you can read about Campeón who has a Peace Corps story of his own. If you scroll down on the main page you can see the famous Julie, gazing (it has to be said, perhaps not quite so commandingly) above the Conservation Planning section.

Seriously though, obviously you don’t have a lot to do with your time and they are doing important things.

this is killing me

I can't correct the grammatical errors in today's posts because the computer won't let me. I don't know why it's embarrassing me today - I make mistakes all the time - but it's driving me crazy.

Happy Birthday

Happy Birthday to Nelson Mandela. The BBC producers are positively beside themselves today. I guess if anyone merits this sort of coverage, it's him.

Oh, not to cheapen this post, but can anyone tell me what's up with sweat-proof sunblock? How is that physically possible? I don't have time to research this on my own. Jake - you work for a pharmaceutical company so I'm looking to you for this one.

Dear John

So Kumba, the young twenty-something mother of a 3-month-old, told me about her plans to divorce her husband. It’s really pretty easy to do, which surprised me for some reason. I guess I figured Senegal being a Muslim country, divorce might be even more of an ordeal than it is in the states. Not the case.

The soon-to-be-dumped husband (hope he doesn’t read this blog) is working either in Spain or Portugal, people use the two countries interchangeably. 

“I'm waiting for him to send some money and a new cell phone,” Kumba said. “Then I’m going to tell him I don’t want him anymore, and that's it.”

Apparently she’ll be using the new cell phone to break the news, then she’ll pass the phone to her uncle who will instruct the ex-husband on how much money he needs to send for his son’s support.

It all sounds pretty cold hearted to me. This is Kumba’s second divorce. As soon as her son is old enough to stop nursing she plans to give him to her brother to raise, and she’s going to Dakar to work, probably as a cleaning woman. She says there’s a man there, not one who “lies,” like the guy she has now.

Hey, I’m single so who am I to judge? Still, I have a little trouble understanding this practice of shuffling children among relatives. It happens all the time and is no big deal, but it seems so bizarre to me.

In the states young mothers are notorious for taking their infants everywhere, afraid to leave them alone with even a baby-sitter. Here, you’ve got someone like Kumba who’s just waiting for the baby to stop nursing so she can move across country. At home people would think her unnatural, but in Senegal people think nothing of giving their kids to another family member to raise.

Oh well. As far as affecting me, I’ve just given up on trying to figure which kid belongs to who. You know that phrase it takes a village? I really get it now.

There was some discussion about divorce and child custody in America. I explained the government plays a large part, there’s no such thing as “that’s it,“ and there’s usually a lot of mutual hostility slowing down the process.

When I threw in the bit about healthy home environments and psychological evaluations I realized I had gone too far. I think we all left that conversation a little bewildered.

P.S. On the other hand, something sort of cool I’ve noticed is that babies are almost never left alone. Playpens would be laughable, no one could afford it, but babies are hardly ever just left lying by themselves. They are constantly passed from one set of hands to another, even when sleeping, because I’m told the constant contact lets them know they are loved. (probably a good thing they’re getting that reassurance now, because mommy’s not going to be reinforce that later!)

P.P.S. Just finished Barbara Kingsolver's Pigs in Heaven and she does a really good job explaining communal child rearing. You'll have to read it yourself if you want the rundown.

By the way, really good book, but it made me think. Introspection is not something I've ever really had trouble with. I'm looking for books that don't make me think.

Please just stop talking for a little bit

I feel like every day there’s someone new living here, or just passing through. I’m told I have another grandmother who’s been on an extended trip to the Gambia but will be coming home soon. People tell me this like I’m supposed to care.

I don’t understand all these attachments I’m supposed to have for people I don’t know. I come home from two days out of town and everyone tells me how much they missed me. I repeat in kind, but my heart’s not in it. When I bike 30k to town to visit the post office and Internet, everyone asks me why I forgot to visit so and so? Funny thing really - I didn’t forget!

The constant social interaction is far and above the most difficult part for me. I don’t mind the living conditions, the food’s miserable but there’s an upside to that, and lousy transportation means I’m getting in better shape, etc… but damn these people talk a lot. I’ve taken to getting up earlier than I ever have in my life just to get a morning walk in before the rest of the world is walking around trying to greet me.

Someone came to visit the compound last night and stayed the night. This morning he sort of chastised me for going to bed early instead of getting to know him. I wanted to say I had no interest in “getting to know” him. He was nice though, so I just explained that after I’ve helped with the dinner dishes that becomes my private time. It’s a totally foreign concept, but no one challenged me on it.

Note: Business hours for me usually end around 9 or 9:30, when I go into my hut and close the door. Everyone else hangs out and talks for another two hours, but I require my private time. Fortunately this is something my family seems to accept, it's the random visitors who hassle me.

Huh?

So I noticed last week there was a new girl living in the compound. Her name was Fatimata, looked to be around 14, and was generally pleasant for the most part although I can’t say she was a big part of my life. Maybe that’s why I waited a few days to ask where she had disappeared to.

Turns out young Fatimata was a runaway of sorts. Her mom and dad are divorced, and she was in town staying with her father so she could get to know him. That didn’t work out too well because he beat her. She left his house, asked where the village chief lived, and stayed with us until the problem could be resolved. I think the resolution was her going back to her mother’s village.

It’s interesting to me the part the village chief plays. One day I came home and there was a new toddler in the house. He had wandered away from someone, and when people found him they dropped him off at our place until his parent’s showed up to claim him.

Two days ago some men came to the compound complaining they had no money, and they wanted Bala, the chief, to give them some. At home that might be considered a little presumptuous, but this is Senegal and lots of people have no food.

There are a million other examples, but I think I took on a little more than I can handle with this subject.