Tabaski and other things...

I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm so so so glad to be back! How crazy is that?! After landing in Dakar, I was back in village within 4 days, which may not sound like a speedy return, but believe me, it was. I probably could have used another week at the regional house but jumping right back in helped me get back into the swing of things. I was lucky because when I arrived at the regional house there were a lot of volunteers there and we ended up having a spontaneous washtub party (our equivalent to a pool party) at the regional house. We sit in washtubs with ice cold water to cool off from the 100 degree afternoons. This was a party in honor of CJ, one of our volunteers who will sadly be leaving us this week. It was a great way to spend our last day with CJ and my last day before heading back to village.

I departed for village via car bringing with me a bunch of toys for both the kids and for my dog along with my bike. I was surprised to find myself as excited to see my family and village as much as they were to see me. I felt genuinely content and happy.... a nice change from my last few months. The more time I spend here, the more I realize the extent to which I had been emotionally altered by the mefloquin (my anti-malaria meds)... which is now (ALHUMDULILAI!) out of my system entirely. Not only do I sleep through the whole night without nightmares or waking up disoriented and sometimes feeling winded as though I had just fallen, but the cultural things (with some very specific exceptions) that used to make my blood boil no longer anger me and in many instances even amuse me. I feel like myself again.

As for my puppyventures, “adventure” seems to be an understatement. Of course, as I expected, she is (unfortunately)..... PREGGERS!! She went into heat three days before I left village for the U.S. and having had all the freedom to run around and get knocked up..... I couldn't expect any different. I had tried to find a volunteer who would watch her for me (and I would have paid a nice sum), but couldn't find anyone so village it was. Despite the pregnancy, setbacks, ultimately adverse conditions and a slew of very treatable parasites, her training is going spectacularly well. In addition to our basic commands, which she is mastering and learning rapidly in both Pular AND English (what a smarty pants!), we have our work cut out for us with reconditioning some anger management issues that she and I have with people with sticks and some aggressive village dogs; this is due to some unfortunate incidences of dog beating and dogs attacking her as tiny little thing. Now that I have her on a tight leash, both literally and figuratively, we are making amazing progress in even just a short two weeks. I have read several books on dog training and dog behavior... thank god for my kindle... one of them specifically on dealing with aggressive dogs. I am LOVING this. While Nioko is making great headway with training, I'm finding that training people is a much harder task. No matter how many times I tell people not to feed my dog, or not to walk near her with sticks, or to not approach my dog at specific times, they refuse to listen. They still find it irresistible to take a handful of food and leave it for her on a rock (much less without any command) or the kids will run around playing with sticks with no regard to the fact that my dog is sitting 10 feet away. Fear of dogs is a far more serious problem that I have to deal with as people will yell at my dog while charging at her angrily (sometimes with sticks) and they expect her to not get defensive when her only thought is, “Stay away! STAY AWAY! STAY AWAY!STAY AWAY! STAY AWAY! STAY AWAY! WHY AREN'T YOU LISTENING! I'M WARNING YOU!”. Of course, the dog growls, people become more afraid and the dog becomes angrier and people become more afraid. It's quite the catch 22, but as I said, we are getting better and she's less tense even just being secure on a leash... although she does have a habit of chewing through it. She's quite the escape artist. I have her to a point where she now very rarely growls and she is starting to expect treats when people walk by... soon enough, she'll be wagging her tail excitedly to see everyone (sticks or not). I still love her company when I go for walks and visit neighbors or go on long bike rides or help in the fields with harvest. I spent several days cutting grass above my head at the school yard as Nioko would settle in a shady spot contentedly with a rawhide... my ideal life. I was astounded to find that more than a few plants had survived my month long absence and soon I will have some chilis to share with my family. Meanwhile I have been helping the women in the fields harvesting peanuts and I missed most of the corn harvest. Shortly, I will be helping sift the rice harvest. Soon enough people will be completely done harvesting their field crops and we soon won't see a drop of rain for the next 9 months. The night time temps are FINALLY below 80 degrees and when I'm lucky, I even get to use a blanket. That being said, it is still 100 sweltering and humid degrees in the afternoons.

Now, Tabaski had arrived! Last year Tabaski marked my last few days with my training family and this year it marks my one year in village. The whole village was happy and excited for the upcoming celebration. The weekly market was the busiest I had ever seen it and I helped my host mom buy veggies and henna. My village kept insisting, so I acquiesced to hair braiding and henna, which leads me to my two Tabaski mistakes.... hair braiding and henna. I figured, not a big deal... it's all temporary. I could take out the braids and the henna would fade in time. The day before Tabaski my host mom told me that Sisce was waiting for me to braid my hair. I brought my kindle so I could read while she braided but I soon discovered that reading was futile. I sat there impatiently with Sisce's big fingers tugging and pulling at my scalp. It was sheer torture! Initially I tried to read but soon gave up when I realized that I needed to grab the chair to distract me from the pain. It is hard for me to understand a culture that readily and regularly subjects themselves to this kind of pain. I hate to think about the amount of hair that she carelessly ripped in half or out of my head entirely. For the short duration that I kept the corn rows in, I deliberately refrained from looking in any kind of mirror or reflection. I knew that if I did, I would immediately take the braids out. While the braids look beautiful on the Senegalese women, the general consensus among volunteers is that the braids look awful on white women. My pale ugly scalp is exposed in ugly contrast with my dark rows of hair. With the braids tight against my head, my face felt bare with my already round cheeks. Everyone was telling me that my braids were beautiful but we clearly had different concepts of beauty. Also, if the women here braided their hair less, they would undoubtably complain a lot less about how little hair they have. I have made a personal decision to, not only never let them braid my hair again, but also to cut my hair so that the village would be less tempted to try again... don't worry, it'll grow back.

With the henna, I was very excited about it and I wanted to learn the process. Henna in theory is really fun. I had done henna before and I loved it. It's quite a simple process with a lot of potential. 1) buy the powder and mix it with water. 2) apply to the body. 3) wait... a really long time. The night before Tabaski, with my head still aching from the braids that were trying to split my scalp, we began the application process. I sat on a little stool while my host brother's wife carelessly lathered the henna all over my feet without any attention to the fact that every little drop would be visible on my pale skin. On darker skin, the henna doesn't show up on the top of their feet so when Senegalese women put henna on their feet they are rather careless because it doesn't matter that much for them. For me, I knew that this was a disaster waiting to happen but it was Tabaski and I would let my village have their fun. When she finished lathering, she wrapped my feet in plastic bags and I then put on socks to keep the bags in place. We did the same with my left palm (not the right... because otherwise, I wouldn't be able to eat). I had to keep the plastic bags on all night. Needless to say, getting ready for bed was quite a challenge with one hand... especially going to the bathroom.

I was beginning to regret my decision but not as much as I would waking up in the morning. Reluctantly, with my head still pounding from the braids, I looked at my tattooed palm and it was bright orange!! It wasn't an evenly coated, monotone orange but it was splotchy and uneven. I knew before looking that my feet had suffered the same fate. As expected, my feet looked as though I had squashed a couple of orange smurfs, with smurf juice unevenly coating the sides and most of the soles of my feet, and toes like a really boring abstract painting. I knew my village would go crazy over it, telling me, as they would with my hair, how beautiful my semi-covered bright orange feet were. What terrified me was the prospect of facing my fellow American volunteers who I imagined would cajole but make light of the unfortunate travesty. I too, after an hour of frustration was finally able to laugh about it, especially as my headache finally subsided and the festivities of the day began.

I wasn't entirely sure of all that would take place that day, but what I knew for sure, is that everyone would eat well. After two breakfasts (one right after the other) we all showered and put on nice clothes. I wore a dress that my stepmom, Valerie, had given me with some hot pink leggings. The village loved it.... AND the orange flowers on the dress matched my wonderfully decorated orange feet! My host dad- the chief of the village – started pounding a giant drum to signal the start of the holiday prayers in the “bowal”. A “bowal” is a “rocky area where nothing can grow”. He started banging the drum slowly and gradually began to increase the pace as people began heading towards the “bowal”. As is customary with Islam, the met sat up front close to the Imam on their prayer mats and the women and children sat behind. I shuffled in with some children and two little girls shared their mat with me. Looking around I felt self-conscious because I was the only female over the age of 6 without a cloth covering my hair but I knew my village wouldn't care too much and no one said anything about it. I think they were just happy that I went. I copied the bows and prostrations to the “Allah hu akhbar”s while saying my own personal prayers to myself. The Imam had earlier started the service with a sermon in Pular that I barely understood. I think he may have been talking about modesty which made me feel more self-conscious about my lack of head cover. When the service ended, everyone got up and began shaking hands with everyone saying, “did you pray in peace?” much like in Synagogue when people say Shabat Shalom after services. It's a very nice tradition.

People returned to their homes. The women began cooking and the men went to the various locations to slaughter the designated sheep or goat (in honor of Abraham not slaughtering his son in the Quran). The men would come back with meat for the women to put in the lunches which were delicious but dangerous because of the actually insane amounts of oil. Most families would have at least 2 lunches, usually consisting of some type of pasta cooked in a bowl of oil with some type of tomato flavoring with potatoes. The oily potatoes and pasta weren't enough carbs (sarcasm) so this meal is traditionally eaten by dipping bread into it and using the bread as a spoon.... so gross. The allusion of meat is always a disappointment. There were usually a maximum of 3 pieces in each lunch bowl all shared by 10-14 people. One piece is inevitably bone and the others some how always manage to be tripe... which the Senegalese love. I, being an American unaccustomed to eating stomach or intestines, found it less than appealing. I have eaten it before and while the taste is surprisingly not awful, I can't get past the chewy, rubbery texture. In the rare of event of actual meat being in the bowl, it's usually gone within the first 20 seconds seeing as it's being torn to shreds by 10 hungry mouths... half of whom are children. It's not worth the fight. My stomach was having some issues that night and on through the next 2 days.

That evening there was a big soccer match. The two Matakosi teams pretended to be team Barcelona and team Madrid.... Madrid won.... of course! The village had rented speakers for the game and they had music playing. The audience consisted almost entirely of women and children. There were a small handful of men on the sidelines but I suppose that the majority of the men who are interested in soccer were actually playing. The women would arrive in groups of 6 or 7 all wearing really cute and new matching outfits. I brought Nioko with me and she was well behaved... it helped that I was able to bring her lots of puppy treats.... that fatty. After team Madrid won, the kids were running around the field like crazy and Nioko and I decided to join them until the puppy got a bit too riled up and we stepped aside to let her cool off. Once she had calmed down, I let the kids help me train her. They were all trying to get Nioko to shake hands but she doesn't usually listen to anyone except me.... I'm not entirely sure how to fix this problem but we'll figure it out.

After barely choking down dinner, with my already aching stomach, my host brother's wife, Kade, was joking around with her 3 year old daughter that she was going to go visit “grandma” in the village called Dongol where she grew up (about 2.5 miles away). Kade was not actually planning a trip there but was trying to elicit the inevitable response, “ok! Take my greetings to grandma!” This a very normal response but it was particularly cute hearing it from the mouth of a 3 year old. Ironically, the next morning, we received word that Kade's older sister had died in Dongol and she had to make an unfortunate trip there to see her family and go to the funeral. All the women in my family packed their bags suddenly and left immediately leaving me, the men, and a few really old ladies with the kids. I did my best to help out with watching the babies and the older kids or neighbors cooked meals. I cooked sugar coated peanuts as a snack for the kids.

Most of the women were back in Matakosi by evening and everything very quickly went back to normal... except for this ridiculous 3 day fight between two women about a shade structure. One brother built a shade structure for his wife (Sally) but he built it in front of the hut of the other brother's wife (Sira). Sira got really angry and was yelling because first of all no one had told her until that morning that he had been planning to build a shade structure but also, “It is in front of my house and that's where my 3 year old son, Abdulai, poops and if you keep your damn shade structure there, I'm not cleaning up his poop because your shade structure makes that YOUR area.” This of course made Sally angry who replied that this is ridiculous and she wont clean up Abdulai's poop and that area is outside of her compound even though it is technically next to her house. At first I thought I had misheard because I could not imagine that ANYONE would argue about poop and another volunteer and I speculated a few other words but nope... it was about where the kid poops. They were shouting at each other for hours and it almost escalated into a physical fight. The women were shoving each other threatening to beat each other with sticks. Their husbands FINALLY pulled them apart but they didn't help the situation because each took the side of his own wife. This was worse than college drama! They refused to eat together for three days but things finally calmed down and now everything is happy again.

My last notable incident before leaving for the regional house, was helping out at the school. I went with my host brother to start clearing the grassy field which was above our heads. Mamadou rang a bell at the school to signal for other men to come help. They slowly started to trickle in. One man had a ram's horn that he had carved into a flute and he was playing it. It was so beautiful and that was also in part to call more people to come to the school. Slowly the school yard filled up with men and teenage boys with machetes and hand hoes. We had about 50 people, including me working our butts off to chop down and clear grass. We all were so gross and sweaty but we finished this difficult job by 11:30... before lunch!! It was amazing. They would let the grass dry for a few days and then a few men would go back and burn all of it. The school yard is where I planted my 180 tree live fence and I told them that I would cry if they burned my trees. In addition to the men not giving me a hard time (and even encouraging) about my working with them as the representative woman, they were all very interested in my living fence and I was able to not only show them the fence but also tell them that I would be more than happy to bring in someone to do a training for them. MISSION ACCOMPLISHED! In addition to this wonderful morning, when I was taking Nioko on a walk through the village that afternoon, I had 3 villagers ask me for puppies (boys only of course) and when I went to Kedougou, one of the guards and a new volunteer asked me for puppies as well!

A few days later, I went to Kedougou (where I am now) to meet the 4 new agriculture volunteers who were coming down to see their new homes. We had a great welcome for them and cooked some awesome macaroni and cheese!! YUMMMM! The new volunteers are amazing and will make a wonderful addition to our region when they finally come back and install in a month!! WOOOOOO!!

Over the Fences and Through the Fields and Under the Rainy skies

It's hard to believe that this is the same desolate Senegal that it was a mere few months ago. The shelterless, unforgiving, “supposed” forest now resembles a tropical rainforest and provides all the shade and comfort one needs on a hot humid day. The empty river beds are now flowing with so much water that cars can no longer get through. The formerly barren, dried fields are now filled with corn above my head. During the hot/dry season, the temperatures would get up to 115 degrees during the day and drop down to a still sweltering 95 degrees... if we are lucky... at night. The rains cool things down significantly. During the day it only gets up to a humid 100 degrees and at night it drops down to a cold and windy (and not to mention rainy) 80 degrees. I keep thinking about Valerie telling me how in Dubai ridiculous women would dress their children in sweaters and winter coats when it's a nice 75 degrees. Sadly, it seems i've become one of them, wearing a cardigan when it gets down to 80. I have no doubt that when the cold season comes around I'll be wearing my favorite hoodie as soon as it gets to U.S. “room temp” 72!

The rainy season brings on a whole new set of vocabulary, challenges, and advantages. The conversations switch to those of working in the fields and tending to the cows who have been exiled to the woods for a few months. Before the corn was planted, it was hard to envision how anything could grow in the parched and cracked clay soil as hard as a rock and littered with broken batteries and garbage. We could walk anywhere we wanted because there was absolutely nothing except for the aforementioned garbage (and also manure). Now, with the corn above my head, it's easy to get lost as I might end up on a path that turns out leads to the middle of the field and then ends abruptly.

My favorite thing about the rainy season is without a doubt the chameleons (of which I took pictures and then a kid erased them... ugh). I have seen more than a dozen of them in the last month alone. I hope to see at least another dozen before I head back to the arctic Septembers of the North East United States... as much as I hope never to encounter the infamous green vipers and spitting cobras that inhabit this region of Senegal. I take immense pleasure in proving to the kids that they won't die from touching chameleons (Senegalese are a general rule are highly superstitious and believe this to be the case). They'll run away to a safe distance and shriek, “It'll bite! It'll bite!” as I take a step towards them with the non-biting critter calmly trying to climb my face reaching for the nearest strand of hair.

“You see? It isn't biting! Don't be afraid!”

“That's just because you are white and we are black. It will bite us!” and they all take another big step backwards. This is the sadly predictable reply I get. At that point, I give up and let the chameleon grab hold to whatever nearby branch is out of reach of the fright-filled kids.

As much as I understood it intellectually, I never understood visually how chameleons could think that they look like leaves... until now that is. The kids who won't go within a stone's throw of chameleons are usually the first to spot them and point them out to me before creating a safe distance for themselves. One chameleon, a kid pointed out, was resting on a solid bright green leaf of a corn stalk when it became aware of my and 6 other intimidating eyes staring at it. It rolled one eye back to stare at us, preparing for the worst if we came any closer and his other eye rested upward towards his escape rout, the next leaf up on the corn stalk. He was a solid green (the exact same shade as the leaf) with a barely visible thin yellow line that could have easily passed as a vein of a leaf. He began his escape keeping his asymmetrical eyes on their respective targets. As he reached the next leaf, which was pockmarked with brown, bug eaten spots, the chameleon instantly developed a series of randomly placed, matching brown spots all over it's green body. It was just like watching an Eric Carl drawing come to life.

Biking in the rainy season has become a completely different sport. The trails through the woods which I knew so well now look less familiar with different landmarks and scenery. The once dry riverbeds are now filled (some of them up to my waist!). Some volunteers boast (or rather grudgingly lay claim) to having to cross rivers so deep that they have to float their bikes across on rafts made of tied-together empty 5gallon plastic jugs. Luckily, I can push my bike through my rivers that I need to cross most frequently. The long runs that I used to go on are cut short because of the rivers that I have to cross. At least the biking and running is more enjoyable without the oppressive heat and with the inclusion of the ever welcome shade of the forest. Also, all the compounds are fenced in to keep cows out of the corn fields. The gateways are fences that are cut back to half size and we have to climb over them to get in and out. This includes lifting our belongings over the fence with us, including our water buckets, bikes, and in my case, also my dog who is still too young to climb fences as her mom and brother can. I imagine that she'll learn this trick soon enough.

Speaking of bikes, I know pride myself of being able to fix a flat tire and replace and adjust break wires on my own. My limitations in bike repairs presented themselves, first when the gear chain snapped in half and then again when my bike pedal fell off my bike in the middle of a bike ride. I pushed my bike the entire 10 kilometers back to Matakosi (my village) and then another 7 kilometers in the opposite direction to the nearest bike mechanic only to find that I had to push my bike back the same 7 kilometers when he couldn't fix it for me with his limited Senegalese resources. The next day, I pushed my bike a 10 kilometer stretch to a village where Peace Corps would pick it up for me after a two day mango grafting training. As soon as I arrived in Banding, the family (with whom I work and visit frequently) welcomed me with open arms as a member of their family. This farmer was hosting the training in his own mango orchard... which is a tropical haven. When I asked them if I could set up my tent in their village and spend the night for the training, they looked at me like I was crazy. Of course, they EXPECTED me to stay the night. I offered them some bush fruits that I had collected on my walk through the woods on the way and some bland and yet very popular milk cookies. In return, they offered me fresh grilled corn and bush fruit of their own. It seemed I had arrived just in time because not even 20 minutes after I had set up my tent under the shade structure, a light and pleasant sun shower filled the sky. I pulled out my kindle under the shade structure and as I glanced up at the sky, I saw a full rainbow that arched across the entire bright blue sky. I looked closer and noticed a second fainter rainbow following the contour of the first. I sat in the drizzling rain watching the sun set on one side of the sky and two rainbows on the other until it all slowly faded into darkness.

For dinner that night, I ate the most satisfying and actually the first filling meal I had had in three weeks... corn cous-cous with a delicious sauce made of bean leaves and squash. I even got an entire bitter tomato all to myself; I got to eat it with a spoon instead of my hands! (Sometimes it's the little pleasures in life). Only later did it occur to me that I was sharing the same amount of food (if not more) with only two other people as opposed to the usual 6-14 hungry mouths of my village. Just as I'm thinking things can't get more interesting, of course they did. One of the family members had a few books written in Pular, the first Pular books I have seen! We read through it together and they were teaching me Pular and I was teaching them English. Soon we all went to bed and I crawled into my cozy bug hut draped with a rain tarp. Despite protests from the family, I insisted that between my rain tarp and the roof of the shade structure, I would be just fine in the event of a hard rain. My tent didn't get wet AT ALL during the sun shower earlier so I figured it would be just fine. It turned out that as the rains did in fact get harder, my rain tarp was not big enough and the rain rolled off the sides and into my tent. The family generously set up a mat on the floor of their hut and in the end slept inside.

The weather here, as the previous story indicates, is predictably rainy on a practically daily basis. This makes it difficult to do laundry and guarantee dry clothes within the next 2 days... but it's a small price to pay for the wonders of gardening. Just throw some seeds in the ground and soon enough you have a beautiful display of tomatoes, squash, and green beans... assuming the chickens don't eat it all or dig it up first. Rainy season is also the season for field crops and for transplanting trees. I just finished planting a 120 tree live fence! It was a lot of hard work but when the trees are fully grown, I will have the strongest fence in the village that not only the cows won't pass through, but also that I will never have to redo AND that that kids can snack on. The type of tree I planted is a bush fruit that the kids spend hours collecting in the woods. Soon enough, my family will also be harvesting their corn, rice, and peanuts, which will be a welcome addition. I am not starving, but it is evident that food in village is quite limited as evidenced by my constant hunger and weightloss. Inevitably, a sick child will cough or sneeze into the communal food bowl and I always seem to be the only one who notices, much less cares. I eat anyway, complacently. I'm too hungry to forgo an entire third of my meager daily intake. I'll risk a cough; I can candle it. With Ramadan squeezed into the middle of what they nickname the starving season, it added to the effect. In my village, Ramadan is not practiced as it is in some places where people fast all day and then have giant feasts every night for a month. Our dinners were no larger than their usual quantities (if anything, perhaps smaller). I did my best to fast for the time I was in village, but I drank water. I wasn't about to risk getting kidney stones from dehydration. It turned out not to be so bad. Also, I take my multivitamins and don't feel unhealthy... just a little hungry in village.

Lastly, my dog has become a great companion. She loves to run behind me when I ride my bike anywhere and she'll tag along when I go for a run. Usually at some point she'll veer off to go chase whatever squirrel or pheasant stirs up the grass but then she'll be right back beside me when she sees that I haven't stopped to wait for her. In my garden, she'll come to help me dig, but she usually ends up digging in the wrong places so she can bury all her little treats that I give her. I'm pretty sure she forgets about them afterwards. My village has started shifting their attitude towards her and they (especially the kids) understand that she is my companion and have taken a liking to her and the tricks that I've taught her.

how ladylike!

Overall things are great and I will miss my family and Senegal when I go back to the U.S. I am so excited and luckily I have my kindle to keep me distracted for the next two weeks! I will see you all so soon!!s

It's a typical conversation in these typical times.

Conversations with Senegalese:

I thought it'd be fun to give you guys some insight into what my life is REALLY like here and why I have days that are quite challenging and some that are quite ammusing. These are all very typical and very common conversations. You will see why, as Senegal Peace Corps volunteers, we have to adjust to monotony and repetition and pointing out the obvious. You will see why it's hard (generally) to reason with Senegalese and why it's hard to get things done and why everything takes sooooo frikin lonnggg!!

Background: I'm riding my bike with my 5 gallon water jug strapped to my bike... going to the well pump to get water (obvious to villagers). I pass by people on the way.

Senegalese woman: Did you lie in peace?

Me: Peace Only. Did you lie in peace?

Senegalese woman: Yes. Was there no evil when you laid down?

Me: Peace only. Was there no evil when you laid down?

Senegalese woman: Peace only. Did you sleep?

Me: Yes. A little. Did you sleep?

Senegalese woman: Yes. Did you wake up?

Me: Yes. Did you wake up?

Senegalese woman: Yes. Did your mom wake up?

Me: Yes. Did your husband wake up?

Senegalese woman: Yes.

Me: Did your kids wake up?

Senegalese woman: Yes. And your Nioko**?

Me: Peace only.

Senegalese woman: Did she eat poridge?

Me: Yes she ate.

Senegalese woman: Are you going to get water at the forage?

Me: Yes. I am going to get water at the forage.

Senegalese woman: Take your mom!***

** Nioko is my dog's name

*** Take [name of person, village, etc]! is an expression that people say, almost like, “take my greetings to [said person]”

Background: I am at the market... or anywhere with a Senegalese friend of mine and a Senegalese person who doesn't know me.

Me: (To the new person) Is there peace in your afternoon?

New person: *laughs* (to Senegalese friend) She speaks Pular.

Senegalese friend: Yes.

New person: (to friend still) What is her name? She speaks Pular.

Senegalese friend: Yes. She speaks Pular. Her name is Kadjatu.

New person: Where is she from?

Me: I speak Pular. You are able to ask me.

New person: *Laughs*(...again). (Finally to me...) Is there no evil in your afternoon?

Me: Yes.

New Person: Your mom?

Me: She is in peace. I am going now. Thank you.

Background: I am sitting in my host mom's compound cracking Juujuube seed shells between rocks so I can plant them for a living fence. (Juujuube has a hard exterior shell and the seeds are embedded inside... and the kids LOVE eating them and these tree-ey-shrubs have nice thorny branches for keeping cows and other annoying animals out of my gardens... potentially)

Family member 1: Kadjatu, what are you doing?

Me: I am cracking Juujuube to obtain the seeds. (He continues to stand around watching me crack seeds)

Family member 2: (shows up 30 seconds later) What are you doing? (She stays around watching)

Me: I'm cracking juujuube to obtain the seeds.

Family member 3: (shows up) What are you doing? (She stays around watching)

Me: I'm cracking juujuube seeds.

Kid 1: (shows up... asks the 3 adults standing around watching me) What is she doing.

Family member 2: She's obtaining juujuube seeds.

Kid 1: (tries to help but keeps breaking seeds in the process)
Family member 2: (to me) That is not what you do! You just plant it. It will grow.
Me: This is what I learned.
Family member 2: You don't have to crack the shells. It will germinate.
Me: Have you ever planted Juujuube?
Family member 2: No.
Me: Finished**

**To say "finished" at the end of a conversation is polite and just puts a final point at the end of the conversation... like, "case in point"

Background: I show up to the mortar and pestle where my host mom and host brother's older wife are pounding corn. I want to help pound corn. There is an out of town visitor who doesn't know me.

Me: Is there peace in your afternoon?

Host mom: Yes. Is there peace in your afternoon?

Me: Is there no evil there?

Host mom: Yes.

Me: Yes. Are you pounding corn?

Host sister in-law: Yes.

Me: Yes. (to my host sister in-law) Can I help?

Guest: She speaks Pular.

Me: Yes.

Host mom: (to me) You can't.

Me: You think I can't pound corn? I have strength.

Guest: *laughs*

Host sister in-law: *gives me her stick for pounding corn*

Me: *I start pounding corn*

Host mom: (after a minute or two) *takes me stick from me* Rest. You are tired.

Guest: She can pound corn.

Me: Yes, I am able to (to host mom). I am not tired. I will continue.

Host mom: Rest. You are tired.

Background: I pass a senegales man in Senegal... anywhere, any time.

Senegalese man: Psss psss**

Me: Is there peace in your afternoon?

Senegalese man: Yes. Where do you come from.

Me: Matakosi.

Senegalese man: Where is your husband?

Me: I don't have one.

Senegalese man: Really? Why not?

Me: Because I don't want one.

Senegalese man: You don't want one? You mean you don't want one YET.

Me: No, I don't want one.

Senegalese man: When you go home, will a man take you (alternatively they will say, will a man marry you?)?

Me: I don't know. I don't want a husband.

Senegalese man: Why not?

Me: Nothing***

Senegalese man: Do you like me?

Me: No

Senegalese man: Why not?

Me: because you are ugly.

Senegalese man: *laughs* You won't take me to America? I want a white wife.

Me: No.

Senegalese man: Why not?

Me: *get irritated and walk away*

(alternative ending 1)

Me: I can't

Senegalese man: Yes you can. You can take me.

Me: *get irritated and walk away*

(alternative ending 2)

Me: I don't have money.

Senegalese man: You have money, you can take me if you marry me.

Me: You can't be my husband. In America, when a woman has a husband, the woman works outside the home and the man has to cook and clean and sweep the floor and get water from the well and do laundry and pound corn and feed the baby. You can't do that.

Senegalese man: I can cook.

Me: When did you learn to cook?

Senegalese man: A while ago.

Me: What can you cook?

Senegalese man: rice.

Me: You hear?**** I want American food. I don't like rice.

Senegalese man: I can learn!

Me: Your food is bad. I have to go now.

Senegalese man: *laughs and walks away*

**People hiss at you to get your attention whether they know your name or not. No matter how much I tell people that this offends me because in the U.S. we only do that to cats, they don't listen and continue to hiss at me (and every other person) even when they know our names...

***They use the word for nothing as we use the phrase *just because*.

**** You hear? Is an expression that people use all the time.

Background: I am at a funeral in a nearby village greeting the family of the person who died.

Me: Is there no evil there?

Senegalese: Peace only. Did you lie in peace?

Me: yes.

Senegalese: Your mom?

Me: Peace only.

Senegalese: Your father?

Me: yes.

Senegalese: Did your brother come back from Tamba?

Me: yes. He and his wives came back from Tamba.

Senegalese: Are they in Peace?

Me: yes. Your father?

Senegalese: Peace only.

Me: Your mother?

Senegalese: yes.

Me: Are you patient?**

Senegalese: Yes. I will have patience.

** this is what you say to friends and family of people who died. Even when a family member has you are expected to be in “Peace only” and everyone in everyone's family is in “peace only”.

Background: We had just finished dinner and were sitting outside. It had rained so the Senegalese are typically cold when it gets below 85. My elderly host mom is sitting next to me with a shawl around her shoulders.

Host mom: Kadjatu, it is cold.

Me: It is not cold.

Host mom: How do you say 'I am cold' in English.

Me: 'I'

Host mom: 'I'

Me: 'am'

Host mom: 'am'

Me: 'cold'

Host mom: (in a crackely E.T. Sounding voice) 'cold- I ooolllddd

Me: *unable to control my laughing hysterically* Neene, say, 'I am kkkooolllddd'

Host mom: 'oolllddd- I oollddd'

Me: 'kkkoolld'

Host mom: 'koolld'

Me: Yes! Say it.

Host mom: 'I OOLLDD'

Me: *I laugh and give up*

Background: I am walking my dog... the only trained dog any Senegalese from my village has ever seen.

Senegalese: Mother of Nioko!! (they call from a short distance)

Me: Is there peace in your afternoon?

Senegalese: Yes. Are you walking your dog?

Me: Yes.

Senegalese: Is she in peace?

Me: Yes.

Senegalese: Come here.

Me: *I head over and shake her hand*

Senegalese: Make her greet.

Me: 'Nioko, sit!' *she sits* 'Nioko, greet!' *she puts her paw out to shake*

Senegalese: *laughs hysterically* Will you bring her to America?

Me: If Allah agrees.

Senegalese: *laughs* You are going to take your dog?

Me: Yes.

Senegalese: Can you take my baby to America?

Me: No. I can't.

Senegalese: Yes you can.

Me: No I can't.

Senegalese: So you can take a dog but not a person?

Me: Yes. Of course! I can't put a baby in my baggage!

Senegalese: True, you can't put a baby in baggage. You put your dog in baggage? And it doesn't die?

Me: Yes.

Senegalese: But you could carry the baby on your back.

Me: No. You need papers and a lot of money.

Senegalese: You have money.

Me: I am a volunteer. You know I don't have money. *I walk away*

Background: My family got back really late one night from a funeral. I ate with an extended family member and got ready for bed. When they come back they talk through my door.

Host sister in-law: Kadjatu! Kadjatu!

Me: what?

Host sister in-law: Come eat!

Me: I already ate. I'm full.

Host sister in-law: Increase the amount. Come eat.

Me: REALLY REALLY, I'm full!

Host sister in-law: Where did you eat?

Me: I ate with Neenejo.

Host sister in-law: You are still hungry. Come eat.

Me: Really really, I'm full. I'm very tired.

*she goes away* A minute later my host mom comes to my door.

Host mom: Kadjatu, come eat. You did not eat. We were at the funeral.

Me: Yes, I ate with Neenejo. I'm full. I am tired.

Host mom: Increase your eating. Come eat.

Me: Really, Neene**, I'm very full.

Host mom: I don't think so. No you are not. You are angry.

Me: Really! I am not angry. I am just tired. I took away my clothes and I am lying down. Really, really I am happy. REALLY! Thank you!

Host mom: Really, really?

Me: Really, really. I hope you lie in peace.

Host mom: I hope you lie in peace.

**Neene is the word for mother.

Background: I packed my bag the night before to bike out to Kedougou early the next morning. I was very clear with my host mom that evening that I would NOT be eating breakfast in village and I would have breakfast in Kedougou. I have a meeting at 11:00 that day so I MUST get to Kedougou on time. I'm ready to go now and I just need to say my goodbyes.

Me: Neene, I have to go now.

Host mom: Kadjatu, wait until you eat breakfast.

Me: Neene, I told you I will eat in Kedougou.

Host mom: You will be hungry.

Me: I have to go. I have a meeting and I will be in a hurry.

Host mom: You can wait a little. Eat!

Me: Neene, If I wait I will be late and I will arrive in the sun.**

Host mom: Ok. Go slowly.

Me: Thank you. Until tomorrow!!

Host mom: If Allah agrees!

Me: If Allah agrees!

*I repeat this conversation several more times with 4 or 5 more people to whom I MUST say goodbye. FINALLY 20-30 minutes after schedule, I leave.*

**I find this to be the easiest argument for people to understand because keeping appointments is not something that people really understand. The concept of inconveniencing people in general is not in their mindset especially not with being late for a meeting or waking people up at midnight or 6 in the morning to ask for matches or powdered milk or a bag to pack some clothes in for a 3 month trip. BUT... Senegalese have a strong fear of sitting, working, eating, playing, or doing ANYTHING in the Sun because it is hot.

Background: Sitting around a dinner bowl with 6-14 people.

Host sister in-law: (to me) Are you courageous of the chili powder?

Me: Yes. I like it.

Host sister in-law: *passes me the chili powder*

Background: A child misbehaves.

Senegalese mother of child: Selu! I am going to make you piss!** Take the battery out of your mouth!

**Parents threaten to beat their kids by saying “I am going to make you piss”. USUALLY it is only an empty threat. Parents do on rare occasion beat their kids but usually only for more serious infractions.

__________________________________________________________________________________ 

Background: I go to the weekly market and go to a vendor I don't know yet to buy some bitter tomato (a vegetable that I have grown to LOVE).

Me: Hello.

Vendor: Is there peace in your afternoon?

Me: Yes, peace only. Is there no evil in your afternoon?

Vendor: Peace only.

Me: Did you wake up?

Vendor: Peace only.

Me: Did your husband wake up?

Vendor: Yes.

Me: Did your kids wake up?

Vendor: Yes. Did you come to the market?

Me: Yes.

Vendor: Did you arrive in peace?

Me: Yes.

Vendor: What do you want?

Me: I want 20cfas** worth of bitter tomato. *I take my pile of bitter tomatoes and pay her 100cfas* Thank you!

Vendor: What is your last name?

Me: Diallo

Vendor: Ahh! That is bad! The last name Ba is good. Diallos steal***.

Me: You made a mistake. Diallo is good. Diallos never steal. Bas steal and they eat a lot.

Vendor: No no. Ba is good. Diallo is bad.

(this goes on back and forth as long as I let it) *We both laugh*

Vendor: What is your name?

Me: Kadjatu.

Vendor: OH!! You and my daughter have the same name!

Me: That is good! She has the same name as I do! Thank you, Neene is waiting!

** When buying things, the market prices are all divided by 5 so when you ask for 20 cfas worth of veggies, you really want 100cfas worth.
*** or eat beans or eat a lot or they simply say, Diallo is bad.

Scorpions, african cave piders, and giant bird nests, OH MY!!

I know it's been a while since I've blogged but things have been feeling so much more normal to the extent that I have to remind myself that my stories may be new to all of you. Trying to piece together the last few weeks is going to be fun. As many of you know, early-mid April, I took a trip to a different region for Passover and then continued on to a different region for a summit for all the sustainable agriculture volunteers. The journey to the Kolda region was a beautiful but long and cramped setplace (seven seater car) ride. While the cars are meant for 7 passengers, they usually squeeze in an extra two. I had brought my cat with me so it felt even more crowded and hot with her cat carrier sitting on my lap. Overall, I loved meeting so many new volunteers and I was getting excited about Passover. There were only 5 or 6 Jewish volunteers but we opened it up to the rest of our volunteer family and we ended up with about 20 people. Before leaving Kedougou, I had planned ahead to get costumes made to act out the Passover Rap and to print out several scripts for people. We each brought our own elements to the seder and altered what ever necessary dietary elements we needed to to fit the food availability here. We all agreed that we would adopt the Sephardic tradition so that we could make rice dishes. I was in charge of making the three matzas (which I haven't done since kindergarden), and as per my own tradition back in the States, I made about 30 deviled eggs (which were a big hit). One of the other volunteers led the seder using a basic haggada. Since there were so many people who were not Jewish and who were quite unfamiliar with the holiday, we tried to stick with the basics. We passed the haggada around and in turn read the transliterated hebrew and their English meanings. I was so excited when we finally got to the Maggid (the retelling of the story of Exodous) because this was MY part. I had everyone follow me outside and seven volunteers chose from among the different characters from the Passover Rap; they were provided with costumes accordingly. Everyone was so enthusiastic and EVERYONE LOVED IT!! We acted out the story and the non-Jews gave particularly wonderful reviews saying that it really helped them to understand the meaning behind this holiday. Mission accomplished.

The following evening, I stayed for the Easter celebration whose theme was “Bollywood Easter”. We dressed up in shimmery Bollywood-esque costumes, cooked indian food, and we just watched a marathon of Bollywood films. I can't imagine this event being more fun! The following day I missed the Easter Egg hunt. The eggs were filled with silly instructions such as, “trade shirts with the first person you see”. I would have loved to have witnessed this event. Sadly, it was time to begin my journey up to Kaolak. I planned to stop in Tamba for two nights before the summit so that I could get my cat fixed on the way. I brought my cat to the vet and unfortunately, the vet gave her too much anesthetic and she never woke up. It was so so sad. I continued on to Kaolak for summit. Between watching my second cat die and a poorly organized (not to mention boring and uninvolved) it was mostly awful. We had 30 volunteers crowded into what is inarguably the worst regional house of Senegal in the grossest city of Senegal and to make matters worse, the water was out for 3 days. I, along with a dozen other volunteers had our tents set up on the roof to sleep at night but some people wanted to party until 'god-knows-what-hour-of-the-morning' so sleep was limited and respect was not there. The two silver linings were A) the hedgehog that I found running (or rather - rolling) around the roof of the Kaolak house and B) my deeper appreciation of how truly lucky I am to live in Kedougou (the most beautiful part of Senegal). Besides that I was grateful to have heard stories from the other volunteers about their successes and failures but I was more grateful to finally get back to Kedougou, even without my cat.

Meanwhile, those of you who have been on facebook have probably seen pictures of a very, very cute puppy. There's a story.

The story of the puppy:

Finally back at site, I had discovered a new development. My host half-brother's dog finally had her puppies and my garden was still mostly alive by the river!! I knew I was lucky with my garden being in tact... maybe a little too lucky. The other womens' gardens were demolished by cows and/or dried up. The cows were getting in my garden but it seemed that they didn't like what I had in my garden because they left it untouched. I added some more thorny branches in some of the weaker spots of the fence where they may have been getting in. The women were all tired of watering a garden a mile away twice a day and the river was almost completely dry. I had to use a tomato paste can to fill my watering can but I was determined to try to harvest at least something from it.

Back at the ranch, I got to play with the 6 beautiful 2 week old puppies and I learned that they were planning to abandon them all in the woods in the next few days. I texted all the kedougou volunteers to ask if they wanted puppies who my family would let nurse until 8 months and then I would bring them to the volunteers. I had one interested taker. I explained to my family that I would be giving the puppy to another volunteer as soon as it is weaned from its mom. They said that would be fine. They took all 6 of the puppies off to the woods. I was so mad! Luckily, the boy who brought them out there was just on his way back from taking them. I made him go back and get one little girl for the volunteer in Kedougou. I noted that she had a distinctly small amount of white compared to most of the other Senegalese dogs. I found it strikingly unique. Things were going well... so I thought. I went to Kedougou for a few days and the 3 week old puppy was too small to bring with me so I left her to nurse in village. When I got back, the puppy was gone. They told me that “the boy dog had killed the puppy.” The boy dog is the older brother of this puppy and while I felt that was strange, I had seen aggression in other dogs in the village and perhaps the older brother was having some kind of power trip with his little sister puppy. I tried to justify it

Please note that the dog she is cuddling with is the dog they had earlier claimed killed her... yeaa rrriigghhtt

I called the volunteer who was supposed to be taking her and explained what happened and she said that she would just ask the guards at the regional house to find her one (because apparently the guards know these things). The following morning, I went to my garden (which keep in mind is about a mile away in the woods) to water. I was just about to finish watering when I heard what I initially thought was a strange bird, but it also sounded very familiar. I soon recognized it as the distinct yelping of the 3 week old puppy. I followed the sound and I found the very puppy that they told me a dog had killed. Needless to say, I was very angry that my family lied to me and my trust had diminished greatly. I walked back to my house with this puppy and immediately brought her to the Mama dog. Mama dog took her back right away. After an angry exchange with my host brother and everyone laughing at me for being angry, I discovered that the strap for my bike rack not only was tied differently than I usually tie it but they had tied the strap through the wheel. So, my family steals the puppy which I hadn't been planning to keep even and then uses my bike without asking. My level of trust only diminished even more. I started locking my bike and I brought the puppy in my room.

After calling the volunteer, she told me that the guard had already brought her a puppy but there was another volunteer who was interested. PHEW!! I told her that I would try again to keep this puppy until she was old enough, assuming my family didn't steal her again. Soon, I discovered that Mama dog could get into my yard to nurse when she needed to so keeping the puppy in my room turned out to be no problem at all. A few days later, this other volunteer told me, that as much as she wants a puppy, her host family doesn't want her to have a dog... so... um... it seems that now I have a puppy. I did some research and it turns out that all I need to bring a dog to the U.S. is to get her her shots (which I plan to do anyway), a dog carrier, a micro chip, and a forgiving and understanding mom and stepmom and dad and stepmom who are willing to let me house it in their homes until I find my own place.

The day after I found the puppy, I went again to water my now megre garden with the now megre water availability in the river. All the other women had stopped but I was determined to harvest at least ONE thing from my garden. Unfortunately, again, it seemed the cows (and Allah) did not agree. I went a little earlier than usual that morning and it seems I caught the cow culprit red handed. The largest cow I had seen in Kedougou (for some reason the cows here are smaller than in the rest of the country) was standing in the middle of my garden. I was hoping to jump in and save at the very least my sunflower heads to give as a gift to my counterpart. As I started climbing into the garden, the cow glared at me and started stomping her foot angrily. I decided that I liked my life better than the sunflowers and grudgingly left and let the literally starving cow continue grazing on my beautiful sunflowers and cantaloupe. It was another sad morning, but I had a puppy to go home to and fields to think about preparing!

Zai holes

Since then, my puppy has been wonderful and is learning so fast! She was already potty trained before she was 5 weeks old and is learning commands like a champ and is just barely 2 months old. I am teaching her Pular commands and she has grown on my host family and the rest of my village (especially when I tell her to greet- shake hands -because greeting is such an important part of the culture). This is also the only trained dog that these people have ever seen in their lives. When I go on journeys, I simply bring her with me in my cushioned puppy carrier and she barely complains on the often bumpy bike rides. She also likes to come with me when I go to my new field where I've been repairing the destroyed chain link fence at the school and digging zai holes to plant corn and amend the soil. When we were working one day, we found a giant black scorpion in my compost pile and I made a teacher kill it for me. You should also look up African cave spiders because although they are harmless, they are the sole reason I am afraid to use my toilet hole at night. I seem to have one that lives literally inside my toilet hole and comes for visits at night.

It seems that Mama dog and big brother dog have both adopted me as their running buddies. These two seem to be my biggest fans which is a major turn around from when I first moved to village. Those dogs were terrified of me. Now I'm the only one who provides them with a safe haven from other aggressive dogs (and people who like to throw rocks at them and beat them). On one of our runs we found the biggest bird nest I have ever seen. I could fit inside of it. Another volunteer and I speculate that it is a hammerkop nest. Next to the nest is my favorite baobab tree I've seen in country so far. It is so beautiful and one of few baobabs where the bark hasn't been stripped off of the tree for rope.

I could probably fit inside this thing!

After watching this wonderful family of dogs playing with each other, I quickly learned that instead of being aggressive towards my puppy, they are all in fact best friends and play ALL THE TIME! It's a wonderful life.

I have been really busy lately, filling tree sacks to plant a live fence, planting a moringa garden, and starting a vegetable nursery at the school. I've been trying to get people to work with me and they express a lot of interest but then they don't show up. I found out that some of the kids are going to be planting peanuts in half of the field so I am going to work with the kids and teach them about planting beans with the peanuts and the kids in turn will help me with my corn and rice fields so they can learn about improved spacing and soil amendments. I feel like I've been racing the clock to get my fields ready because we had our first big storm and by big I mean MASSIVE!!

On facebook I posted a video I took of the lightning before the rain started. The wind was so crazy that I worried at one point that my mango tree would fall on my hut. Luckily, no trees fell.

Segou Ventures

Angrily, I made it back to Matakosi. I stopped to rest several times on the bike ride and begrudged every Senegalese person I had to talk to, but I made it back, finally. As I walked through the woods to my garden that evening, I let the woods heal my thoughts and my mood. I made a promise to myself that I would begin working on a major attitude adjustment. I know that you can't change people but you can change your attitude about people, so that's what I decided to do. I would build up my patience slowly, no matter how long it took. I'm still working on it, but I'm determined. I just completed a wonderful book on St. Francis of Assisi. This book takes on the perspective of St. Francis's closest disciple and follows the story of this saint as though we are there on the journey with him. It has helped me, in many ways, to put my life into perspective and has revived my interest in recapturing some sense of spirituality.

The following morning I went to go water my garden and when I returned there were a group of women painting a freshly built kitchen hut. This process involves mixing clay, manure, and snotty textured water mixed with palm tree sap (it's the sap that gives it the gross texture). They mix this concoction and then use their hands to lather this stinky stuff all over the walls. I decided to join in and as gross as it was, it was actually quite fun... except for the “gender” topics of conversation about how “men couldn't do this and women could never build the walls of the hut” because the roles are so gender specific... even though the actual process of each is almost identical. When I comment that men and women can do both jobs that laugh at me and look at me like I'm crazy and then gossip to the other people around, “oh!! so Kadjatu thinks that women can build walls” and then they all begin to laugh all over again. So SOSO SO irritating and at that point I knew I wasn't making any progress with patience building goal. I felt like my fuse was only getting shorter and less manageable.

Anyway, the next few days were unmemorable. I had to change my schedule three times for a tree planting training which ended up not even happening and I tried to view this, again, as a patience building activity. Meanwhile, I was preparing mentally and physically to bike out to visit a group of volunteers in another village called Segou. Segou is known around Peace Corps Senegal volunteers for its spectacular year round waterfall. The Segou waterfall is less on the radar among “tourists” than the more famous and nearby Dendefellow waterfall. Because of the limited foot traffic at the Segou waterfall, it is more pristine and it's rare to see non-Peace Corps volunteers there. Senegalese typically don't go to waterfalls, even when they live near them and most tourists simply haven't heard of the Segou falls. As volunteers who know the secret, we like the secret and the seclusion around this spectacular place.

After waking up at 5:15 to water my garden, load my bike, and eat breakfast, I was finally ready to begin my journey by 8:30. The path was a road through the woods that I had not taken before but I knew it was supposed to take 3-3.5 hours by bike and I had been given a list of all the villages I should pass on the way to keep myself on track. I biked out to my market town where the road to Segou technically begins. The friendly boutique owner set me on the right trail and my journey had officially begun. In just a short while I had passed through the first town, Sinchur and shortly after, Bayah. I was off to a great start and right on track as those were the first two villages on my list. The people directed me up ahead again to ensure I was heading the right way. I happened to pass countless jovial people all walking to various towns to vote in their respective polling stations. It was the day of the presidential “reelections”. This allowed me to meet new people, learn new places, and all the while make sure I was still on the right road to Segou.

The bike ride grew continually more beautiful as I headed South and got closer and closer to the mountains rising up in the background on the Guinea border. I finally arrived at the next village “Unduguure”. Even just the names of the villages are exciting enough to make me love the place. I was glad to have rested for a quick water break, to soak up the location of this perfectly placed, tiny little
village, nestled at the top of a small hill. The endless view of the Guinean mountains, which seemed so close and yet so far away, was completely pristine and unobstructed. Seeing it warmed my heart. One of the Unduguure villagers told me that their village is the crossroads for the road to Segou and the road to Ingly which has a spectacular waterfall that I have heard dries up after the rainy season ends. It happens that I am the closest volunteer to Ingly.

I continued through the beautiful tropical forest and it was about 11:15 when I finally arrived at the next village, Wuurijey. I was right on track an was getting close!! I refilled my water bottles at the well pump. There was one more village between Wuurijey and Segou and a woman happened to be heading that way so I walked with her for a little while until I felt confident to continue on my own. It was starting to get hot and I really didn't want to get lost. After I started biking again, I passed two men from Changey (the next village) and I felt confident that I was going the right way. I knew I would be arriving soon.

Continuing on again, I didn't pass anyone for quite a while and my body was ready for a break. It was already almost noon and the heat was getting to be unpleasant. I had just finished miserably pushing my bike up a hill. Finally a guy on a motorbike with his girlfriend behind him pulled up and stopped.
Expecting to hear some confirmation that Changey was just up ahead I asked how far I was. The response seemed to be just a blank stare. They said, “Changey is not up ahead. You are lost”. It took me a minute to process because I was already so hot and tired and suddenly my heart sank. Where did I get lost? I don't even remember any turnoffs that I could have missed. I was starting to realize my exhaustion. They said that a village called Bandafaasi was up ahead and Changey was in the other direction. They asked me if I was tired. OF COURSE I was tired! It was 105 degrees out and I had been biking for hours. They said I should go to Bandafaasi and rest there until evening. I asked if it was far to get to Changey and the woman gave my directions that my tired mind and body could not process. I asked how many kilometers it was to Bandafaasi vs. Changey to help me make a decision about what to do. The woman started answering my question and her boyfriend taped her on the leg, inturrupting her, tells her, “shut up. let's go” and drives off before she could tell me.

Alone, hot, tired, thirsty, unsure of how far I was from anywhere, and lost, I started crying and I weighed my options. I was supposed to be there an hour ago. Without any information to go on, I had to make a decision. I had enough water but the heat was becoming unbearable and my body was exhausted. With the leafless trees and the sun directly above my head, there was not even half an inch of shade in this supposed forest. I was noticing I had less control of my bike than I used to. I could risk backtracking for an indefinite period of time for some supposed turn off that I may or may not have missed with no idea of how far I was from Changey or Segou on a road I had never been on with the potential for getting lost again. There was almost no chance of me seeing someone again as it was the middle of the afternoon.

OR... I could continue on this somewhat bigger road to where Bandafaasi is. I was familiar with Bandafaasi as we have a volunteer there and I bike past it on the main road every time I go from my village to the regional house. I am also familiar with the road from Bandafaasi to Segou and was sure to not get lost that way... but just a few days before I had had a conversation with a volunteer who told me that Bandafaasi was at least 2 hours from Segou and I had no idea how far I was from Segou. On this rout, though, I was sure to encounter people who could direct me and I could perhaps find a shade structure and a place to refill my water bottles. I decided to take the surer but supposedly longer rout. I did not want to risk getting lost again.

A little further up the road I encountered another man who was chopping wood to make a fence. He said he was from a nearby Village called Natcha. He was friendly, showing genuine concern. He told me that the main road was only 2kilometers up ahead but Bandafaasi was an additional 7K after that. It was such a relief to just know where I was! It also meant that there was a chance that there would be a shorter rout, some more direct bike path or at the very least a forage and a shade structure to get a little relief from the scorching and merciless afternoon sun. I thanked the man and continued out to the road with a renewed energy and determination. I reached the main road and it was another ¼ mile until I reached the next village, which was in fact Bundukunding and NOT Bandafaasi. While there was no forage, there was a shade structure and it was a voting site so there were several people with whom I could interact.

It was not until I sat down that I realized how hot and tired I really was and it was still another minute or two before I processed how much farther I still had to go. My patience and motivation suddenly faded as I thought about biking for the next few hours. People were telling me that I was crazy and that I should wait until it was cooler to leave again. This lit a fire in my heart again, thinking about how badly I wanted to be there with my friends and how badly I didn't want to listen to the Senegalese just because I was feeling disagreeable. I wanted to be there 2 hours ago but I didn't have the words to explain this with the urgency I felt. They simply reply, “but the sun is hot”. This just irritated me more because the concept of keeping a time commitment is simply beyond their understanding but it definitely gave me the motivation to start going again. After talking with people, impatiently, I learned that there is in fact a direct path to Segou and they insisted that there were no turns and that I could not get lost. They told me to go to Natcha and get further directions there and they could point me to the right path. They said I should be in Segou in 2-3 hours and having rested and rehydrated I felt a new vigor again. I continued on.

Soon enough I arrived at Natcha. A teenage boy pointed me towards the right road and he reassured me that I couldn't get lost. My determination grew and I realized how disoriented and tired I really was. I began to realize that at this point, there was no turning back. There was no choice any more. I felt that I was moving the wrong direction but I trusted the kid who assured me over and over that I was going the right way. He was right. There were no turns and as I kept going, my orientation began to correct itself. Soon enough I started to recognize the unique shape of the mountains that surround this incredible valley. I started making up songs and singing to keep me going. I did not pass a single other person the entire rest of the way. My mind wandered and began to think of the over the top cheesey jokes that Americans can make about the Natcha road (just by changing that second a to an o... ie: “Natcho' road”). I let my delirious mind go there... I'm pretty sure that my excitement to see the other volunteers and my adrenaline were the only things keeping me going... well... that and the fact that I had no choice. I couldn't just stop in the middle of the shadeless woods in the middle of the blistering afternoon with still present but limited water. It just couldn't happen. The mountains, I knew consciously, were getting closer and closer but they felt like they were getting further and further away. It was like being trapped in the twilight zone. The path and the fields all looked the same with no distinct landmarks except the mountains up ahead.

The mountains, my destination, was taunting me. It was so close and yet so far. I had no idea how many more minutes I had left until my arrival; my legs had almost nothing left to keep me going. My mind was the only thing keeping me going repeating over and over, “You'll get there soon enough! You have no choice”. At this point it was mind over matter and I had already surpassed what I believed to be my physical limit. This was another motivating factor; the pride that I would feel after arriving, I knew would be immense. Suddenly, a water tower became visible and then houses began to appear! I had made it! The second I stopped my bike, I felt my body ache. I knew that my friends weren't far and I pushed my bike the rest of the way to the campemont where they were all waiting for me. Seven happy volunteers were all there waiting for me and despite my grossness from having been biking for 6.5 hours, they all came up to me and gave me giant, welcoming hugs!

I unwound, downed two liters of water and two granola bars and prepared myself for another hour of hiking! We all put on our bathing suits and sunscreen quickly and started our hike to the waterfalls. The woods here were different than where I had been biking. We were following a river through an incredible (and more importantly) shaded forest. The hike was invigorating. I was with friends and the weather had finally started to cool off. As we approached our first stop, we heard this strange barking which we learned was baboons talking to each other, spread across the valley. As the barking continued in the background we finally arrived at the swimming hole! We all anxiously jumped into the cold, refreshing, and therapeutic water. Still being gross from the bike ride, it was probably one of my favorite ever showers I've ever had. The water was able to clear my head and conscience. It was too late to get to the waterfall itself but the swimming hole was more than enough. Back at the campemont, we all had an incredible chicken and peanut sauce dish with freshly baked bread. I felt like I had received just the therapy I needed to begin working on my attitude adjustment.