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!!
