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