Mango Wealth

-It took forever to get these pictures here... and resulted in a cyber-worker having my email and copies of all the pictures.. so I hope you like them! If anyone has any idea how I can turn them right-side-up, let me know! The first is MAMADOU, then my henna, my neene (they made me hold up my hand every time..), and lastly Amadou. I have more pictures but who knows when I'll be able to get them up.

-There was a moment in the 2-hour henna process of which I had a picture. My sisters Dienabu and Binta working on my pinky and

pointer fingers and neene on my thumb. It already looked cool with the grassy mush, tape strips, and finger bags. But then my crazy poetic soul imploded when they took my multicolored toubab hand in theirs and pulled it into the ASL sign for "I Love You." I know I'm cheesy, but you love it.


-I tried to teach Amadou and Khady how to juggle with fallen mangoes in our "yard." Am not yet discouraged.

-I gave out werther's candies and they regretted it because they threw the wrappers EVERYWHERE and Aissatou handed one back to Ami after it fell on the ground and was completely fuzzed over with dirt. Oh well...

-Mamadou's newly shaved head makes him look a bit like a Christian Children's Fund ad because he keeps getting sores to which the flies are drawn. But I probably shouldn't talk as it's a daily goal not to look like one of those kids myself. Not sure I'm succeeding...

-I was jealous of the beautiful tile patio at the place of the Pet Semmetary Baby. They were clearly better-off than my family. Posh, spacious, gardened... But my family stays cool with our sweet MANGO TREE and we LITERALLY get closer to each other as we have to sit on top of each other (to watch brazilian soap operas..) so HUMPH.

Dead Rat

Cinq

-Taught little boys Mamadou and Amadou how to play hand-slapping game. Am now basically a superhero.

-I HAVE A PHONE. will email number if you want it. Free for me if you call!.... I got it at a good time. It was our first day to bike home and what do I find but a flat tire! We don't have pumps yet and I didn't know my address for a taxi or my family's numbers. Instead I bothered all the PC people who got a busdriver to come and bring me chez-moi, overtime. Also over-soccer ball. I think we're all pretty lucky it stopped there.

-First African beer= Gazelle= cold= delicious!

-The annoying megaphone prayers that sing every few hours through the night sound like they're singing "Diaraye" (my name) now and it's very distracting.

-We have a mango tree

-I saw a dead rat today that was larger than many cats. My friend took a picture which I will have to steal.

Dear Dad,

I found your cd. It was in my disc-man all along. Now it's in Africa. My bad.

-Kate

Dead Bug

Quatre

-It's kind of funny I'm a health sector volunteer as my health standards are drastically decreasing every day. The grossest squished black banana is in my room right now because I kept forgetting to find some way to throw it out. But now I think I'll probably eat it. What was this bucket used for before it contained my bath water? Who cares? Bugs inside it? Ce n'est pas grave, they're probably dead anyway. The baby picked her nose and other orifices and rolled around in trash and dirt before touching everything in the food bowl? Hey, ya gotta eat something!

-I knew Mamadou was my favorite as soon as I met him that first day and immediately remembered his name. He's 5 and has big eyes full of expression. These expressions usually involve mischief. We have conversations without words, with our eyebrows and puffed out cheeks and fish-lips. Both of us seem suprised when the other actually speaks to someone else. So as I got off my Peace Corps bus the other day (bussing until we know our way by bikes), I was happy to see a game of soccer in our front yard. (By the way, yard= patch of dirt in this country.) The little boys were so cute and I had an image of my perfect peace corps self jumping into the game and making friends with all of them. But as I got closer, this clearly wasn't going to happen. They stared and backed away as if I were a dementor. None of them returned my greetings. I felt a little low. But then... MAMADOU TO THE RESCUE! He ran over to me, grinning and pulling on my limbs, and all good feelings rushed back. Too bad I can't actually communicate with him...

-After my family helped with my homework (aren't we so third world 7th heaven?), I went out to watch the little boys play soccer. They still were really cute but I realized they were literally playing in trash with a flat little non-ball. Also they were in dust and had one goal leading to the busy road. What would neene an e amerik say?

-My days start pre-dawn with roosters and moonlight. The bus to the centre takes me through the sunrise and waking bustle of Thies. Quelle parfait way to wake up!

Slurps Up

(If you can't tell, I'm actually behind in these, so if there are three days in one, that's why. Also, thanks so much for the emails! I will respond, I promise! Just trying to get some posting done first... And don't forget you can send me packages if you weren't awesome like heather/ sarah/ kate and stuck them in my luggage to MAKE MY AFRICAN DAY. The rest of you can still make up for it though.)

Jour Trois

-Baby Ami still wailed at the site of my blinding white skin, but was eventually coerced into touching my hand. She had the grace to wait a few seconds before running away, screaming

-Mamadou and I had more hand-slapping and dancing fun. He also seems to dislike spoons but was likely told to use one in front of me. He compensated by squishing the rice into balls (as one does with hands). I think my 40-year old sister told on me for pushing all my food into her section (daaninkinaade)-- even though it's actually polite to do so and she MOPPED THAT UP. So then Mamadou made about 5 rice balls to pile in my part and began continuously poking me and pointing to them. But he is germy so I said A JAARAMA and pushed them back. Also they were full of something dead.

-As soon as I stoppped sweating, they all brought out the sweaters and blankets, rubbing their arms. This turned into discussions on language differences, namely regarding "booby." This means "cold" in Pulaar and is now a joke we make every day. No booby?

-had some raison-tasting mini-apple/tomato/nut-looking mystery fruits with spit pits inside. They were moy^y^i!

-Pollo futa class is exploding my head. It hasn't even been a week but I'm pretty sure I never concentrated so much at Hamilton. I think I get subjects, objects, and possessives now, though I strongly resent the exclusive and inclusive forms of "we" because they don't exist in english, and also because they sound kind of mean

-ma famille appreciated when I said "pas moy^y^i" when Bush came on tv. They seem to be Obama fans. By the way, I'm going through slight primary-news and npr withdrawl.

-There is a mystery sound scratching and running around on my roof every night that sounds heavy. I think it's a lion. (This is mostly a joke...) The other night when I heard it I woke up SURE something was in my room. My headlight was near under the bed and outside the mosquito net, so I pressed the pathetic light button on my target watch over and over and aimed it around before I determined the mystery beast was still on the roof. Will now sleep with headlamp.

-had Senegalese tea with the fam! They are expert pourers. Sluuurrrpp! (It is polite to slurp it very fast... weird to get used to)

DAY DEUX

-Pulaar lesson: "askugol"= to recite geneology. "d[<-implosive]aanikinaade"= to pretend to sleep. "n/g[letter not on keyboard]aaminkinaade"= to pretend to sleep

-Ma famile sat around and gawked at my photos (not the inappropriate ones hidden behind) (by "inappropriate I unfortunately only mean tank tops and bathing suits and other un-muslim apparel) They said they were "jolie" and did not seem to understand snow.

-I was able to carry at lest 30 second conversations in pulaar in which "uhhhh" only took up about a third!

-Mamadou and I played poking and high 5. More on this steller creature later.

-SOAP

-Baby Ami cries every time she sees me. I don't know WHY I thought playing "peekaboo" would help. The poor thing won't sleep for weeks with visions of grinning toubabs jumping into her head

-a bunch of kids/ teenagers yelled toubab at me in the street so of course my friend and I whirled around in response (I've taken to responding, "Oui, Je m'appele toubab"). They wanted my apple core. They got it. Maybe there's some weird underground toubab merchandise e-bay here.

Homestay Highlights: La Premiere Nuit

(I am writing this bullet-point style a la Zvi parce que it is easier for both of us)

-WHAT ARE THEY SAYING?

-When they picked me up, I thought it was the whole family and my brother was my father and I was the tallest person. Not so. See next point.

-FIFTEEN KIDS? SERIOUSLY?

-And I'm supposed to know the names in addition to Wolof (all the neighbors speak it) and PULAAR in which I barely remember "A Jaraama" (which conveniently doubles for thank you and hello and is at least 60% of all of my conversations at this point). And suddenly french is my CRUTCH language???

-Nenne (mom) (sorry if that makes you sad, real mom) is nice and flicked fish out of my area of the bowl even though being vegetarian = being martian. She has a kind of cross and weathered face, but she still smiles at me a lot. Most likely because she feels bad for how inept I am at pulaar.

-ate with the hands... didn't see soap. CAN YOU EVEN RECOGNIZE ME ANYMORE?

-bucket bath. that's all I have to say about that

-they watch bad brazilian surfing soap operas tout des temps. This is probably why my skin color doesn't faze them

-they've hosted over 10 volunteers and showed me every picture they own and now my main goal is to get all over a photo album too before I leave

-lots of words thrown at me as I tried to take my bucket bath in peace. I of course smiled and nodded. Nenne was not satisfied and hoisted herself up and motioned me into the stall with her. I was very confused and flashed-back to a certain story in India many of you know... So I got in with her, wondering how to say en francais "I can manage a bucket bath by myself, thanks." But she just wanted to show me how the basic bolt lock worked on the door. (When you speak worse than a toddler, people tend to think your thinking is comperable). Phew.

-I can't remember my NAME. This might relate to my last point. Diadiou? Diadai? and in pulaar, "Jarray." Sometimes I remember it, only by thinking that it starts like "diarrhea" and ends in "die." Super. Last name Diallo/ Jallo, which I sometimes say is my first name.

-I'm too scared to do pretty much anything such as speak, get water for my filter, and go to the bathroom. It's very exciting though!

-There are very loud goat, tv, and prayer-mega phone sounds right now.

-I could sleep in a goat-PEN right now. Mais au contrare to my first impression, I don't just have a curtain between my and the goat/tv/everything. I have a DOOR. Alhamdulallah! They came in to show me how to lock that too.

From White Bread to Monkey Bread

Ahh what can I say on a shaky connection and foreign keyboard to give you a drop of this side of the ocean?

I fell in love with Senegal before the plane even landed as I watched the smog-less sun set over the ocean and desert. I only fell more in love on the bumpy ride to Thies, getting to see baobabs and women carrying things on their heads such as buckets, fruit platters, and school buses. OK not the last one, but if anyone could do it, it would be them.

I'm composing this in an open gazebo-style thatch-roofed hut, to the sounds of distant drums and night songs, and closer harmonica music, a buzz of excited conversation, and jungling balls dropping. Oooh and a bat just zoomed in and went to bed on the rafters! (I can just see my mom's or Petie's faces at that... Don't worry, we get our rabies shots this week! And we need bats to combat these wretched (booboo word!) mosquitos! Because I can't live under a mosquito net, I'm developing quite the collection of bites. Even with the mosquitaire, it's too easy to stretch out in your sleep so your feet stick out. I have a bite on almost every one of my toes to prove it.)

Now I just saw a little cat scurry by; There are maybe 30 in this little compound. (Our training center is an old army base-turned-Eden). They're everywhere but kind of creepy and nothing like CHARLIE or other notable US kitties. Lizards, goats, cattle, and about 200 x the birds we hqve in CT are also abound. Training is pretty intense so luckily we don't have trouble sleeping at night, but we still wake up once in a while to hear the safari zoo outside. It's mostly from birds, owls, cat fights, and morning prayers, but there's also this weird haunted house-esque shreiking that consensus determined is probably monkeys.

Other exciting things include:

-learning how to work kerosene lanterns
-learning toilet-less paper-less potty etiquette (honestly not so bad)
-pulling water from a well
-eating cola nuts (honestly not so good...)
-sharing rice meals on the floor around a big bowl (fantastique!)
-chewing on a balantes or tooth stick (better for you than brushing! but I will continue to do both)
-tying a pagne.. badly
-learning which roots fix "male problems," which encens keep husbands from cheating, which pouridge helps a woman to obtain the seriously sought-after bigg butt (I guess I don't need any of these things...)
-trying baobab fruit juice-- which actually translates to "monkey bread"

((I HAVE TO INTERRUPT THIS TO SAY THAT THEY JUST PUT ON ELTON JOHN MUSIC))

-drinking Senegalese tea (thought of you, Heather!)
-LEARNING WOLOF

That last one is interesting. We find out the regional language we'll really be learning this week: wolof or pulaar depending on where they think they might place us. So far we've only had "survival wolof." The first several hours were dedicated solely to Greetings. They take those suckers seriously here. No "Hey," "What up," or walking by without saying anything at all. There's pretty much a script of them that includes asking how your night was, how every member of your family is... and (oooh we just saw a marmite! maybe?) we learned how to field some of the questions constantly thrown at us.

"Wolunteer Corps de la Paix laa, mangi ligeey ci mbirum wer gu yarrum..." The last three words only mean "health."

When we walk around the neighborhood, we become a "toubab" (whitey) parade. Little kids actually point and laugh at us since we're essentially clowns. But it's a lot of fun and we get to practice our shaky Wolof which they usually really appreciate (although one girl retorted, "Is that all you can say?") Most of us are pretty comfortable with french so we mostly stick to that. But people are really nice and way friendlier than in the States.

As for the meat-eating, sorry to disappoint, but it's probably not happening. One of the current 3rd year volunteers came to help with orientation and attested that it's not impossible to stay veg here. He was awesome and pretty much held a fluent stand-off in defence of the four of us for training. Then he taught us how toi explain that just like people here are mostly Muslim and don't eat pork, it's "my culture" not to eat any meat. Ci sama ada!

The other volunteers are really cool. Four hail from CT, making it oddly the best represented state in the group. One guy went to Colgate, and most of the girls donated their hair the same week I did. In our 35 hour trip to Senegal (Atlanta flight was cancelled and we bussed from Philly to JFK, flew to Brussels, the Gambia, and Dakar, then finally took a bus to Thies)-- we entertained ourselves with rousing games of charades, bananagrams, counting catch, cards.. We kept at least three other surrounding gates entertained as well. Now we've got ping-pong, frisbie, and everything else our little heads can come up with.

I can see how it will be tough to go from the fun camp-like setting to isolated in our villages. But it looks like we're all getting phones, so it won't be SO bad. Heads up other travelers-- texts allegedly reach Europe and sometimes as far as the US!

We had a dance/drum circle yesterday! I'll need to take a video or something. But right now I'm not taking pictures because it's culturally insensative. Ones of volunteers, training Ede, and trainers to come, though!

If you did'nt guess, it looks like I won't be able to update this too often. It's not sooo easy and also there are way better things to do. No offense.

On that note.....

Peace: Jamm!

K

Why the Heck I Am Doing This

(--Because I need a first post, and that is everyone's first question... And what better way to answer it than by pasting in my actual 250-words-or-less motivation statement? I mean, I need to conserve my energy, right?:)

The Peace Corps is a door to a treasure-trove for the little girl who used to lose feeling in her legs as she sat on the speckled carpet of the library for hours, pouring through books on different countries in words she didn’t always understand; for the teenager who traveled to France and delighted in the ability of her sixth grade French to order her family dinner; for the college freshman who relished living in her London flat and in faking an accent to American tourists; for the college senior who isn’t completely sure which paths to take later in her life, but is aching to start off big. Whether these paths include enrollment in graduate school for counseling or art therapy, the continuation of teaching English as a Second Language, or something else altogether, the skills and personal strengths gained from joining the Peace Corps will create a unique and invaluable foundation for everything else that comes afterwards. The Peace Corps offers the perfect program for an adventurous volunteering-addict who recognizes the fraying ties from her country to others that will weaken the global community as a whole if they are not cared for, even on an individual level. The Peace Corps must have been made for me.

I wanted to join the Peace Corps since the first day I heard it existed. Even as an avid volunteer, I cannot pretend to believe I could ever give enough to a community anywhere in the world to match all that I would gain in the process. The challenges of mastering another language, striving for acceptance in a community so far removed from my own, and entering a world that offers little of the comforts from the one in which I grew up-- all while fulfilling my role as a Peace Corps volunteer-- are challenges that would change my life and strengthen my character to levels I’m sure I still can’t imagine. I believe it just might be the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. And I can’t wait.


(I seem to have been a very wordy fall-semester senior! Is it weird that I believe I am less so after working all year at a literary agency? Well, to let the words flow on, I might as well share my other essay. I don't remember the actual question, but it was something about how I'd deal with cross-cultural views in opposition to my own, citing a specific example:)


My mother, who so kindly helped me read the tags of all the prom-dresses at the mall to see if any were made through fair trade, would agree that since I was a child I have never had trouble holding onto convictions. These convictions have always been strong, but certainly not universal. Yet in spite of, or perhaps because of, the strength and nature of these values, a reserved openness to the beliefs and practices of others has found itself at the forefront of my actions -and inactions. Maintaining cultural relativism in my own divided country presents difficulties enough, but taking this philosophy abroad is a whole different endeavor. My recent trip to India (July-August 2006) most significantly tested my ability to temporarily set aside my own convictions to understand those of another culture.

One of the places I had the invaluable opportunity to visit was a tiny village which had never entertained an American or white person before me and my fellow traveler. Curious eyes followed us everywhere as we were invited into homes as special guests worthy without question of the sweetest chai our hosts could offer. Excepting a few solar panels in the wealthiest houses, these homes had no electricity, running water, or even outhouses. Certainly it was not the poverty of this village that challenged my convictions, for the sincere smiles on every face I met showed me a tiny society that was happier than any I had ever come across in the US. It was that all the men we met were relaxing, gambling, and carefree enough to follow us. The women of the village were just as pleased to meet us-- but not as free. They extended their greetings under large bundles of grasses or buckets of water, holding infants, and stirring pots of dinner or that sweet chai. They were literally doing all of the work. It rattled my mind imagining myself in their places, especially once I learned that they were often second or third wives to their husbands. This was a common practice, particularly if these women failed to produce sons whose future wives would become caretakers for the family. Yet they sported wide smiles just the same. My buzzing feminist vibes began to relax as I smiled back and took this aspect quietly in mind as an extension of my personal education to examine later.

While I believe social change to be a necessary component of peaceful and productive societies, I do not think it can be successfully accomplished through stubborn disputes without first accepting and understanding systems of values different from one’s own. Besides this, closed minds and open mouths cannot learn or hear all the sounds and views around the world that would otherwise enrich. Convicted as I may be, I want to hear them all.

(Does that line make it sound like I'm a convicted criminal? Because that's what I meant.)

:o)