Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Coping Mechanism Du Jour
You know how scary amusement park rides that make you nauseus are fun? You know how we stand in those rat maze lines for 3 hours just to get on and get that sick feeling? Good news-- you can just visit me to achieve a strikingly similar effect! For example, the lumo bus from Dinde Fello (Daniel's patrone village, 6k away, where I shop, featured in Lonely Planet). Even though it packs people in like I literally imagine smuggled refugees travel across borders in gas tanks, it creates the same I-could-lose-my-life thrill we all seek, presses you up against sweaty strangers, people still vomit, and you STILL get to wait several hours! All that's missing are the fanny packs and the cotton candy on your seat (although bisap juice makes a lovely substitute). After realizing this parallel, I feel much better about travel. I probably won't go to another amusement park again though, because I've decided the best part about these rides is and has always been GETTING OFF and telling your dizzy feet WE LIVED THROUGH IT!
We Appreciate Your Feedback
Thanks for reading about my sad wonderful life. Now comment more because I clearly need all the help I can get. Then get back to the carepackages.
Seriously.
Seriously.
To Think About Next Time You Leave That Free Ice Water Untouched On The Table
The wells are dry. Before, we went to the edge of town and carried the buckets on our heads. The walk was less than ten minutes. Now we need bikes and straps and bidons... a ride that takes at least ten minutes and getting water takes longer. For the river is dry as well. They've dug a hole in the bed about the size of a sink for which we wait to fill with water. Then we slowly scoop cups into bucket, trying not to disturb the dirt just below the rim of the cup so that it's as clear as possible. A piece of forever later, we lug the bucket up the bank, strap it to our bike, and sweat back. Now remember we have no roads, so the bumpy paths splash the water through the lids. While it feels nice on my burning hot legs, each drop spilled is one I can't drink, bathe with, or wash clothes or dishes with.
I also have powerful flashbacks several times a day of the heated kiddie pool at the YMCA. That is because it is what the inside of my burning iodinized water bottle smells/tastes like-- though hopefully with less pee. This inevitably invokes the memory of the vending machine they had and the delicious chips or strawberry wafer cokies we'd get as kids. Then I torture myself trying to decide which snack I'd have at that moment and which body part I'd saw off for it if it fit in the coin slot.
These are the times I think of ice water. So think of me next time the waitress brings you that thing of beauty and you almost don't even notice...
I also have powerful flashbacks several times a day of the heated kiddie pool at the YMCA. That is because it is what the inside of my burning iodinized water bottle smells/tastes like-- though hopefully with less pee. This inevitably invokes the memory of the vending machine they had and the delicious chips or strawberry wafer cokies we'd get as kids. Then I torture myself trying to decide which snack I'd have at that moment and which body part I'd saw off for it if it fit in the coin slot.
These are the times I think of ice water. So think of me next time the waitress brings you that thing of beauty and you almost don't even notice...
From Panties to Mangos
There is nothing so humbling as trying to wash your dirty underwear with a suadron of giggling girls (whom you want to educate some day) watching and giggling, a few old ladies asking you to give them your clothes in words too fast to understand (but instead of slowing down they just SHOUT), and your neene talking the underwear out of your hand, saying you can't do it, and scrubbing it for you. I was a little worried I'd just bust out crying in the middle of all of it, but I made it. With the paperclips already on the line, I was even laughing by the end.
Then I CLIMBED ONE OF MY MANGO TREES with a bunch of smiling boys -almost like that scene in The Sound of Music. I threw some down for the fam, but when I found a perfectly soft one, I just bit right in, juices running down my legs and branches as I watched the sun set over my beautiful utopian village. Quelle vie. It's even worth the laundry troubles.
Then I CLIMBED ONE OF MY MANGO TREES with a bunch of smiling boys -almost like that scene in The Sound of Music. I threw some down for the fam, but when I found a perfectly soft one, I just bit right in, juices running down my legs and branches as I watched the sun set over my beautiful utopian village. Quelle vie. It's even worth the laundry troubles.
This ain't no Macdo
You know how those landing cards when you re-enter the US ask if you've been in any proximity to livestock or farm animals? Yeah, that's funny.
Some observations of the animals I'm practically sitting on top of:
-our chickens appear to be panting
-roosters extend their necks about 3 times as long when they crow (which, by the way, is all the time, probably least of all dawn)
-a filly goat trying to scurry under his mum to nurse is really funny
-real goats sound like humans immitating goats
-donkeys sound like they're getting it on, but look like they're sneezing/crying/laughing
-black goats look like the devil
Even with all these animals around, there is a surprising lack of animals products. It's pretty easy to stay vegetarian since it's cheaper, but since I don't feel particularly healthy at this point, I can't say for sure it will last. But of all the places for it not to, this is it. The animals are truly free range (in my room, for example) and I don't feel any worse for their qualities of life than I do my own. (Read what you will from that.)
Some observations of the animals I'm practically sitting on top of:
-our chickens appear to be panting
-roosters extend their necks about 3 times as long when they crow (which, by the way, is all the time, probably least of all dawn)
-a filly goat trying to scurry under his mum to nurse is really funny
-real goats sound like humans immitating goats
-donkeys sound like they're getting it on, but look like they're sneezing/crying/laughing
-black goats look like the devil
Even with all these animals around, there is a surprising lack of animals products. It's pretty easy to stay vegetarian since it's cheaper, but since I don't feel particularly healthy at this point, I can't say for sure it will last. But of all the places for it not to, this is it. The animals are truly free range (in my room, for example) and I don't feel any worse for their qualities of life than I do my own. (Read what you will from that.)
Monday, May 26, 2008
Body Parts
5/16 The best part of my day might have been my twilight bucket bath. If I'd had more water, I might have spent great portions of the day just standing outside, naked, alone, pouring water over myself.
Otherwise, the day was somewhat overwhelming. After I chased kids out, I washed clothes with my namesake neene (Hadiatou Sourée, that's us). She repeatedly told me I didn't know what I was doing. But really, it was alright until we hung stuff up on the only sad little rope I had. First it sagged and sheets edges got dirty. We rewashed. Then they fell. Many times. There's nothing like sweating over a bucket of the last water you have-- which looks remarkably like oreo milkshake it's so dirty-- trying to get the stains out of your limited clothes that are suposed to last for 2 years-- to make someone homesick for the good old US. I didn't have the language skills to attempt, but I imagined talking about MACHINES that wash and dry clothes- would sound like something from the Jetsons. (By the way, I ended up keeping the clothes up by using the paper clips I think my mom made me pack as clothespins. Thanks mom!)
The whole reason I washed today was because the kids got my sheets dirty. And by "dirty" I do mean you could plant stuff. I also thought they peed on the sheets, but the women assured me it was just a lot of drool. No matter, the baby peed on my floor a few minutes later anyway. Her mother laughed, poored my precious water on top, and came back with the stick broom the other kids had stolen after it dried. At this point I was pretty much holding myself and rocking.
We had affirmation papers for our health group on which everyone wrote something nice for the person to read in his or her moment of need. I pictured opening mine in a few months, in a quiet moment of tears and solitude, most likely while it was raining. Instead I opened it today, as chicken poo and human urine was spread across the floor, ten sweaty voices asked me incomprehensible things at once, and every single one of my belongings was picked up and asked for. I read the comics. I snuck off to scarf lovely carepackage food. I was still ready to call it a day.
Then my counterpart, Mariama, pulled out her boob. It is 4 times the size of the other. I've only seen pictures of cancer this bad. My encienne forwarned me, but I still had to wait for her to tell me herself and didn't think it would be so soon. I'm glad it was (is it bad to make a joke here about her getting it off her chest?).
She doesn't really get the whole tumor concept, so I whipped out Where There Is No Doctor to see if it would help. Then some other women came in and we went through the whole thing, stopping to talk about STDs every once in a while. The kids looked on throughout all the penis-type pictures of syphallis and herpes. But once we got to the birthing pages, the women giggled and hid the book. I said, "Why? It's beautiful!" They laughed and vehemently disagreed. Then I said it was beautiful for other people but not for me. They laughed more but then talked for a while about hoe weird it was I didn't have a husband or kids and didn't want either right now. They kept repeating my age and stating disbelief. They even offered to share their husbands (they all already do). I said that just because everyone seems to get married by 18 doesn't mean I have to. It's almost like how I don't have my ears pierced... They answered that I really should get my ears pierced.
For some reason, this near-feminism breaching STD talk really cheered me up in a way carepackage food and bucket bathing couldn't. Who knew doing my actual JOB could do such a thing?
Oh, also I semi-mooned Mariama and her sister when I was flipping the little ones around and they pulled at my skirt tie. If I understood correctly, Mariama told me I should really wear underwear. I said that was why I did laundry!
There is an adolescent boy standing over me as I write by candlelight right now, under my clean-ish bedsheet. I'm afraid to yell, "GO!" again like I just did with a gaggle of girls whose feelings I may have hurt. People are so weird. I'm going to bed just so people will stop visiting.
Otherwise, the day was somewhat overwhelming. After I chased kids out, I washed clothes with my namesake neene (Hadiatou Sourée, that's us). She repeatedly told me I didn't know what I was doing. But really, it was alright until we hung stuff up on the only sad little rope I had. First it sagged and sheets edges got dirty. We rewashed. Then they fell. Many times. There's nothing like sweating over a bucket of the last water you have-- which looks remarkably like oreo milkshake it's so dirty-- trying to get the stains out of your limited clothes that are suposed to last for 2 years-- to make someone homesick for the good old US. I didn't have the language skills to attempt, but I imagined talking about MACHINES that wash and dry clothes- would sound like something from the Jetsons. (By the way, I ended up keeping the clothes up by using the paper clips I think my mom made me pack as clothespins. Thanks mom!)
The whole reason I washed today was because the kids got my sheets dirty. And by "dirty" I do mean you could plant stuff. I also thought they peed on the sheets, but the women assured me it was just a lot of drool. No matter, the baby peed on my floor a few minutes later anyway. Her mother laughed, poored my precious water on top, and came back with the stick broom the other kids had stolen after it dried. At this point I was pretty much holding myself and rocking.
We had affirmation papers for our health group on which everyone wrote something nice for the person to read in his or her moment of need. I pictured opening mine in a few months, in a quiet moment of tears and solitude, most likely while it was raining. Instead I opened it today, as chicken poo and human urine was spread across the floor, ten sweaty voices asked me incomprehensible things at once, and every single one of my belongings was picked up and asked for. I read the comics. I snuck off to scarf lovely carepackage food. I was still ready to call it a day.
Then my counterpart, Mariama, pulled out her boob. It is 4 times the size of the other. I've only seen pictures of cancer this bad. My encienne forwarned me, but I still had to wait for her to tell me herself and didn't think it would be so soon. I'm glad it was (is it bad to make a joke here about her getting it off her chest?).
She doesn't really get the whole tumor concept, so I whipped out Where There Is No Doctor to see if it would help. Then some other women came in and we went through the whole thing, stopping to talk about STDs every once in a while. The kids looked on throughout all the penis-type pictures of syphallis and herpes. But once we got to the birthing pages, the women giggled and hid the book. I said, "Why? It's beautiful!" They laughed and vehemently disagreed. Then I said it was beautiful for other people but not for me. They laughed more but then talked for a while about hoe weird it was I didn't have a husband or kids and didn't want either right now. They kept repeating my age and stating disbelief. They even offered to share their husbands (they all already do). I said that just because everyone seems to get married by 18 doesn't mean I have to. It's almost like how I don't have my ears pierced... They answered that I really should get my ears pierced.
For some reason, this near-feminism breaching STD talk really cheered me up in a way carepackage food and bucket bathing couldn't. Who knew doing my actual JOB could do such a thing?
Oh, also I semi-mooned Mariama and her sister when I was flipping the little ones around and they pulled at my skirt tie. If I understood correctly, Mariama told me I should really wear underwear. I said that was why I did laundry!
There is an adolescent boy standing over me as I write by candlelight right now, under my clean-ish bedsheet. I'm afraid to yell, "GO!" again like I just did with a gaggle of girls whose feelings I may have hurt. People are so weird. I'm going to bed just so people will stop visiting.
Embracing Madness
Today started drizzle and ended from mango sunset to candlelit prayers. Its sunds cracking peanut shells, sing-song greetings, stick broom sweeps, and children's laughter. Its touch is fast fingers braiding hair, hands both young and calloused. My own soft fingers smart, my neck aches from carrying water, my head explodes with pulaar, and my mouth shows little for it. But I love love love it.
I think one of the little girls might actually be crazy. But since she's so young, it's kind of cute. I called her Kalabante (trouble-maker) Mariama and in a flash of genius shortened it to "Cala-Mari." The little boy Boobacar, I call "boobs" (makes me miss you, booboo!). Hopefully I'll get everyone else to use these nicknames before they know what they mean.
I played frisbee with the boys so my rep is set there. I threw in some cartwheels and rock-juggling just for good measure, though.
I already can't wait for my next vegetable (CORN MUSH DOESN'T COUNT).
I've also adjusted my line of thinking on how I should act. I came in ultra aware of all my differences and hiding them or muting them and spending every breath trying not to offend people. No shorts, tank-tops, no agnostic thoughts, no sexiness, no wealth... but being so wrapped up with the wrong thing all the time can really bog a person down. Fact is, I'm clearly not senegalese. It doesn't matter if I wear the clothes and talk the talk. I'm already pretty much a martian. Everything I can't help doing is wacko up the wazoo. So why try to stop it? Embracing it makes more fun. It gives me a freedom I didn't even have ion the US for some reason. If I want to sing, I sing. If I want to talk to myself in Russian, who's stopping me? If it seems like a good time to skip, I can go right ahead. It doesn't even make me that much weirder. They're already staring, might as well make the show worthwhile and entertain myself at the same time! Bring on the craziness.
I think one of the little girls might actually be crazy. But since she's so young, it's kind of cute. I called her Kalabante (trouble-maker) Mariama and in a flash of genius shortened it to "Cala-Mari." The little boy Boobacar, I call "boobs" (makes me miss you, booboo!). Hopefully I'll get everyone else to use these nicknames before they know what they mean.
I played frisbee with the boys so my rep is set there. I threw in some cartwheels and rock-juggling just for good measure, though.
I already can't wait for my next vegetable (CORN MUSH DOESN'T COUNT).
I've also adjusted my line of thinking on how I should act. I came in ultra aware of all my differences and hiding them or muting them and spending every breath trying not to offend people. No shorts, tank-tops, no agnostic thoughts, no sexiness, no wealth... but being so wrapped up with the wrong thing all the time can really bog a person down. Fact is, I'm clearly not senegalese. It doesn't matter if I wear the clothes and talk the talk. I'm already pretty much a martian. Everything I can't help doing is wacko up the wazoo. So why try to stop it? Embracing it makes more fun. It gives me a freedom I didn't even have ion the US for some reason. If I want to sing, I sing. If I want to talk to myself in Russian, who's stopping me? If it seems like a good time to skip, I can go right ahead. It doesn't even make me that much weirder. They're already staring, might as well make the show worthwhile and entertain myself at the same time! Bring on the craziness.
A Brush With Ocean
5/15
Me: Ahhhgh! (spider creature of giganticness scuttles from shelf)
Mariama (my local counter-part, from a chair a safe distance away as she watched me unpack): Eee! Blah blah blah blah blah!
Me: Huh?
Mariama: (pointing to creature) Blah blah blah etc!!!!
Me: (pointing to creature) ...bad?
Mariama: Yes! Blah blah etc (pinches skin)
Me: Bad... to eat... I?
Mariama: Hahaha yes
Me: Uhh.. it hurts? or... ocean? ("ocean" sounds a lot like "death", leave me alone)
Mariama: Yes, it can kill you
Me: Ocean?! Ahh! (looks aound and at creature in bewilderment)
Mariama: Get a stick and kill it
Me: Huh? Oh, stick! Yes, stick. Me to find. Aha, stick! Uh.. children need to going? (children were spreading chicken poo on my floor right below) ... Because... to eat... children?
Mariama: Kill it blah blah blah etc!
Me: Uh?
Mariama: (finally gets up, grabs stick, and faces creature) Oh, no, never mind, that kind doesn't do anything
Me: What?!
Me: Ahhhgh! (spider creature of giganticness scuttles from shelf)
Mariama (my local counter-part, from a chair a safe distance away as she watched me unpack): Eee! Blah blah blah blah blah!
Me: Huh?
Mariama: (pointing to creature) Blah blah blah etc!!!!
Me: (pointing to creature) ...bad?
Mariama: Yes! Blah blah etc (pinches skin)
Me: Bad... to eat... I?
Mariama: Hahaha yes
Me: Uhh.. it hurts? or... ocean? ("ocean" sounds a lot like "death", leave me alone)
Mariama: Yes, it can kill you
Me: Ocean?! Ahh! (looks aound and at creature in bewilderment)
Mariama: Get a stick and kill it
Me: Huh? Oh, stick! Yes, stick. Me to find. Aha, stick! Uh.. children need to going? (children were spreading chicken poo on my floor right below) ... Because... to eat... children?
Mariama: Kill it blah blah blah etc!
Me: Uh?
Mariama: (finally gets up, grabs stick, and faces creature) Oh, no, never mind, that kind doesn't do anything
Me: What?!
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Undead Monkey, Boob Sweat, and Calloused Hands Clapping
-saw the Undead Monkey, a celebrity monkey wioth half jaw missing. Really fun to impersonate
-a cab we took in Thiès had a tampon applicator in the basket swinging from the rearview mirror. I don't know what else to say about this. Paul took a picture.
-I feel like I should have more to say on swear-in. Besides that our police escort almost killed a motorcyclist en route and it was very scary, but he "just" had a coma. Anyway, I will have pictures (see wish-list) so you can see how clownish we all look in our senegalese apparel. We were sworn in eith the japanese and korean volunteer groups and they made me miss tae-kwon do and jujitsu. They seem like cool people but I was happy to notice that our language training seems to kick theirs in the booty.
-I've never been so hot before in my life and I feel like that 70 or whatever percent of water in my body is turning into sweat. Fun and inappropriate follow-up: nipples don't sweat! At least mine don't. I know this because when I took a bucket bath the other day, my bra was completely soaked except those two little circles. Attractive, I know, but it doesn't even stop there. I'd say 4 minutes into the bath, a 2-mille note falls on the ground. I'd stuck it in my bra earlier and forgot and it was held up solely by sweat! (I figure the grossness of this story negates the inappropriate factor of web-logging about my boobs. Wouldn't you agree?)
-Have seen many monkeys, baboons, warthogs, scorpions and mimics, and the coolest birds ever. Have also decided that if I ever stop being vegetarian, a freaking rooster will be the first thing on my plate
-The drive to Pellel is like a jeep commercial that won't end. Beware carsick-prone visitors, terms like "roads" are used losely, and not really meant for cars. Or anything. But it was beautiful and as our heavy-loaded Peace Corps van bumped over the vast land, I felt like a micro-machine on a van gogh painting. We took every shuddering dip and divet of the dried mad brush strokes. I got the feeling the land didn't want to be crossed that way. It should be danced across at cool dawn, light as linseed, to the beat of calloused hands clapping, frozen bisap juice running down our bodies like dripping paint... That's how I'll come back. (Sorry for the poetic rant, I guess I miss english?)
-a cab we took in Thiès had a tampon applicator in the basket swinging from the rearview mirror. I don't know what else to say about this. Paul took a picture.
-I feel like I should have more to say on swear-in. Besides that our police escort almost killed a motorcyclist en route and it was very scary, but he "just" had a coma. Anyway, I will have pictures (see wish-list) so you can see how clownish we all look in our senegalese apparel. We were sworn in eith the japanese and korean volunteer groups and they made me miss tae-kwon do and jujitsu. They seem like cool people but I was happy to notice that our language training seems to kick theirs in the booty.
-I've never been so hot before in my life and I feel like that 70 or whatever percent of water in my body is turning into sweat. Fun and inappropriate follow-up: nipples don't sweat! At least mine don't. I know this because when I took a bucket bath the other day, my bra was completely soaked except those two little circles. Attractive, I know, but it doesn't even stop there. I'd say 4 minutes into the bath, a 2-mille note falls on the ground. I'd stuck it in my bra earlier and forgot and it was held up solely by sweat! (I figure the grossness of this story negates the inappropriate factor of web-logging about my boobs. Wouldn't you agree?)
-Have seen many monkeys, baboons, warthogs, scorpions and mimics, and the coolest birds ever. Have also decided that if I ever stop being vegetarian, a freaking rooster will be the first thing on my plate
-The drive to Pellel is like a jeep commercial that won't end. Beware carsick-prone visitors, terms like "roads" are used losely, and not really meant for cars. Or anything. But it was beautiful and as our heavy-loaded Peace Corps van bumped over the vast land, I felt like a micro-machine on a van gogh painting. We took every shuddering dip and divet of the dried mad brush strokes. I got the feeling the land didn't want to be crossed that way. It should be danced across at cool dawn, light as linseed, to the beat of calloused hands clapping, frozen bisap juice running down our bodies like dripping paint... That's how I'll come back. (Sorry for the poetic rant, I guess I miss english?)
Mido Wawi Dance
You always hear the first night at site sucks. One girl cried before the infamous PC van pulled away. But, against the grain once again, mine was the best night ever! Lots of people, awkwardness, sucking at language-- absolutely. But I already love it. After the men had their snoozer of a welcome, the women descended upon my hut and began the clapping dance I'd witnessed at other installs. Unfortunately, most of my ladies were a bit shy and mostly just kept telling me to dance. So, dance I did! And laugh, they did. But I actually kind of rocked and now people keep saying, "You can dance!" when they greet me. They're probably mocking me, but it's cool.
Later, I was coerced into helping cook. And by coerced I mean I took the nearest available escape route when one of my three mothers (who is 24...) wouldn't stop unpacking my stuff for me and putting it where I didn't want it. She giggled for a while at my bras, but it made sense since her topless boobs were swinging around my bags the whole time. So I helped stir, mash, and sieve corn millet to such a point of silt that I wondered if she was joking when she pointed to the seive again. Hours of pounding away in a tiny boiling hut next to an open fire on an already scorching day? C'est la vie for women here. Luckily since she's one of three wives, she only has to do this every 3 days. Our slaved-over meal ended up being probably the worst one I've had in country. I literally attempted to hypnotize myself into thinking it was cake-- just so I could swallow. I may have to live on carepackage food... HINT HINT. :o) I'm sure I'll just get used to it too...?
My siblings are so much fun and really thoughtful. I think they are abnormally so because my dad is the Imam and they take that stuff seriously. And my hut is SWEET. Sweetest of all the huts I've seen. Huge, good fence around, shade structure, hammock, stick table thing for which I still have to pay, flowers, bamboo shelves... And my village is the shire.
Later, I was coerced into helping cook. And by coerced I mean I took the nearest available escape route when one of my three mothers (who is 24...) wouldn't stop unpacking my stuff for me and putting it where I didn't want it. She giggled for a while at my bras, but it made sense since her topless boobs were swinging around my bags the whole time. So I helped stir, mash, and sieve corn millet to such a point of silt that I wondered if she was joking when she pointed to the seive again. Hours of pounding away in a tiny boiling hut next to an open fire on an already scorching day? C'est la vie for women here. Luckily since she's one of three wives, she only has to do this every 3 days. Our slaved-over meal ended up being probably the worst one I've had in country. I literally attempted to hypnotize myself into thinking it was cake-- just so I could swallow. I may have to live on carepackage food... HINT HINT. :o) I'm sure I'll just get used to it too...?
My siblings are so much fun and really thoughtful. I think they are abnormally so because my dad is the Imam and they take that stuff seriously. And my hut is SWEET. Sweetest of all the huts I've seen. Huge, good fence around, shade structure, hammock, stick table thing for which I still have to pay, flowers, bamboo shelves... And my village is the shire.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Tear
5/12 Install tomorrow and we are terrified. What will we say, what will we do, what will we eat, what if they don't like us? And then... what if they do?
I passed another level of the biking video game of my life last week when I took on Thiès, blinded by tears in my eyes. I almost crashed into a donkey. The tears fell for my Thiès family as I left them. I didn't think I'd cry, but as I was saying goodbye, they held out their left hands to shake. I've known this custom sionce India-- if you shake with that dirty hand (used for wiping) you're insulting. You can't leave someone on an insult so you're bound to see them again to eradicate it. I've even done it a few times in "aww" moments. But when my sisters and neene held out those hands, locked eyes with me and said, "Do you understand?"... the moment took more magnitude and took the built-up emotion from the week and swear-in... and came out of my eyeballs. Ko mi baby. Luckily they teared too so I didn't look completely ridiculous.
Right before this sob-fest, I gave them their sericce (gifts). The soccer ball and pump (thanks for sending, mum!) were GOLD. Mamadou, Amadou, and Aliou must have hugged me 48 times. They looked like they won the lottery. My sisters loved the bracelets more gracefully and kept disappearing and reappearing with ones for me. I even got a "bin-bin" which is a waist "necklace" hidden under the clothes associated with seduction and making one's butt bigger. I also see a lot of babies wearing them... I'm pretty sure all these things were from their own belongings. I also recieved a bag of mangoes from our tree. The other gifts I gave were cookies, a little pocket knife (thanks, Heath!), these extra tweezers my mom sent ( they were confused by them and I realized no one has stray eyebrow hairs here. My sister started plucking her arm hairs with them but found it painful. Then she satisfied herself with using the little pocket knife scissors to slowly do the job), slippers, and that little fishy magnet game from Mrs. B. This was funny because they assured me it would only be for Ami since it's a toy. But once it was opened, they all proceeded to lose track of everything else in life. Even neene played to my GREAT amusement. She did not catch a fish.
(I never finished writing this and don't really feel like it now... The end!)
I passed another level of the biking video game of my life last week when I took on Thiès, blinded by tears in my eyes. I almost crashed into a donkey. The tears fell for my Thiès family as I left them. I didn't think I'd cry, but as I was saying goodbye, they held out their left hands to shake. I've known this custom sionce India-- if you shake with that dirty hand (used for wiping) you're insulting. You can't leave someone on an insult so you're bound to see them again to eradicate it. I've even done it a few times in "aww" moments. But when my sisters and neene held out those hands, locked eyes with me and said, "Do you understand?"... the moment took more magnitude and took the built-up emotion from the week and swear-in... and came out of my eyeballs. Ko mi baby. Luckily they teared too so I didn't look completely ridiculous.
Right before this sob-fest, I gave them their sericce (gifts). The soccer ball and pump (thanks for sending, mum!) were GOLD. Mamadou, Amadou, and Aliou must have hugged me 48 times. They looked like they won the lottery. My sisters loved the bracelets more gracefully and kept disappearing and reappearing with ones for me. I even got a "bin-bin" which is a waist "necklace" hidden under the clothes associated with seduction and making one's butt bigger. I also see a lot of babies wearing them... I'm pretty sure all these things were from their own belongings. I also recieved a bag of mangoes from our tree. The other gifts I gave were cookies, a little pocket knife (thanks, Heath!), these extra tweezers my mom sent ( they were confused by them and I realized no one has stray eyebrow hairs here. My sister started plucking her arm hairs with them but found it painful. Then she satisfied herself with using the little pocket knife scissors to slowly do the job), slippers, and that little fishy magnet game from Mrs. B. This was funny because they assured me it would only be for Ami since it's a toy. But once it was opened, they all proceeded to lose track of everything else in life. Even neene played to my GREAT amusement. She did not catch a fish.
(I never finished writing this and don't really feel like it now... The end!)
Ode to a Disc-Man
I found the time and desperation to use my precious batteries to listen to music at last. The Crane Wife. It was spiritually massaging levels of good. I could cry. I like this CD in my cozy car on my lovely drive on smooth roads in the states. I am ready to marry it here, on my disc-man. (If you are silently mocking me for not having an i-pod, please send one in a tampon box.) I watch the drooping mangoes swing through my little window. Drying clothes that I helped to wash flutter and flap. The leaves swing and speckle to the beat of the music, over a milky mango sorbet sky. It's suspiciously perfect, as if the music waves join the dust winds and choreograph flawless branch dances just for me. I remember listening to CDs like this in college and watching computer swirls made to illustrate the music. In dark rooms we were hypnotized, wondering how high we were. How wrong we were and how sure I am now that there is no high like this.
When K goes Crazy
Most of the time, the whole "toubab" thing isn't too trying. This is a blunt culture in which people point out the obvious sans any sort of political correctness, and it's pêrfectly acceptable. I mean, they've got a point, those kids. Even asking for gifts all the time is understandable. The only white people some of them see are rich Santa Angelina Jolies. Why not try?
But sometimes it grates on the nerves like nothing else. It's just like-- I'm here to HELP you and you're treating me like this? Like after we left our lovely little villages for community-based training and entered the metropolis ( not really) of Tamba.
We'd gone to bed past midnight and woken up at three. Had already had 5+ hours in the sept-place and JUST WANTED BEAN SANDWICHES. We bought bean sandwiches. To do so, we fought through the throngs of talibes, greeting, joking, fighting with kindness. No go. They continued to surround us like pirranhas and one even put up his fists. This is when I snapped. I became slightly psychotic and it totally worked.
Before I knew what I was doing, I ran at them going, "AARRGGHH!" with my hands in the air like I was pretending to be a monster. They scattered, appropriately started. But I didn't stop there. Oh no, I did not stop.
"Donnez-MOI un cadeau!" I shouted several times. "Huh? Why not? I don't have money, look at my shoes!" (my shoes are duct-taped together which is great for times like this and because people ask you for your shoes a lot otherwise) "Huh? Give ME something. Hey, I see you've got a watch, give me that! See, mine is broken, let's trade! Huh? Yeah!"
I wish I could say I did not then forceably remove this punk-kid's watch and replace it with my own truly broken one. But that would be a lie. And though I may wail on starving African children, I don't lie. Luckily, the laughter of the other volunteers traveeling with me brought me back to my senses and that's pretty much where it ended (except we traded watches back.)
I'm totally going to do it again. The monster part, at least. Another suggestion I've heard is to sing to them to freak them out in a peaceful passive-aggressive way. Gotta be resourceful here.
But sometimes it grates on the nerves like nothing else. It's just like-- I'm here to HELP you and you're treating me like this? Like after we left our lovely little villages for community-based training and entered the metropolis ( not really) of Tamba.
We'd gone to bed past midnight and woken up at three. Had already had 5+ hours in the sept-place and JUST WANTED BEAN SANDWICHES. We bought bean sandwiches. To do so, we fought through the throngs of talibes, greeting, joking, fighting with kindness. No go. They continued to surround us like pirranhas and one even put up his fists. This is when I snapped. I became slightly psychotic and it totally worked.
Before I knew what I was doing, I ran at them going, "AARRGGHH!" with my hands in the air like I was pretending to be a monster. They scattered, appropriately started. But I didn't stop there. Oh no, I did not stop.
"Donnez-MOI un cadeau!" I shouted several times. "Huh? Why not? I don't have money, look at my shoes!" (my shoes are duct-taped together which is great for times like this and because people ask you for your shoes a lot otherwise) "Huh? Give ME something. Hey, I see you've got a watch, give me that! See, mine is broken, let's trade! Huh? Yeah!"
I wish I could say I did not then forceably remove this punk-kid's watch and replace it with my own truly broken one. But that would be a lie. And though I may wail on starving African children, I don't lie. Luckily, the laughter of the other volunteers traveeling with me brought me back to my senses and that's pretty much where it ended (except we traded watches back.)
I'm totally going to do it again. The monster part, at least. Another suggestion I've heard is to sing to them to freak them out in a peaceful passive-aggressive way. Gotta be resourceful here.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Kate-a-Goo
After the bumpiest, sweatiest, cramped ride ever, we rolled through a gate with the Peace Corps emblem on it. We groaned out of the car and the current PCV's rolled out of the woodwork, spilling from hammocks and away from giant homemade food driers. Contrasting starkly from us, they looked relaxed, comfortable, tan, sturdy. If there were a cliché Peace Corps uniform, these guys were wearing it. Facial scruff, various states of dreads, hemp necklaces, and shirtless lean bodies. Not a bad uniform if you ask me, but good luck telling them apart. They act the part too, which means they're Really Cool. They reminded me of the co-op/outdoor coaltion/ frisbee team guys at Hamilton (dark-siders, obviously).
The house is sweet- a bunch of huts, a great library, an old kayak converted into flower pots, the hot kitchen in which everyone hangs out and then asks, "Why do we always hang out in the hot kitchen?", a bunch of hammocks, and bean sandwiches down the street. Or, if you prefer warthog sandwiches, take your bike and go to the hotel that has a REAL ACTUAL POOL and rich ugly french business men.
Kedegou is also awesome because it is green and has waterfalls. We bathed in one 200? ft up and it was slightly scary, but more awesome. (Girls were seperate from boys... MB-- skinny-dipping in a volcano is still cooler but this came close! I even shaved my legs! Had to take advantage of the water while I had it. Once the rainy season starts, Pellel will have a waterfall too and it will be good.
Now a disclaimer for visiters because I'm making it sound so good. I want everyone to come, but hard-coreness is required. It's HOT, you probably won't like the food, and the trip will suck the will to live out of you. (-Although there is an airport in Kedegou so you won't have to make the 15 hour drive I did... I use the term "drive" which would imply "roads" VERY loosely.) Now that probably doesn't sound to inviting, but you only need a fraction of my hardcoreness of 27 months to visit. Don't be a baby. And if you don't come, you'll never understand... Did I guilt you into it yet?
If you're still not visiting, then you are obligated to send me amazing packages. Power bars needed. Will post full wish-list some time...
The house is sweet- a bunch of huts, a great library, an old kayak converted into flower pots, the hot kitchen in which everyone hangs out and then asks, "Why do we always hang out in the hot kitchen?", a bunch of hammocks, and bean sandwiches down the street. Or, if you prefer warthog sandwiches, take your bike and go to the hotel that has a REAL ACTUAL POOL and rich ugly french business men.
Kedegou is also awesome because it is green and has waterfalls. We bathed in one 200? ft up and it was slightly scary, but more awesome. (Girls were seperate from boys... MB-- skinny-dipping in a volcano is still cooler but this came close! I even shaved my legs! Had to take advantage of the water while I had it. Once the rainy season starts, Pellel will have a waterfall too and it will be good.
Now a disclaimer for visiters because I'm making it sound so good. I want everyone to come, but hard-coreness is required. It's HOT, you probably won't like the food, and the trip will suck the will to live out of you. (-Although there is an airport in Kedegou so you won't have to make the 15 hour drive I did... I use the term "drive" which would imply "roads" VERY loosely.) Now that probably doesn't sound to inviting, but you only need a fraction of my hardcoreness of 27 months to visit. Don't be a baby. And if you don't come, you'll never understand... Did I guilt you into it yet?
If you're still not visiting, then you are obligated to send me amazing packages. Power bars needed. Will post full wish-list some time...
Saturday, May 3, 2008
WALLE LAN!
Here in Peace Corps Senegal, we learn languages. Thus, we have language trainers. These aren't like just any teachers. We spend way too much time with them-- struggling through dark hours and hours every day, in a class of about four. Now, the program here has changed so that instead of the DEMYSTIFICATION (a few days in a current PCV's village in your first week in country), they had most people live in a village homestay from the start (not the cool Pullo Futa's since no one speaks it up here) and go on a 10-day "community-based training" after a month of language training and with our classes and trainers. So it sucks if you don't like your trainer. I don't have that problem.
Houssay immediately proved to be awesome. She's a great teacher-- resourceful, in tune, smart, and perhaps most importantly PATIENT with our bumbling. We liked her right away. There are two Pullo Futa classes in our stage, so sometimes we switch with the other and get Lamine as a teacher. He talks fast, mumbles, and doesn't always know why things are the way they are. -Which is forgiveable, but it makes us appreciate Houssay all the more, and stare wistfully after her when Lamine comes in. Or, in the case of a certain classmate, curse hime loudly without realizing he's behind us...
But Houssay is great and we all laugh a lot. Past stages diagnose her with narcolepsy, and would apparently sneak out after she'd nodd off. But I guess we're too fun for that to happen to us. She's also a complete diva-disquette, always styling and gorgeous. But one of the greatest things about her is how she laughs when other people fall. She admitted it before we even saw for ourselves, and was unable to tell stories without crying from laughing about people we've never met tripping.
Do to this and her diva-ness, we've been excited for a while to see Houssay ride a bike on this trip. It was hard and hillarious to even picture it before, but the thought doesn't even compare to the reality. Houssay trying to ride a bike was possibly the actual funniest thing I've ever seen. I hesitate to attempt to describe it because YOU HAVE NO IDEA.
It started when she couldn't get the bike through the fence. The little kids (possibly my future siblings?) had to do it for her. Not wanting to appear unsupportive, I did my best to swallow my laughter. Then she tried to get on.
She fell. We had to laugh. The kids helped her and she tried again. She fell again. We took out the camera and she took a break. After more sweat from all parties involved, she finally got going. And fell. The little kids followed for 1/4 mile to hold the bike for her again and again. We started pulaar/ french/english lessons about pushing off the ground and continuously peddling forward. She continued to sit, peddle 1/2 a turn and sit expectantly like it was a motercycle.
Maybe it sounds mean poking fun of her like this. But it's not. She was an amazing sport and laughed along the whole way. Also, may I remind you, this is a QUEEN DIVA who cries with laughter at the mere thought of other people falling and injuring themselves. What also made my world on this "ride" were her exclamations throughout:
"WALLE LAN!" (HELP ME-- which we'd just learned)
"MI RONKI!" (I'M TIRED-- we've known this one for a while...)
"Bip Bip Bip! I coming!" (on the few occassions when she'd maintain balance and was on a down-slope. Since she never figured out the breaks, she had no control over speed and was afraid she'd crash into people 20 feet ahead... usually this was followed by flying into the bushes. Imagine it in a japanese accent because for some reason that's how she said it).
"WHYYYYY?!" Houssay doesn't really speak much english so when it came out on her way to a wipe-out, it was extra-funny. Ko fii hondun= Pulaar
The other funniest thing that has happened also stars Houssay. We were giggling with her on a bed we pulled outside, lit by a zillion stars and the light of the town's one TV in front of which about 50 men sat rivetted. Then commenced an inpromptu language class in which we taught Houssay to say "I-Cut-A-Bitch." It took some prompting to coax it out at first (we pretended to be her and went down the line saying "filito?" "Mmm-HMM!") but once it came out, it kept coming. Icutabeesh! HILARIOUS. She knows what it means too. I think. Earlier, the guys had been trying to get her to say, "To the bat-cave!" but this is SO much better. Now she says it all the time and makes us snort up food and bleach-water. Most recently she's turned it into, "OK, Icutabeesh-you." I haven't decided whether or not I want to correct her.
Houssay immediately proved to be awesome. She's a great teacher-- resourceful, in tune, smart, and perhaps most importantly PATIENT with our bumbling. We liked her right away. There are two Pullo Futa classes in our stage, so sometimes we switch with the other and get Lamine as a teacher. He talks fast, mumbles, and doesn't always know why things are the way they are. -Which is forgiveable, but it makes us appreciate Houssay all the more, and stare wistfully after her when Lamine comes in. Or, in the case of a certain classmate, curse hime loudly without realizing he's behind us...
But Houssay is great and we all laugh a lot. Past stages diagnose her with narcolepsy, and would apparently sneak out after she'd nodd off. But I guess we're too fun for that to happen to us. She's also a complete diva-disquette, always styling and gorgeous. But one of the greatest things about her is how she laughs when other people fall. She admitted it before we even saw for ourselves, and was unable to tell stories without crying from laughing about people we've never met tripping.
Do to this and her diva-ness, we've been excited for a while to see Houssay ride a bike on this trip. It was hard and hillarious to even picture it before, but the thought doesn't even compare to the reality. Houssay trying to ride a bike was possibly the actual funniest thing I've ever seen. I hesitate to attempt to describe it because YOU HAVE NO IDEA.
It started when she couldn't get the bike through the fence. The little kids (possibly my future siblings?) had to do it for her. Not wanting to appear unsupportive, I did my best to swallow my laughter. Then she tried to get on.
She fell. We had to laugh. The kids helped her and she tried again. She fell again. We took out the camera and she took a break. After more sweat from all parties involved, she finally got going. And fell. The little kids followed for 1/4 mile to hold the bike for her again and again. We started pulaar/ french/english lessons about pushing off the ground and continuously peddling forward. She continued to sit, peddle 1/2 a turn and sit expectantly like it was a motercycle.
Maybe it sounds mean poking fun of her like this. But it's not. She was an amazing sport and laughed along the whole way. Also, may I remind you, this is a QUEEN DIVA who cries with laughter at the mere thought of other people falling and injuring themselves. What also made my world on this "ride" were her exclamations throughout:
"WALLE LAN!" (HELP ME-- which we'd just learned)
"MI RONKI!" (I'M TIRED-- we've known this one for a while...)
"Bip Bip Bip! I coming!" (on the few occassions when she'd maintain balance and was on a down-slope. Since she never figured out the breaks, she had no control over speed and was afraid she'd crash into people 20 feet ahead... usually this was followed by flying into the bushes. Imagine it in a japanese accent because for some reason that's how she said it).
"WHYYYYY?!" Houssay doesn't really speak much english so when it came out on her way to a wipe-out, it was extra-funny. Ko fii hondun= Pulaar
The other funniest thing that has happened also stars Houssay. We were giggling with her on a bed we pulled outside, lit by a zillion stars and the light of the town's one TV in front of which about 50 men sat rivetted. Then commenced an inpromptu language class in which we taught Houssay to say "I-Cut-A-Bitch." It took some prompting to coax it out at first (we pretended to be her and went down the line saying "filito?" "Mmm-HMM!") but once it came out, it kept coming. Icutabeesh! HILARIOUS. She knows what it means too. I think. Earlier, the guys had been trying to get her to say, "To the bat-cave!" but this is SO much better. Now she says it all the time and makes us snort up food and bleach-water. Most recently she's turned it into, "OK, Icutabeesh-you." I haven't decided whether or not I want to correct her.
Poo to Guinea
First night in Pellel Kendessa!
How incredibly strange a feeling it is to first drive up to the place and people with whom I already know I'll fall irrevoccably in love. And to shake hands, ask names, find a spot to sit under the mango trees, while being simultaneously aware of that parallel world of the future in which I laugh and love effortlessly and know mango branches like veins on my hand.
I couldn't ask for a better introduction. My fun and optimistic language class and diva-trainer, the volunteer I'm replacing at my disposal for questions, a beautiful "shire" of a village, sweet hut, kick-booty regional house bohemian co-op haven... I lucked out! Only excepting minor difficulties such as a more painful permanent heat that I've ever experienced, the sad LACK OF WATER (for a few months because an NGO came and gave a water tower that doesn't work. thanks, ngo.), my own silly lack of clothing because I thougl I'd be able to wash them WITH WATER, my sweat, and my inability to communicate.
We had language class under the mango tree and it was comically ridiculous. We sat on a mat with our pens and notebooks, ready to take notes as we've done in classes all our lives. Houssay stood at the flip-chart with markers, ready to instruct as she normally does. Everything else was like an over-the-top "What Doesn't Belong?" exercise in a coloring book. Chickens pecked our toes, goats and sheep explored the flip-chart, no less than 10 people from my future family sat on top of each other behind us, watching the whole class like a great movie and interrupting to pass out attaya. Fires dotted the neighboring fields, the moon brightened as the sky darkened until we could no longer see Houssey's writing. Did I mention there is no electricity? I've definitely never had a class like that before.
We also slept outside and woke up to said chickens and goats and the HORRID CREATURE that is the rooster. Dawn is one thing, 3:30 is another. I had some very un-vegetarian thoughts. For the donkey as well.
Another fun fact: my village is so far south that my bathroom (i use this term loosely and really mean hole in the ground outside slightly fenced in) is actually technically in Guinea!
How incredibly strange a feeling it is to first drive up to the place and people with whom I already know I'll fall irrevoccably in love. And to shake hands, ask names, find a spot to sit under the mango trees, while being simultaneously aware of that parallel world of the future in which I laugh and love effortlessly and know mango branches like veins on my hand.
I couldn't ask for a better introduction. My fun and optimistic language class and diva-trainer, the volunteer I'm replacing at my disposal for questions, a beautiful "shire" of a village, sweet hut, kick-booty regional house bohemian co-op haven... I lucked out! Only excepting minor difficulties such as a more painful permanent heat that I've ever experienced, the sad LACK OF WATER (for a few months because an NGO came and gave a water tower that doesn't work. thanks, ngo.), my own silly lack of clothing because I thougl I'd be able to wash them WITH WATER, my sweat, and my inability to communicate.
We had language class under the mango tree and it was comically ridiculous. We sat on a mat with our pens and notebooks, ready to take notes as we've done in classes all our lives. Houssay stood at the flip-chart with markers, ready to instruct as she normally does. Everything else was like an over-the-top "What Doesn't Belong?" exercise in a coloring book. Chickens pecked our toes, goats and sheep explored the flip-chart, no less than 10 people from my future family sat on top of each other behind us, watching the whole class like a great movie and interrupting to pass out attaya. Fires dotted the neighboring fields, the moon brightened as the sky darkened until we could no longer see Houssey's writing. Did I mention there is no electricity? I've definitely never had a class like that before.
We also slept outside and woke up to said chickens and goats and the HORRID CREATURE that is the rooster. Dawn is one thing, 3:30 is another. I had some very un-vegetarian thoughts. For the donkey as well.
Another fun fact: my village is so far south that my bathroom (i use this term loosely and really mean hole in the ground outside slightly fenced in) is actually technically in Guinea!
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Why do they always play Celine Dion here?
All the volunteers took a trip to Popenguin beach town and it was amazing amazing amazing. We lost ourselves in time, space, cold ocean water, and forgot what planet we were on. All in 1 night! We took an Alham PACKED like those subway cars on which you can't even scratch your head. We rented houses, slept on floors, roofs, mattresses. We brought warm beer into the cold ocean waves and laughed a floated and thought about the other side of the ocean. People washed sheep next to us and male prostitutes did pushups to advertise themselves. Other men played a fascinating game in the sand comparable to checkers but with sticks, stones, and enthusiastic exclamations. We climbed up the hills and sat on old french military structures. We watched the sun set and stars come, and the cun return again.
In the morning we had assembly lines of chopping, mixing, cooking, and washing to create our lunch. That was one of the most remarkable experiences. It made me truly appreciate being with a group of people so different in so many ways-- but who share a certain something that made them leave corners of the US to live in Senegal as peace corps volunteer. I could love these people if for nothing else-- the way they make lunch together like a giant cooperative omelette clock. They whipped out leathermans, cracked jokes, danced, sang, and did their part. Scrumptious.
The only sufferings of the weekend are 63 bug bites on my arms and face alone, a stripe of sunburn, the ocean eating my sunglasses, and 3 people now have left.
Pictures to come....
In the morning we had assembly lines of chopping, mixing, cooking, and washing to create our lunch. That was one of the most remarkable experiences. It made me truly appreciate being with a group of people so different in so many ways-- but who share a certain something that made them leave corners of the US to live in Senegal as peace corps volunteer. I could love these people if for nothing else-- the way they make lunch together like a giant cooperative omelette clock. They whipped out leathermans, cracked jokes, danced, sang, and did their part. Scrumptious.
The only sufferings of the weekend are 63 bug bites on my arms and face alone, a stripe of sunburn, the ocean eating my sunglasses, and 3 people now have left.
Pictures to come....
FROGGER: SENEGAL EDITION
The video game of my life: biking home
Object of the game: bike from la corps de la paix training center to homestay. Retain life.
Obstacles: alham buses, sept-places, taxis, mopeds, horse-drawn carriages, trucks, bikes, mobs of talibes (begger children) shouting "toubab!" and holding out cans, women with giant water buckets or bunding of sticks on heads, kids who will try to grab moving bike, lovesick men calling out marriage proposals, piles of poo, tire-stabbing mounds of broken glass/nails/etc, goats, cows, hens, pigs, cats, cat-rats, dust-clouds, and most annoyingly, the desert sand field that must be crossed that likes to eat bike tires and spin you out until you fall.
How to Gain Points: Remain Alive
-Gtreet as many passersby as possible in as many languages as you remember. Greeting certain randomy selected people will give you an extra "life" because they will remember you as a friendly toubab and save you if you're later in danger near them
-wear bike pants and keep cuffs from catching in chain. In advanced levels, wear a skirt without showing knees. Keep one hand on them to achieve this, even through as many turns and intersections as possible. If you fail in this endeavor before an old religious pedestrian, you "lose" a "life."
-Keep water-bottle filled, pump tire daily becuse of the slow-leak, oil chain, remember sunglasses
-Bonus points for slapping neighborhood kids high-5 while riding, not sweating yourself soaked, and turning down proposals in various languages
-Minus points for not recognizing/greeting family members or neighbors going undercover as regular passers-by. Or for catching self in the low-hanging laundry line outside the house. Or flashing people trying to get off boy-bike when playing advanced skirt level.
-I haven't decided whether or not biking in the night when the sand field is literally a black hole of space-- should be an advanced level or just make you lose. It probably depends on the moon.
Object of the game: bike from la corps de la paix training center to homestay. Retain life.
Obstacles: alham buses, sept-places, taxis, mopeds, horse-drawn carriages, trucks, bikes, mobs of talibes (begger children) shouting "toubab!" and holding out cans, women with giant water buckets or bunding of sticks on heads, kids who will try to grab moving bike, lovesick men calling out marriage proposals, piles of poo, tire-stabbing mounds of broken glass/nails/etc, goats, cows, hens, pigs, cats, cat-rats, dust-clouds, and most annoyingly, the desert sand field that must be crossed that likes to eat bike tires and spin you out until you fall.
How to Gain Points: Remain Alive
-Gtreet as many passersby as possible in as many languages as you remember. Greeting certain randomy selected people will give you an extra "life" because they will remember you as a friendly toubab and save you if you're later in danger near them
-wear bike pants and keep cuffs from catching in chain. In advanced levels, wear a skirt without showing knees. Keep one hand on them to achieve this, even through as many turns and intersections as possible. If you fail in this endeavor before an old religious pedestrian, you "lose" a "life."
-Keep water-bottle filled, pump tire daily becuse of the slow-leak, oil chain, remember sunglasses
-Bonus points for slapping neighborhood kids high-5 while riding, not sweating yourself soaked, and turning down proposals in various languages
-Minus points for not recognizing/greeting family members or neighbors going undercover as regular passers-by. Or for catching self in the low-hanging laundry line outside the house. Or flashing people trying to get off boy-bike when playing advanced skirt level.
-I haven't decided whether or not biking in the night when the sand field is literally a black hole of space-- should be an advanced level or just make you lose. It probably depends on the moon.
I am bathed going to now
corps of peace
gorkos
coming up on the rire
gorkos
coming up on the rire
BAT-iment under which I wash clothes
these are just for my mum and Petie. "Remember the bats!"
A table of nalgenes is a table of toubabs
Ciel-ing of Pamanda's
Brittany is back in the states, but we still love her
these are just for my mum and Petie. "Remember the bats!"
A table of nalgenes is a table of toubabs
Ciel-ing of Pamanda's
Brittany is back in the states, but we still love her
"Disco Hut" ka centre
My roomie in Philly... not as sweet as she appears... ;o)
Disco Hut encore
My roomie in Philly... not as sweet as she appears... ;o)
Disco Hut encore
4/2
-Package from Mrs. B. I would say it didn't even matter what was inside but it was BEAUTIFUL with DELICIOUS american junkfood and a WHOLE gorgeous bottle of shampoo and even a fishy kid game! And more. SO BEAUTIFUL. AND COMICS. I had the package guy open it for me because I was too excited and got him excited too. First we saw the chocolate melted bunny puddle. Maybe this doesn't sound appetizing from the US, but we were GIDDY. I let everyone in the office take a finger dip. Then I had language and we did passive voice verbs. We kept using the example, "K was sent a package. Was he sent a package? No, but K was sent a package today." It was a great boost for me, but don't worry about the others-- I shared!
-Kids- Khady, Mamadou, Binta, and Aliou played in my room. Uno for the girls, and I tried to teach the boys how to make card castles. Everyone seemed more impressed with that than anyhting else I have ever done. And these are people who get really excited when I correctly say, "I'm going to bathe."
-asked sisters why there is a rusty dead bike in our tree and they acted like they had never noticed. Let me explain again how our whole yard is this tree and we do everything beneath it. They finally said our dad put it there but they don't know why.
-AMI DIDN'T CRY
-Package from Mrs. B. I would say it didn't even matter what was inside but it was BEAUTIFUL with DELICIOUS american junkfood and a WHOLE gorgeous bottle of shampoo and even a fishy kid game! And more. SO BEAUTIFUL. AND COMICS. I had the package guy open it for me because I was too excited and got him excited too. First we saw the chocolate melted bunny puddle. Maybe this doesn't sound appetizing from the US, but we were GIDDY. I let everyone in the office take a finger dip. Then I had language and we did passive voice verbs. We kept using the example, "K was sent a package. Was he sent a package? No, but K was sent a package today." It was a great boost for me, but don't worry about the others-- I shared!
-Kids- Khady, Mamadou, Binta, and Aliou played in my room. Uno for the girls, and I tried to teach the boys how to make card castles. Everyone seemed more impressed with that than anyhting else I have ever done. And these are people who get really excited when I correctly say, "I'm going to bathe."
-asked sisters why there is a rusty dead bike in our tree and they acted like they had never noticed. Let me explain again how our whole yard is this tree and we do everything beneath it. They finally said our dad put it there but they don't know why.
-AMI DIDN'T CRY
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)