1. Leave Pellel Kendessa
2. Enthusiastically un-fast with a Ture's omelette sandwich and milky coffee in Dindefello
3. Make the market ladies giggle
4. Tell all the fasting food vendors that they're either very strong or very crazy
5. Pet the 2 domesticated monkeys and avoid watching abuse
6. Steer clear of the campement sai-sai's, as good as a beer would be... not worth it!
7. Walk to waterfall, through gorgeous viney jungle bits
8. Upon arrival, crane neck and admit it actually is a cooler waterfall that you give it credit for (even if yours is better, at least this one has a path)
9. Sigh in relief to be in sweet sweet solitude-- no villagers OR tourists!
10. Prop up on Throne Stone and contemplate waterfall. Decide it could be a gutter drain from Heaven. Holy refuse. Notice how drops of water seem to hand suspended and distinguishable after last drop-off before careening in down-arrow shapes, looking like diving angels. Imagine that this is how guardian angels get delivered and decide to stick your toes in the water in case that's how to pick one up.
11. Realize that you really are along and no one else will come. FREEEEEDOMMMMM!
12. Besides taking off clothes, for which it's a bit chilly as you're next to the fall's mists, there's really only one way to celebrate your solitary situation. Sing like you haven't sung since a shower in America. It's like a really big shower, so raise your singing volume proportionately. Feel like a waterfall diva goddess. Wail "Wicked" songs at the water, christmas carols at the opportunist waterfront property trees, "Amazing Grace" at the sky, classic rock to the forest. Oh how you rock.
13. Picnic on tuna sandwich, also from Ture's sandwich stand.
14. Shiver. In SENEGAL!
15. Sing Beach Boys, Mariah, and Rent on the walk back. Even as you pass people going to different parts of the river to wash their clothes. Assume you're probably brightening their days with a crazy-toubab-sighting.
16. Charge phone and get texts. Phone service and electricity are also nice things...
17. Turn a crying toubab-a-phobe baby into one that giggles every time you smile at him
18. Buy lots of breaking-fast foods for the family and bask in adoring appreciation once you deliver it
19. Go to bed while you're ahead.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
storm
the unbearable heat of the day mounted
the mountains, building up until it
broke out in thunder and ex
ploded in lightening. the sky was lit
as often as dark, I tried to keep score
in seconds: 1:1, 2:2, 1:3, 1:1, 3:1, 1:1...
It lit my father praying,
standing, kneeling, bowing,
kneeling, standing, praying,
it lit Balla next to me singing verses I never
knew he knew, head whipping, trancelike,
it lit the bodies that fast for it,
who were already starving,
it lit us all, suddenly,
exposing us, bent in the effort of blinking
dark out of the thing or people we most wanted
to see; it captured us staring at each
other. light, dark, flickering,
night
fighting day for control of the sky,
channel 1
no, channel 2,
channel 1, I said! and the tears flow...
the edges of thatch roofs mourning the most,
like children in the midst of their parents' divorce.
heads tilted to see if holy things might spill
as things are thrown across heaven, smashing,
cracking on the floor until
even the beating
of the ground turns into a
lullabye, the rest, a hovering dream.
the mountains, building up until it
broke out in thunder and ex
ploded in lightening. the sky was lit
as often as dark, I tried to keep score
in seconds: 1:1, 2:2, 1:3, 1:1, 3:1, 1:1...
It lit my father praying,
standing, kneeling, bowing,
kneeling, standing, praying,
it lit Balla next to me singing verses I never
knew he knew, head whipping, trancelike,
it lit the bodies that fast for it,
who were already starving,
it lit us all, suddenly,
exposing us, bent in the effort of blinking
dark out of the thing or people we most wanted
to see; it captured us staring at each
other. light, dark, flickering,
night
fighting day for control of the sky,
channel 1
no, channel 2,
channel 1, I said! and the tears flow...
the edges of thatch roofs mourning the most,
like children in the midst of their parents' divorce.
heads tilted to see if holy things might spill
as things are thrown across heaven, smashing,
cracking on the floor until
even the beating
of the ground turns into a
lullabye, the rest, a hovering dream.
I'll Be Right Back and We'll Breathe More, OK?
8/21
This is the emerald city.. er.. village. It is a village of corn. Corn yards, corn avenues, corn in the bathrooms, corn obscuring huts, cows, people, and of course corn in every bowl. The kids call out, work blurring with play. Are they chasing each other through vibrant green rows or shouting goats and baboons off our crops? Children of the corn as well. I remember last year at this time, that thought actually spooked me. The obscure shadows rustling in the night... Now I'm thankful for the visual feast of green, and for the buffer layers of privacy keeping the eyeballs of kids from the gaps in my fence. It's almost like privacy...
The picture of pastoral perfection, as well. Rising high into stormy skies or painted sunsets, the stalks might seem dignified themselves if not for their ridiculous firework crowns and crazy-haired infants they cradle. Their leaf appendages rustle fabrics as they shake each other's hands and scratch their own mosquito bites. They make the village smell like life again.
Other than corn, you may recall, we grow cotton and peanuts. There exist also the odd rice or funio field too, but I've sadly yet to taste the delicious fruits (or grains) of those labors. Since the fasting of Ramadan begins tomorrow, we've been having work parties to get the work done while people have some energy. This is when farmers bribe their friends to work in their fields for the day in exchange for lunch and company.
Over the river and through the woods... and over another river and some fences, up and down some hills, through the mountains in the mud, and over 3 more rivers... to the fields of Guinea we go! (so stop bitching about your commute.) Lunch is brought in huge bowls on women's heads, along with their laundry. The work parties are surprisingly upbeat occasions. Hard, painful, with sweat literally raining on the earth below you (watering: check!), but people are glad to be in each other's company. I'm usually just relieved for an excuse to zone out and apply focus. So I zoom along, not noticing blisters, and basking in all of the, "Wow, Hadiatou can actually farm!"'s. There's something also deeply humanly anciently satisfying about communal subsistence work, under the sun, feet bare in the worm-filled soil. But I must admit that after a while, I do recognize the blisters and the aches in my back and the shaking of sore legs... and I have no problem playing the toubab card and going to the river for the rest of the day.
At the river, women beat rocks with colorful cloths, turning the water to a river of grey bubble bath. Washing clothes in rivers is even better than wiggling your toes next to other in corn fields. Everything but underwear, if I'm with others. How strange to be embarrassed for actually wearing underwear!
And in another anciently-pleasing renaissance painting scene, the women bathe in the river. I'm always so shocked to see their butts that I have to laugh for not even noticing anymore whether or not their topless. What is it about communal female bathing that makes it seem like it's just as a male might imagine it? Laughing, splashing, scrubbing each other... I'll stop there. Anyway, I have yet to fully join in. It looks so fun and greek mythic! But there's the wretched weight of being the only toubab and object of everyone's curiosity. The woman who tells men what to do, the strangest creature in anyone's life.. I just don't want to have to face peepers or further curiosity. Oh, the pressures that prevent my fairy bath time!
So while the women scrub each other's backs, I impress them with my swimming, showing off like a child. Despite the abundance of rivers and children falling into wells, no one can swim here. So I find myself in undeserving authority, very much similar to how I give cooking/nutrition classes. I am not a swimmer. I was never on the swim team and my "freestyle" is a sloppy pantomime of what it looks like to me. Ridiculous. So now I'm teaching swimming classes.
Mamajan is my main student. He visibly basks in my attention. As well as kids seem to turn out with the heavy-hands-on only parenting here, I think some kids still just really need the positive reinforcement and gentle instruction they crave. He worships me. I was showing him a few things: breathing in the water, kicking while holding a rock, and how to use your arms as paddles. He in his Senegal-acclimated body was quickly freezing. His entire body seemed to be overtaken with goosebumps, and he shook violently. Also, learning how to swim sucks, right? You can't do anything, you choke on water, and you're overtaken by all these brief bouts of "Oh I might actually die right this second." So I kept offering him outs, "Great work! How 'bout we go in now?" He shook his head passionately until finally his mother shrieked for him to get his baby sister or she'd beat the pee out of him. Grinning at me and stumbling backwards over rocks, he said, "Hadiatou, I'll be right back and we'll breathe more, OK? We'll keep breathing!" Hahahaha, that was during the breathing-above-water, blowing-below lesson, when I kept instructing poignantly, "Breathe now!"
Ahhh, rainy, corny, rivery breathing season.
Fille Like a Woman
Ladies Last..
In June we finished interviewing girls for the Michele Sylvester Scholarship. (This is the thing “my article” plugged. Here’s the plug again: http://www.senegad.org/).
It was fun going around to paint AIDS murals and meet the top girls in the region’s middle schools. Also—depressing.
The girls were meek creatures. A lot of them get their top marks by silent obedience and straight memorization. I was hoping to find a little more spunk… I realized these were their first interviews ever and tried to be as unintimidating as possible. Most eventually laughed and relaxed, but it still wasn't exactly a party. They tried so hard to give the "right" answers. We don't do "individual" or "creative" here in Senegal. The first question, "What do you do (for fun) in your spare time?" was met with answers like, "Nothing," "I don't have spare time," "study," and "read my dictionary." Each went along with a terror-struck face that said, "WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO SAY HERE?"
Another sad group of answers responded to, "What do you want to do (as a career)?" A lot of blank stares here. What do you mean want to do? I have a choice? A few people said nurse or teacher as these are the only careers they've even heard of women entering. (Someone want to send over an African zoologist barbie doll?)
Many girls simply said, "wife/ mother." At first I felt like I should let this go and stick to a no-answer-is-wrong policy. But then I realized the whole purpose of my being there was to encourage other options. So I found myself giving broken but impassioned speeches. WHO ELSE WILL? I said we were there because girls' education is important; girls have a lot of skills that aren't being put to use here. Senegal's development is a slower battle than it has to be because of this. If girls were educated and employed and valued as much as men, we'd have double the workforce and double the power and creative energy to find and pursue solutions. They could bring money into their families, and in my opinion be even better mothers and wives because of this and their own senses of worth. I don't need to tell these girls about fullfillment. Duh. I lamented with them a bit about it not really being their choice and that I understood this might not make a difference for them. But I encouraged them not to give up completely-- to keep talking about it and fight for the education of their sisters and daughters. And maybe someday we won't need scholarships to keep top girls in school or to gets fathers to turn their heads and wonder WHY people are awarding girls. I felt myself balloon and deflate in these speeches, telling myself I had to at least try, even if I just got blank stares back.
To my surprise, it seems a lot of girls did take note. In the essays they wrote after the interviews (and lectures as the case may be..), many of them completely changed their answers and went off on semi-feminist rants. Woo! I don't know how far the fire will get them in this god-forsaken patriarchy, but hopefully somewhere better.
Sorry to sound so jaded (I freely admit I am). I will share some good parts of the interviews too. First, one girl said her favorite subject was math because it explains everything. You can solve most any problem using math, like electricity and building things. This might not sound impressive to you all, but coming from Senegal, it blew me away. Second, one girl married at 12 and was pulled out of school. She hated her old mean husband and wanted to go back to school. So... she divorced him and did! How is this possible? Her dad died. Unfortunately this is often the best thing that can happen to a daughter down here. If a girl has successfully gotten a divorce, chanced are her dad died and she gets the full support of her mother.
Another depressing anecdote: I gave a neem lotion (neem leaves repel mosquitos) lesson to my women's garden group so they can sell the neem lotion to raise money for vegetable seeds. At this causerie, I met two new girls from the farthest quartiere who I really liked. They were young, energetic girls who kept cracking jokes and telling me I'm pretty (obviously those are separate things.) Anyway, my excellent counterpart, Daby, gave them a free bag of lotion to take to their quartiere to show off as a kind of advertisement. They left and came back about 5 minutes later, still giggling, and somewhat sheepish.
"What are you doing back here?" we asked. I thought for sure I didn't understand their answers, thrown off by their smiles. But sure enough, they realized on the way back that if they told people my male counterpart bought them the lotion, their husbands would beat them for it. We sent them back with the lotion as a gift from all the women instead. But... ouch. It's so frustrating how normal things like this are and how no one is ever held accountable.
Recall also my ear meeting with the doctor's tongue (he was aiming to french me, apparently very sloppily, but I turned away). It's fine for me, but what about all the women in those villages? Are they really going to take the long road to the doctor when they or their kids are sick with the doctor is a creepy ball of sketch?
OK I'll stop with these stories. It is getting better... I think. Female circumcision has been confirmed to be on the outs in my area. There are still a few people who sneak it, but the social pressure is against it now.
Also, I've decided to make a kick-ass woman book. I will enlist people to find women who have defied the odds and triumphed over Senegal. We will take their pictures and interview them. I envision a cook compilation of glamour shots and celebrity-interview style gems of wisdom and advice. Maybe a coloring book for little girls? We will magically get funding to print a load and distribute them to all these schools that aren't telling girls they can be something. They'll be able to learn about real women from similar situations and the careers they got. Proof of possibility.
And we'll all live happily ever after...?
In June we finished interviewing girls for the Michele Sylvester Scholarship. (This is the thing “my article” plugged. Here’s the plug again: http://www.senegad.org/).
It was fun going around to paint AIDS murals and meet the top girls in the region’s middle schools. Also—depressing.
The girls were meek creatures. A lot of them get their top marks by silent obedience and straight memorization. I was hoping to find a little more spunk… I realized these were their first interviews ever and tried to be as unintimidating as possible. Most eventually laughed and relaxed, but it still wasn't exactly a party. They tried so hard to give the "right" answers. We don't do "individual" or "creative" here in Senegal. The first question, "What do you do (for fun) in your spare time?" was met with answers like, "Nothing," "I don't have spare time," "study," and "read my dictionary." Each went along with a terror-struck face that said, "WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO SAY HERE?"
Another sad group of answers responded to, "What do you want to do (as a career)?" A lot of blank stares here. What do you mean want to do? I have a choice? A few people said nurse or teacher as these are the only careers they've even heard of women entering. (Someone want to send over an African zoologist barbie doll?)
Many girls simply said, "wife/ mother." At first I felt like I should let this go and stick to a no-answer-is-wrong policy. But then I realized the whole purpose of my being there was to encourage other options. So I found myself giving broken but impassioned speeches. WHO ELSE WILL? I said we were there because girls' education is important; girls have a lot of skills that aren't being put to use here. Senegal's development is a slower battle than it has to be because of this. If girls were educated and employed and valued as much as men, we'd have double the workforce and double the power and creative energy to find and pursue solutions. They could bring money into their families, and in my opinion be even better mothers and wives because of this and their own senses of worth. I don't need to tell these girls about fullfillment. Duh. I lamented with them a bit about it not really being their choice and that I understood this might not make a difference for them. But I encouraged them not to give up completely-- to keep talking about it and fight for the education of their sisters and daughters. And maybe someday we won't need scholarships to keep top girls in school or to gets fathers to turn their heads and wonder WHY people are awarding girls. I felt myself balloon and deflate in these speeches, telling myself I had to at least try, even if I just got blank stares back.
To my surprise, it seems a lot of girls did take note. In the essays they wrote after the interviews (and lectures as the case may be..), many of them completely changed their answers and went off on semi-feminist rants. Woo! I don't know how far the fire will get them in this god-forsaken patriarchy, but hopefully somewhere better.
Sorry to sound so jaded (I freely admit I am). I will share some good parts of the interviews too. First, one girl said her favorite subject was math because it explains everything. You can solve most any problem using math, like electricity and building things. This might not sound impressive to you all, but coming from Senegal, it blew me away. Second, one girl married at 12 and was pulled out of school. She hated her old mean husband and wanted to go back to school. So... she divorced him and did! How is this possible? Her dad died. Unfortunately this is often the best thing that can happen to a daughter down here. If a girl has successfully gotten a divorce, chanced are her dad died and she gets the full support of her mother.
Another depressing anecdote: I gave a neem lotion (neem leaves repel mosquitos) lesson to my women's garden group so they can sell the neem lotion to raise money for vegetable seeds. At this causerie, I met two new girls from the farthest quartiere who I really liked. They were young, energetic girls who kept cracking jokes and telling me I'm pretty (obviously those are separate things.) Anyway, my excellent counterpart, Daby, gave them a free bag of lotion to take to their quartiere to show off as a kind of advertisement. They left and came back about 5 minutes later, still giggling, and somewhat sheepish.
"What are you doing back here?" we asked. I thought for sure I didn't understand their answers, thrown off by their smiles. But sure enough, they realized on the way back that if they told people my male counterpart bought them the lotion, their husbands would beat them for it. We sent them back with the lotion as a gift from all the women instead. But... ouch. It's so frustrating how normal things like this are and how no one is ever held accountable.
Recall also my ear meeting with the doctor's tongue (he was aiming to french me, apparently very sloppily, but I turned away). It's fine for me, but what about all the women in those villages? Are they really going to take the long road to the doctor when they or their kids are sick with the doctor is a creepy ball of sketch?
OK I'll stop with these stories. It is getting better... I think. Female circumcision has been confirmed to be on the outs in my area. There are still a few people who sneak it, but the social pressure is against it now.
Also, I've decided to make a kick-ass woman book. I will enlist people to find women who have defied the odds and triumphed over Senegal. We will take their pictures and interview them. I envision a cook compilation of glamour shots and celebrity-interview style gems of wisdom and advice. Maybe a coloring book for little girls? We will magically get funding to print a load and distribute them to all these schools that aren't telling girls they can be something. They'll be able to learn about real women from similar situations and the careers they got. Proof of possibility.
And we'll all live happily ever after...?
Don’t Let the Bed Bugs Barf
A Tale of 7/26
In a sept-place (aka sweat place, teeheehee) ride to Tamba, I sat in the way back learning Jaxonke from a girl while Daniel (my neighbor) sat in front of us (he won rock-paper-scissors). We fell asleep. I woke up to the girl vomitting all over: the seat, my foot, the floor, and best of all, the back of Daniel’s head. In fact, most of it landed there. The best part, though, is that he didn’t wake up! I got to have a little giggle and sadistic pleasure in poking a clean spot on his back and waking him up with the news. He took it suspiciously well.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Guest Blog from MB aka Mariama Souaré
WARNING. This blog has been kidnapped by Mariama Souaré (aka MB) to give you all the inside scoop on my recent visit (with Hawa Souaré, aka Heather) to Senegal. I tend to ramble in informal, narrative writings. Apparently, I can only be succinct when writing about science. Consider it a symptom of my enthusiasm. (Also, I overuse parentheses. Deal with it.)
1. K is a badass. We all know this already, but why not point out the obvious? (and perhaps K asked me to… are you going to delete that?). She puts up with/goes without so, so many things that most of us can’t even image. Think about K next time you complain about almost anything – chances are good she’s dealing with a situation far worse, and doing so cheerfully.
2. K is surrounded by wonderful people. This is probably how she has managed to stay sane despite the many challenges thrown her way. The other PCVs are fabulous (especially M), and K’s family is completely wonderful. Rest assured, she is happy, healthy, well –loved and looked after (not that she needs much looking after – she is a badass, after all). But this should not stop you from sending her packages of tasty food.
3. If you go to Senegal, none of your plans will work out. You may come up with a perfectly wonderful sounding Plan A, B, C, and D, but in reality, your itinerary will end up looking more like a mishmash of Plans Q and U. But that’s ok! You will have a fabulous time nonetheless. Just be ready and willing to be flexible. A sampling of things that didn’t work in Senegal:
-The ice cream machine in Kedougou (I’ve since gotten over this disappointment, but I was rather bitter at the time)
-Waterfalls (many are a trickle at best due to an unusually dry rainy season this year)
-Rain (see above)
-Sunsets (again because of the lack of rain and therefore clouds, as clouds are what make sunsets fabulous)
-Bikes (I really need to learn some bike repair skills… K on the other hand, had become quite knowledgeable)
-The door on M’s hut (aka the Love Shack… can we please adopt this name for M’s house? K doesn’t seem as enthusiastic as I am about this idea, but I think the majority rules in this case, so who’s with me??)
-Transportation, especially ferries that only run on certain days of the week, and then are sold out (but many thanks to Jared for trying to get us tickets!)
-Running water (optional at the PCV house in K’gou, as well as the hotel in Toubab Dialao)
-Tracking down an Obama belt in Dakar (they are SO COOL, yet so elusive…)
-Hamburgers in France (aka the French Cultural Institute in Dakar, which stops serving their magical burgers at 19h00. SO not ok when it’s 19h30 and all you wanted was a burger) (yes, I know it’s ill-advised to eat ground meat in developing countries… but I as already pointed out, these burgers were in France, so it’s ok)
I could go on, but you get the idea. The moral of the story: neither Hawa nor I got to do what we most wanted to do (besides see K, of course) (visit friends in Ziguinchor/see waterfalls, respectively), but we still had an amazing trip.
4. Lots of things in Senegal do work (at least sometimes)! Things in Senegal that I loved (besides K, duh):
-Bissap. So good. Especially frozen. Or perhaps with gin or vodka. So I’m told.
-Peace Corps parties. Good company + good food + good music = best party in a loooong time.
-Warthog sandwiches, especially when served poolside at the Relais in K’gou
-Bean sandwiches for breakfast. Mmmmmm I want one. With mayo and barbeque sauce.
-Maafe. Rice + peanut sauce (+/- mystery meat chunks). So satisfying.
-M’s cooking. He can come visit me anytime he wants. And by visit I mean bring K with him and make us food.
-Can you tell I’m hungry right now? Perhaps I should have a snack before I continue…
-K’s village is so, so gorgeous. She must have one of the best sites in the country. Definitely worth the 50 km trek, broken bikes and all. (Although you couldn’t pay me to go on that road in a car… biking is so much more pleasant, provided you stay hydrated and have a working bike.)
-K’s family, especially her brothers. She couldn’t have been paired with a better group of people.
-Outdoor showers/bucket baths. So refreshing.
-Food in Dakar. SO GOOD. K knows alllll the good places to eat. Especially…
-N’ICE CREAM. This magical place of confections deserves its own line. I highly recommend the Obama Cookies, or a Passion Fruit and Vanilla milkshake.
-The Senegalese. They truly are some of the most friendly and hospitable folks you’ll ever come across. They love to laugh. Especially at the crazy toubabs. They are also incredibly blunt, which is mostly refreshing (“Hawa is better. She said thank you.” Fair enough.). The one exception is when Senegalese men try to seduce/marry you. Not so smooth.
-Pulaar! It’s far superior to Wolof. And has so many great words and phrases that I am trying to export to the US/UK. Including:
a. Attention. (Watch out. For that thing that already happened. But still, watch out.) I still say this all the time. No one has called me out on it yet, but I have gotten a few curious looks. Or maybe I’ve always muttered to myself so no one thinks anything of it…
b. Atcha! (Shoo! Go away! Scram! Skedaddle!) So much better than any sort of English equivalent, and remarkably effective with Senegalese livestock. Unfortunately, I doubt American or British animals will be quite so responsive. Perhaps it’s worth using with sketchy guys in bars/clubs, however…
c. Alhamdullilahi (Praise Allah). This is just a great word. I don’t use it nearly often enough. You should use it too.
5. Are you really still reading? I’m impressed.
6. K is still the K we all know and love. She has adapted to her new environment, and it’s strange (though pleasantly so) to see her eat meat, but she is still the generous, caring, sincere, fun-loving person we all adore. Now go donate money to her mosquito net campaign and send her care packages.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Guest Blog from Heather/ Hawa
After visiting Kate in Senegal this July, she asked that I write a "visitor's post" to update her recently neglected blog. I'll start by telling you all that our dear friend Kate/Katie/Kay/Hadiatou has become Senegalese. She speaks Pulaar practically fluently and has mastered the art of haggling for reduced prices. She can carry heavy objects on her head and she dances the Pulaar dance with expertise. (we taught her Senegalese mother the "American dances" of the macarana and the chicken dance, haha). She is the most tan she has ever been in her life, and she looks healthy and beautiful! (Kate you better post these compliments and not edit them out- your family and friends will want to know the things you are too modest to say!) She is sooooo tough, riding that 50K bikeride to and from her village as if it were a piece of cake (or Obama Cookie icecream at N'Ice Cream in Dakar, mmm). And let me tell you from experience, that bike ride was the hardest thing I have ever and will ever do in my LIFE!!! Hilly, puddly, muddy, rocky, unpredictable bikes, ahhhh! (Thank Allah that Kate rode behind me all 8 hours of torture and sang Disney and Sound of Music songs to me to keep me going and back on the bike after each fall!!) But no worries about Kate who is now an extreme biker. She does the ride in 2-3 hours. Kate is still the same Kate I have known since 2nd grade though, just with a tough Senegalese outlook. And she has become slightly more responsible which I was happy to see (double-thinking before jumping out of the tree she just climbed because she realizes it is very likely she could sprain an ankle...can you imagine the carefree American Kate reflecting like that?!) And she LOVES meat of any form, including things like shrimp eyeballs that you just aren't supposed to eat. So strange. She says she will return to being vegetarian in the states after she crosses off all of the "meats to eat" on her list, but I wonder. I can't forget to mention that MaryBeth and I were both very impressed with Kate's boyfriend Matt- his dancing, tarzan vine-swinging, and cooking skills were all quite amazing. What else to say? The trip to Senegal was incredible to see Kate, the life she is living, and the beauty of the Kedougou/Pellel Kendessa area and the people there. Advice for future visitors: be flexible and prepared for anything; be ready to sweat and smell like never before; only do the 50K bikeride if you are insane or very athletic and daring; bring Kate lots of food (the corn mush in her village was pretty sad); be prepared to be eaten by mosquitos despite wearing repellent; bring gifts for her village family (they loved the photo album of pictures from Kate's blog that we gave them!); a neckpillow for the looooong car rides across Senegal would be a good idea; bring a flashlight/headlamp and tissue packets; try to pack light in a backpack, learn basic Pulaar (A Jaraama = hi, thank you, and bye!, Jam tuŋ = Peace Only, and Mi hari is I'm full of corn mush!; and pick a Senegalese name (the Senegalese will probably laugh at your American name and not be able to say it). I hope you have a wonderful trip if you are visiting Kate!!
~Heather Soldano, aka Hawa Souaré
Tuck in Your Bed Nets
With my dear Heather and MB's visit and a health summit soon after, I didn't have time to help too much with net distribution this year. This is unfortunate because we've never tried to cover such a large section (the entire arrondissement of Saraya). It was quite the cluster----- and we are still 7,500 nets short! This is because population estimates were way off, and there are loads of villages not recognized in any way by the government. But we want to stop malaria there too! Please help us raise enough money to finish reaching our goal for the year by donating at this site: http://www.againstmalaria.com/Fundraiser.aspx?FundRaiserID=5444 . Remember, the other PCVs and I are literally going to recieve and distribute these nets with our own hands. We have a thorough system of checking the population numbers and visiting homes if we think the numbers are wrong. As legitimate as I think anti-free-net arguments are, I can see for myself that it works here. We live in these villages ourselves and we see the nets being used correctly. Every villager knows malaria is the number-one killer, so they're not all that tempted to sell their nets off (I'm sure it happens, but not at a large rate). When more people sleep under nets, the spread of malaria decreases-- less humans catch it from mosquitoes, and less mosquitoes catch it from humans. This includes long lost PCVs living over here too...
OK, moving on to distribution highlights:
-took a carved-out canoe to Mali
-a 1-armed man did a 1-2 minute song and dance of thanks
-saw at least 2 children playing with skinned dead parakeets as if they were barbie dolls
-taught "Frere Jacques" and "We Will Rock You" to a classroom of kids to distract them from the cluster---- of distribution in the next room. Actually we WERE giving them causeries on everything health, but then the rain pounded the tin roof so that you couldn't hear anything that wasn't a loud song.
-a dr. licked my ear. Uninvited (need I say?)
-a bat entered Sheila's mosquito net. She casually brushed it away softly saying, "Huh.. bat..." That would NOT have been my reaction. This bat was special though and kept dive-bombing and making me duck for cover.
-Not so much biking this year. Can I get an Alhumdulilai? Instead we had a lot more rides from ambulences and such. One of the photos above is from when Sheila and I hitched a ride back to the Gou in an ambulence (yes, that's the bike on the stretcher.) I must say that these rides are most definitely not what you're thinking, even with the ambulences. More like a mechanical bull with walls. For many hours. At several points getting stuck in mud/rivers/hills/giant craters, or smacking my head against the window, I had a bit of a morbid giggle to myself. "Is this how I'll die?"
On that note:
The NetLife blog site for this project: http://netlife2009.blogspot.com/
PLEASE DONATE!
http://www.againstmalaria.com/Fundraiser.aspx?FundRaiserID=5444
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