Mother Corps

GUEST Blog; Senegal, October 2009

By Kate/Kay/Katie/Hadiatou’s mom..

On Oct. 16, (aunt) Cindy & I arrived in Dakar at 4:15 AM, and thank goodness Kate & Matt were there to meet us. I started by shaking hands with all the taxi drivers who were hustling us for business......well, K DID say she had a lot of brothers, & they were so friendly! Welcome to Senegal, (rightfully) noted for its hospitality. I can’t describe how wonderful it was to see K after 19 months! She has grown into an amazing woman, yet I can still see the little girl who used to get stuck in trees, run around naked (sorry hon, but you WERE very young!), and draw on everything from her clothes to the kitchen walls. But over and over I watched her deal gracefully and competently with situations which left me far out of my depth and gaping in admiration - and all in Pulaar and French. I believe English is rarely spoken there, quite a difference from so much of the rest of the world. She bargained, joked, chatted, sealed deals, got food, got rid of bothersome people on the street, and in general functioned effectively as a Senegalese. And we hadn’t even left Dakar yet.

Lunch at the lovely French Cultural Institute, the endless stream of men (and a few women) going to Mosque, since it was a Friday, and a Vietnamese dinner filled up the rest of that first day.

Heading for Kedougou the following day was fascinating, from going to the ‘garage’ to bargain for a sept-place which would last the trip to the sept-places themselves. These vehicles are amazing in that it’s hard to believe so many actually make it to their destinations. 12 hours to Kedougou - broken by a stop in Tamba - and I’m told this is AFTER road improvements which cut many hours from the trip. The pcvs tend to do the whole thing in one day.

My impressions of Senegal include red dusty roads, awesomely persistent people hawking everything under the sun and not shy about getting in your face or surrounding your vehicle when it slows down or stops, the sept-place driver handing a screwdriver over his shoulder to whichever passenger wants to open a window (these things are usually missing door handles, window handles, and/or various other things), new and strange smells, thatched round huts and poverty, goats and cattle wandering all over the place, anything you could think of carried on people’s heads, (not so easy - I tried it), babies slung on girls’ and women’s backs, omelet sandwiches, cornfields, the mixture of languages often spoken together - the harsh Wolof of Dakar gradually ceding to the softer sounds of Pulaar as you go south and French throughout - a fierce sun, monkeys, beautiful blue starlings, and so much more.

The country becomes greener and hillier as you head southeast and the area around K’gou is beautiful, Pellel Kendessa - K’s village - the most beautiful. Everything there is still green and there is plenty of water in the rivers, though I understand it’s not always so. I really enjoyed finally getting to see the Kedougou regional ‘house’ and meeting some of the pcvs there. There may be electricity by now, but there wasn’t when we were there. I’m sure some of the charm soon wears off when you’re working under the conditions these guys are and as hard as they are, but from our perspective, it was a pretty cool place. (I’m sure he’s been asked many times, yet again I have to ask.......Matt, how do you do it?)

Going to the K’gou market with Kate was an experience I’ll always treasure. It was my first glimpse into her relationship with the people of the area. Not only did all her language, bargaining and competency skills come into play, but I got to learn about ‘joking cousins’ and the funny and lively give-and-take which keeps her on her toes and must sometimes exhaust her. She quickly decided on veggies and other things for her family - ataaya, cookies, salt. etc. Or as quickly as the prolonged greetings and exchanges allowed, which despite her decisiveness, wasn’t quick at all.

This is another thing about the Senegalese, at least those in this region. Greetings are an inimical part of daily life, never to be skipped or taken lightly. From the initial ‘ajarama’ (hello, goodbye, thank you) through ‘tanala’, ‘jam tun’, more ‘jam tuns’ (peace only), ‘hono bengure ma wadi’ (how is your family), more ‘jam tuns’ in response to a lot of other greetings I never quite mastered, these take up a lot of time. They can be frustrating, yet there’s a certain comfort there also and a kind of civility often lacking today. And shaking hands....never have I seen people shake hands so much. Old people, little kids, people you shook hands with a few minutes ago, people with whom you will shake hands in another few minutes, waiters, vendors, watchmen....it’s phenomenal.

Due to Cindy’s occasionally wonky back, we hired a car and driver for the 50k trip to Pellel. It’s not the limo-type ride that might suggest. It’s impossible to overestimate how terrible that ‘road’ is, though it was SO bad it almost seemed funny. I’m pretty sure K wouldn’t agree, having biked it for 1 1/2 years in all conditions. We stopped in Dindefelo, where I’d hoped to hike to the waterfall, but the heat got me first. I knew we were nearing Pellel when I heard kids’ voices shouting ‘Hadiatou’!! (aka Kate). Our welcome was astounding, and the royal way in which we were treated for the next three days, something I will only be able to dream about in ‘real’ life. It’s all a reflection of K and their respect for her, of course, though I know they are naturally hospitable people. Village life was incredible, especially for those of us who didn’t have to lift a finger. Nevertheless, we tried pounding corn, pulling water, and digging up peanuts, much to the amusement of the village. Kate does all these things easily. As Kate’s ‘neene Amerik’ and ‘neene tosokho’ ("little mother" literally), we were assigned special places to eat (for me, the choicest spot, the hammock, for Cindy, the chair). Kate and baaba (her dad) were on tiny stools, and everyone else, somewhere off in the darkness, the women cooking over fires and handing the bowl to baaba, who put it on the ground and gave us each a spoon (unusual, I think). You’re supposed to say ‘mi hari’ when you’re full, then he indicates you should eat more, then you try ‘mi hari’ again and hope you can really stop this time.

The food is notably bad, although K says she’s never experienced it so good as when we were there. The veggies she bought were used up the first day, well-prepared and poured over the daily corn mush which is dinner every day. The roasted corn was an exception - really good. Her ‘baaba’, the village imam, is a sweet and intelligent man. He has three delightful wives and I’m not sure how many children. They respect him tremendously and obey instantly. One thing I really loved was the daily predawn prayer, led by baaba, very long, powerful yet calming. I’m sure the luxury of being able to roll over and go back to sleep during it didn’t hurt, but I really was impressed. I hear it’s not so nice in many areas, where there are often tinny recordings 5x a day calling Muslims to prayer.

K’s hut is tiny and rustic, yet she has made it homey and as clean as wildlife permits (she usually manages to keep the chickens outside, but the bats, frogs, and mice are harder). There are, of course, no electricity, running water, or even latrines in the village, except for K’s. Chickens and goats roam freely and babies crawl placidly through all the dirt.

Our idyllic stay ended badly, with K developing chills and a high fever during our last night there. She toughed it out back to Kedougou and the PC house, but by this time was feeling truly awful. She got tested for malaria the next morning but the test was negative, so we headed back to Dakar and PC headquarters and a doctor. Subsequent tests showed no bacterial infection, so it was some kind of virus. As we were all (Cindy, K, Matt and I) going to Morocco in a couple of days, it was crucial that she rest. Matt took Cindy & me on the ferry to Goree Island, which was really interesting. The slave house, the artists and jewelry-makers everywhere, the tiny streets, and Matt bargaining with Fatima - these are some of my impressions of Goree. At the time Cindy and I left Morocco, K seemed okay as far as the virus went, but then there are those pesky bacterial infections......I’ll leave Morocco to Cindy and/or K to write about.

My feelings about K and the PC have become more complicated, as far as reassurance about her well-being goes. I feel reassured by the Senegalese people in her region, especially those in her village, by her great relationship with them and the way they seem to have her back, by all the pcvs I met, and by the structure of the PC itself. I feel reassured by her ability to take care of herself and rise to any occasion. I am terrified by the vagaries of disease and nature. Seeing K so ill was horrible and frightening, and I know it’s not the first time, and that sooner rather than later, they all get sick. This is truly an impressive group.

Although I’ve turned K’s blog into a multi-volume work, I can’t end without mentioning Matt again (carrying through the book theme). I appreciate his humor, levelheadedness, and his unbelievable patience with the middle-aged ‘ducklings’ following him around. And I am so glad I finally figured out when to tell when he’s serious and when he’s kidding. At least I’m pretty sure I did.

And although K’s time in Senegal is winding down, I suggest anyone who’s still thinking of visiting her go to her village. It’s worth it all around. We had no flat tires or sept-place breakdowns or encounters with animals, but I do see that between lack of infrastructure and an apparent total indifference to the concept of time (did I ever see a clock in Senegal? No. Only those for-sale-on-the-street watches) (although come to think of it, I think they may be onto something with the obliviousness to time thing), I now understand about the need for plans a, b, c, d, e, f, g...

In short, a memorable vacation!