(This is in reference to the previous blog entry)
So Melinda Gates does not read my blog. New plan-- let's work together! You can comment on this page an amount to pledge-- or email me if you want to remain anonymous. That way if we can't raise enough, you never actually paid anything, and it just won't happen. If we can successfully bring our forces together, you could give checks to my mother who could transfer them to my account. Sound like a plan? (As far as where to send the checks, I'd rather email the address individually rather than publish it on the web. But don't send anything yet until we know we have enough pledges to actually accomplish our goal!)
Also, I just learned they have a Guinean husband in mind for Hawa, so I'd really like to do this as soon as possible! Thanks so much for your support!
Click here to Pledge
Friday, September 25, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
Never Been Missed
Fatou and Hawa are two of my favorite people in the village. Always patient and friendly with me, they really stand out as genuinely nice people who aren’t trying to milk me for anything. They amaze me with their consistently positive attitudes and the respect with which they treat others. They work harder than anyone else I’ve seen: from dawn until bedtime, they pound corn, wash clothes, pull water, clean rooms and dishes, feed and move the animals, help with harvesting, find firewood, cook meals, and are the main caretakers for the children of their households. They are both 12 years old.
Do you remember what you did at 12? If I remember correctly, I wore mismatched socks, went to the movies almost every weekend, and secretly had not yet given up my collection of stuffed animals yet. I probably had more stuffed animals than these girls have articles of clothing (which is probably about 4 each).
My favorite subjects were art, science, and english. I didn’t feel like I took school completely for granted, but I definitely faked sick many a time. Hawa was pulled out of elementary school a few years ago even though her sharpness is evident within the first 5 minutes of talking to her. She had to stay at home to take over household responsibilities from her frail mother. Fatou is lucky to have not yet been pulled out, but without any free time to study and do homework, she’s falling behind and apparently resigned to this.
They are bright beautiful loveable girls just becoming women. It’s refreshing to see how gracefully they take these changes—none of the embarrassment or awkwardness that accompanied them for everyone I know in America. But sometimes I want to grab them and cover them up and keep their growing a secret. With all the times I’ve heard I should really get married since I’m developed, I know they’ll be married off sooner than I’d like. By law they’ve still got a few years, and I doubt this law will be broken at least with Fatou, my sister, while there’s a PCV living in the household.
But then they will be, and their lives will very much most likely match the lives of their mothers and grandmothers before them. One of multiple wives, they will most likely bear many children and do the same work all day every day that they did at 12. And no books or soap operas or shopping sprees will line their clouds, either. Hopefully they’ll have nice husbands who don’t abuse them and who use finances appropriately to ensure everyone can eat enough. Unfortunately, these elements are far from guaranteed.
By the time I was 12, I was fortunate enough to have visited several countries, museums, zoos, and to have tried many varieties of food. Fatou and Hawa have only ever been as far as Kedougou, 1-2 times, and aren’t likely to ever travel beyond, as they are/ will be women. Of course they’ve never seen a museum or anything of the sort, and other than my “pop-kabba” and “espaghett” ventures, have had less than ten dishes in their lives, usually the same three over and over.
I would like to change at least these few things. Another PCV—Kevin—took his two village brothers to Dakar for their first times, and I would like to do this with Fatou and Hawa, the most deserving girls I can imagine.
Their first trip to their country’s capital would show them many more firsts: hotels, showers, toilets, sinks, swimming pools, hamburgers, french fries, ice cream, pastries, seafood (etc. etc. etc! important category for these twiggy malnourished girls!), museums, boat (to Goree Island to see the House of Slaves and the best school for girls in the country—stark opposites!), zoo (I hear the Dakar zoo is depressing, but I think it might be more depressing to have never gone to a zoo?), movies (french cultural institute), live good music, grocery store, big market, beach and view of ocean, views of nice mosques (unlike our stick one), views from tall buildings in Dakar (first stairs, in fact!), other sightseeing (Presidential Palace, etc.), and the first/only time they’d feel like they’re living it up like toubab princesses.
I’d also want to show them successful working women, first-hand. Awa, in particular, is a fantastic role model who could life-alteringly inspire any girl within 10 minutes. I’d give them both photo albums to remember the trip forever. They would find themselves in the new positions of authority in the village and sad as it is, I know people would treat them with more respect afterwards. They would gain an invaluable greater understanding of their country and the world. They would be able to buy gifts for their families, and in Senegal, there is no greater feeling than this.
Here’s the thing. I’m a PCV with no money. Kevin was able to do this because of a private donor. I have a sinking suspicion I have no private-donor-types reading this blog, but I’m going to try anyway. I estimate this three-day trip would cost about $850, everything included. If I had to cut out some hamburgers and gift-buying money, I could go down. I know I’ve been soliciting a lot lately and all you over there in the great Amerik are worried enough about money already. But this is a really important cause to me. Hopefully I’ve been able to express the impact this trip would have on Hawa and Fatou. If anyone out there is interested in funding this, please please contact me. I can provide a budget, photos, thank you letters from the girls, receipts—whatever you’d like!
I promise you would change the lives of two of the sweetest, most hard-working girls I’ll ever know. Please help me make this happen.
Do you remember what you did at 12? If I remember correctly, I wore mismatched socks, went to the movies almost every weekend, and secretly had not yet given up my collection of stuffed animals yet. I probably had more stuffed animals than these girls have articles of clothing (which is probably about 4 each).
My favorite subjects were art, science, and english. I didn’t feel like I took school completely for granted, but I definitely faked sick many a time. Hawa was pulled out of elementary school a few years ago even though her sharpness is evident within the first 5 minutes of talking to her. She had to stay at home to take over household responsibilities from her frail mother. Fatou is lucky to have not yet been pulled out, but without any free time to study and do homework, she’s falling behind and apparently resigned to this.
They are bright beautiful loveable girls just becoming women. It’s refreshing to see how gracefully they take these changes—none of the embarrassment or awkwardness that accompanied them for everyone I know in America. But sometimes I want to grab them and cover them up and keep their growing a secret. With all the times I’ve heard I should really get married since I’m developed, I know they’ll be married off sooner than I’d like. By law they’ve still got a few years, and I doubt this law will be broken at least with Fatou, my sister, while there’s a PCV living in the household.
But then they will be, and their lives will very much most likely match the lives of their mothers and grandmothers before them. One of multiple wives, they will most likely bear many children and do the same work all day every day that they did at 12. And no books or soap operas or shopping sprees will line their clouds, either. Hopefully they’ll have nice husbands who don’t abuse them and who use finances appropriately to ensure everyone can eat enough. Unfortunately, these elements are far from guaranteed.
By the time I was 12, I was fortunate enough to have visited several countries, museums, zoos, and to have tried many varieties of food. Fatou and Hawa have only ever been as far as Kedougou, 1-2 times, and aren’t likely to ever travel beyond, as they are/ will be women. Of course they’ve never seen a museum or anything of the sort, and other than my “pop-kabba” and “espaghett” ventures, have had less than ten dishes in their lives, usually the same three over and over.
I would like to change at least these few things. Another PCV—Kevin—took his two village brothers to Dakar for their first times, and I would like to do this with Fatou and Hawa, the most deserving girls I can imagine.
Their first trip to their country’s capital would show them many more firsts: hotels, showers, toilets, sinks, swimming pools, hamburgers, french fries, ice cream, pastries, seafood (etc. etc. etc! important category for these twiggy malnourished girls!), museums, boat (to Goree Island to see the House of Slaves and the best school for girls in the country—stark opposites!), zoo (I hear the Dakar zoo is depressing, but I think it might be more depressing to have never gone to a zoo?), movies (french cultural institute), live good music, grocery store, big market, beach and view of ocean, views of nice mosques (unlike our stick one), views from tall buildings in Dakar (first stairs, in fact!), other sightseeing (Presidential Palace, etc.), and the first/only time they’d feel like they’re living it up like toubab princesses.
I’d also want to show them successful working women, first-hand. Awa, in particular, is a fantastic role model who could life-alteringly inspire any girl within 10 minutes. I’d give them both photo albums to remember the trip forever. They would find themselves in the new positions of authority in the village and sad as it is, I know people would treat them with more respect afterwards. They would gain an invaluable greater understanding of their country and the world. They would be able to buy gifts for their families, and in Senegal, there is no greater feeling than this.
Here’s the thing. I’m a PCV with no money. Kevin was able to do this because of a private donor. I have a sinking suspicion I have no private-donor-types reading this blog, but I’m going to try anyway. I estimate this three-day trip would cost about $850, everything included. If I had to cut out some hamburgers and gift-buying money, I could go down. I know I’ve been soliciting a lot lately and all you over there in the great Amerik are worried enough about money already. But this is a really important cause to me. Hopefully I’ve been able to express the impact this trip would have on Hawa and Fatou. If anyone out there is interested in funding this, please please contact me. I can provide a budget, photos, thank you letters from the girls, receipts—whatever you’d like!
I promise you would change the lives of two of the sweetest, most hard-working girls I’ll ever know. Please help me make this happen.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Ingley Troisieme Tour
I meant for these to go in the opposite order, but the prospect of attempting to make that happen at this point overwhelms me. This is our trip to Ingley, in photos... in reverse...
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Stick Bridge
Until dry season returns, it's this or a dug-out-tree canoe, every time I want to go to or come back from my village.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
To Cure a Foul Mood in Pellel Kendessa
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.
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.
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...?
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