Leavin' on a jet plane (again).

Today sitting on the beach with some of my girlfriends, I saw something that made me realize that I really will miss Senegal. We were all relaxing and enjoying the sunshine, but everyone else on the beach was engaged in training exercises of various sorts. This is pretty typical- guys do lunges, sprints, push-ups, etc. It just seems to be a part of the mentality of being a man in Senegal. Fitness is a big deal. There was one man in particular, however, who caught our attention. This man was running sprints back and forth in front of us, which wasn't in itself very notable. What was notable was the fact that his baby sheep was running behind him. Like one might expect a dog to do in the States. No leash of course, but the sheep was running back and forth, turning when he did and bleating the whole way. Adorable. And not something I can expect to see more of in snowy Minnesota. It's seeing things like sheep running with their owners that I can already tell I will miss when I go home. I really have started to feel at home here.
This morning we had a 're-entry session' where we discussed the big lessons that we've learned and things we want to take away with us. Everyone has funny stories of dysfunction and total confusion, but at least it seems to have amounted to something. I think I need to get home before I really figure out what this semester has meant, but I am happy to have been here. It's been a linguistic and cultural haze, but I have loved the adventure. I can already tell that my travel bug will be back within months of my return. Too bad I probably have other things (like going to school and getting a job) to do before I can take off again. At least my adventure isn't quite over yet. In fact, the amount of time I have left is the length of a normal vacation! It's funny how my perspective on time has changed.
And now- celebrating a few months well spent with my friends in Dakar and hopefully getting my laundry done before I get my butt on an airplane to take me away to France!

Movin' Out

At this point it is getting really difficult for me to believe how long I have been abroad. The idea that I only have three days left in Senegal creates such a confusing mix of joy/remorse that I don't really know what to think. I couldn't be happier to be going home (CHRISTMAS! SNOW!) and to see all my friends and family again, but I can also tell that there will be things that I miss here. The food, the car rapides, the weather- Senegal has been a nice place to spend my fall. I feel like I have learned a lot and I definitely had a good time. 

I'm still thinking about what exactly I have to say. There may be another post coming soon.

As it is, Joe and I have started imagining our French adventures and thoroughly intend to freeze for the first few days while we search for winter coats. Wish us luck!!

December 2nd- What??! It's December!?!?

So I am sitting in my room in Mbam on the eve of my last day here. I can't really decide how to feel, but I am happy with the way things have turned out. It's strange to think that it's already December! Now is the time when I really want to get back to contact with the outside world (seriously- cell phone reception has been awful, the power's been off, and I have only been on the internet once in six weeks), but I also want to put Mbam in my pocket and carry it away with me. The people in my life here are wonderful and I can tell that while I am as confused as ever about the big questions lurking behind development, this experience is going to help me come a little bit closer to some answers. It was definitely a worthwhile life experience to pack up and move to the Senegalese countryside. I can't really account for my six weeks with any real accuracy; all the days blur together. But I do know that my activities have been varied and have offered me a sense of what goes on here. My computer is almost dead and I don't really have much time to write, but I wanted to say a little bit about how I am feeling. This day feels sort of important. It marks the end of this internship and really, the end of the program. We have a week left in Dakar, but I have no doubt that will fly by (especially because my 21^st birthday is coming up next Wednesday! I can't believe it's already December...) and then I will be off on another adventure in France until the holidays. Time is a funny thing when days pass at the tempo of a West African village, but months disappear in what feels like seconds. I was interrogated by a very drunk Senegalese man this evening in broken French/Wolof/English about what I had learned here. I felt as though I couldn't answer because to tell you the truth I have been too wrapped up in the experience to sit back and reflect on it in any genuine fashion. This may seem bizarre given that without outside distractions I have spent a huge amount of time thinking and writing in the past six weeks, but that's mostly been personal and I can tell it's going to take me a long while afterwards to figure out exactly what this semester has meant. I realize now it was a lot braver than I realized to come and do this internship business. I don't expect anyone to praise me or pretend I did anything good for the world; I know that this trip was about me and my education. But I am still happy that I managed to laugh my way through the experience rather than having a nervous breakdown when things got crazy (and they did, occasionally, get a little crazy) It's funny to think that until I met David (the Peace Corps volunteer in Mbam) on Tuesday, I hadn't spoken English in over a month. I guess the Thursday before Emma came and we spoke some English, but that too was in the fifth week of my stay. I will be curious to go home and find out if there are things about me that have changed- besides my skin tone and hair color- that I haven't yet noticed. I am so up in the air on so many questions right now, I hope I can get my head on straight before heading home. Even if I can't, I am not too upset because I have made a really important decision- my first breakfast back in the states will be at the Original Pancake House on December 23^rd. Oh the important things in life!   

November 27th- Peanuts, booty, and movin' on.

Today was a great day. Nothing all that earth shattering happened, but it was wonderful for its simplicity and the sheer number of positive experiences I had.

I woke up early, but before my alarm, which is something that happens often here. I've found that one of the things I love most about living in Mbam is my sleep schedule. I am free to let myself go to bed when I'm tired, whether that's 10 o'clock or 2 o'clock and drift off to sleep without worrying about an assignment that's imminent or whether or not everything is done for the day. Things always get done, and if they don't, there's always time in the morning. And I love waking up here! I always wake up fairly early, usually between 6 and 7 o'clock, to the sounds of birds and donkeys and brooms sweeping the dirt outside. It's such a calming feeling. I roll over, look at my clock, and realize that I still have an hour or so to take for myself. I usually lay in bed, listening to music or writing and relaxing as the sunlight slowly starts creeping through my shutters (we don't have windows). I love that most days I don't even have to set an alarm even though I always do because I don't want to look like a big lazy butt sleeping all day- my family here is constantly being productive and even if I can't always help, I don't want to spend my day napping.

So I woke up at a nice leisurely pace. More leisurely than normal, in fact, because I had nothing scheduled for today. It's Saturday, after all. I took my time getting ready and then headed to the boutique with Kordue to buy bread and candy for her. Then I ate breakfast before running off to see Pape, who was going to the peanut fields.

Binta told me to go along with the boys who were going to work on the peanuts, so I jumped on the donkey cart and off we went. One of the donkeys had a baby last year, and the yearling trotted behind the cart the entire time, accompanied by Pape's dog Chuey. I loved that every time I looked behind us, there was a small donkey and a dog trotting side by side.

Upon arrival at the field, I realized that my lurking question about what happens to the rest of the peanuts was finally going to be answered. When we came back from harvesting, we usually only brought a few pagnes full of plants to process, which left a large number of peanuts sitting in the field to dry. It turns out that the men go out with rakes and pile all of the smaller piles together in one great big pile and then let them dry for a few days. After that, they return with rakes and very strong sticks and do some of the most repetitive work I've seen yet! First, they pull off the whole plants in large stacks using rakes. Then each man takes one or two fairly solid sticks and starts hitting the plants, knocking off peanuts and small pieces of dried plant material. After this initial processing, there are always still lots of peanuts on the plants, so the remaining large pieces get put in another pile, where they get hit again. After the second round of beating, the plants that remain get put in their own stack, where they will later be beaten with an even bigger stick and get used for feeding animals and collecting peanuts. This means that there are three separate rounds of really tedious hitting of peanut plants which in the end leaves piles of loose peanuts with small pieces of plant mixed all together. So after the entire gigantic pile of dried peanuts is beaten the requisite number of times, the harvesters use the wind, throwing the pile up in the air (okay it isn't really throwing- there's sort of an art to it I guess) and letting the peanuts drop while the wind carries off the foliage. So finally there are all these peanuts sitting in the field to be painstakingly collected and sold to the government cooperatives for 175f CFA per kilogram. What a process. With peanuts, the work is never done. The Senegalese are the first to admit it, but everyone grows them anyways. I guess it's valuable because they can keep half for food and seed and depend on making a profit off the rest by selling them to the government. It makes some sense to have a cash crop in the mix, especially one you can still use for food if the market falls through.

So my afternoon was full of observing Pape abuse peanut plants. I tried to help, but was laughed out of the job (no surprise there- it's pretty physical work). Tomorrow, I hope to go back, but with a bucket so I can collect loose peanuts instead of just sitting around and eating all the peanuts that we're trying to harvest. Eating the peanuts straight from the field is my favorite part of going harvesting. There's nothing better than freshly roasted peanuts straight from the dirt they grew in. We were in the field over lunch, so I ate as many peanuts as I wanted. And after awhile Pape set a few plants on fire and we ate the charred peanuts directly off the ground. I love when they are prepared like that! They stay in the shells so that the peanuts are warm and taste a little bit roasted, but are rarely burned (even though the shells are totally charred and turn my hands black as night and get all over my face so that all of the black people around me make fun of my pale skin). There's nothing better than freshly harvested food, especially when you can prepare it at the field! Really, I was in the field for something like six hours, but I can't really tell where the time went. It didn't feel like six hours.

And the day just kept on moving. When I got home everyone made me eat a little rice and fish, given that I'd missed lunch, and I rested a bit before drinking some attaya. Then it was off to the well! I have become pretty decent at carrying my buckets and tonight I made the trip all three times with the other ladies! They usually stop me after one or two tries with concerned warnings about doing damage to my neck, but tonight they let me keep going, which was exciting! It makes me feel accomplished and I am glad to be able to pull my weight occasionally. I also managed to make it to the tailor tonight, so hopefully I will have a new skirt to wear around town in my last week! And we ate a delicious rice and peanut pudding dish for dinner. I was still full from the peanuts from earlier, but the porridge was delicious nonetheless! It was rice and peanuts pounded together and then cooked and mixed with some milky yogurt type deal (lait caille I think, but it also could have just been condensed milk), sugar, and some orange flavoring. Everyone told me to eat my fill so that I can get the jaayfonde I have been hoping for! Jaayfonde is a Wolof word equating to “badonkadonk” and it is the goal of every Senegalese lady to have one. I added getting one to my 'to do in Senegal' list awhile ago, but have yet to make significant progress.

So there you have it. A day that was fairly unremarkable in the grand scheme, but will inevitably remain clear in my memory for a long time. I can't believe I only have a week left here. I am really starting to grow attached to the people here in Mbam, especially the ladies of my house. I can tell that leaving is going to be really sad, but also strange given that this means that I only have two weeks left in Senegal, and about a month left being abroad. It's bizarre to think about because I have spent a lot of time thinking about leaving and the time has finally arrived. I also think that I have unconsciously become very used to my surroundings and am going to be a little surprised when I (inevitably) experience the reverse culture shock everyone keeps warning me about. Right now I can't see the changes that I know have occurred in myself, so it will be an odd feeling to leave and have them all become apparent. Or maybe they won't. Or maybe I haven't changed. I guess we'll find out soon enough.

November 26th- A little piece of the homeland comes to Mbam

Yesterday (November 25^th), we brought a little piece of America to Senegal by holding a grand celebration at my house for Thanksgiving. This has become a tradition at Binta's house, where they are accustomed to hosting exchange students. The shopping list alone suggests the magnitude of what the feast would be: four ducks, ten kilos of potatoes, five kilos of onions, two very large squashes, one kilo of butter, and a flurry of garlic, spices, sugar, and other condiments. We were going all out for sure.

I was happy to have another student from MSID, Emma, who is in the region come to join the party! It was nice to have another toubab hostess around to help explain the festival and to celebrate and savor the delicious Thanksgiving foods.

We started preparing the night before, as we did for Tabaski. The neighbor ladies all came over and the kids ran all over town (and to neighboring towns) to find enough of everything. We sat chopping and peeling all night, getting ready for what would be an early morning as well.

The work continued from six o'clock the next day when we started boiling the potatoes in the grand marmite. There were a ton of potatoes, and we were cooking over a woodfire, so this was a process that was going to take some time. Both the squash and the potatoes were boiled thoroughly and then pounded using the huge mortar and pestle we have. It was way easier than mashing the normal way! I think I need to find a mortar and pestle for sale in the US. But a giant one like the ladies here use for pounding millet. I was so excited to be making American classics! The potatoes got a savory seasoning of garlic, black pepper, chili pepper, butter, milk, and a little bit of Maggi (the ever prominent Senegalese bouillon mixture) and the squash ended up with nutmeg and sugar. Talk about bringing America en mini to the middle of Mbam! I also brought wild rice from home that we boiled and seasoned and added on the side of the plate for everyone to try. We ate the duck with a Senegalese style onion sauce and white rice with vegetables. The entire meal was absolutely delicious. I ate my fill and we followed lunch with ice cold juice made from hibiscus and baobab fruits.

The best part was the number of people who came to join the feast. There were something like fifteen random kids from the neighborhood, seven teachers from the school I work at, and countless other neighbors, not to mention everyone who lives chez Binta. We demolished all of the food throughout the afternoon. It was quite impressive really.

I was just happy to have a little time to relax and feel at home. It was nice (although a bit strange) to be able to speak English with Emma and to feel a little in control as a hostess/the person who knew what the holiday was about. Everyone ate so well and the American dishes (especially the squash!) made it seem like real Thanksgiving. It was also a nice way to begin the end of my internship. It's hard to believe, but I only have a week left here! I have started counting the days, looking forward to internet connections and moving on to the next stage, but that doesn't mean I'm going to be happy to leave! I have really come to love the people around here. I'm picking up a bit of Serer and I finally don't feel overwhelmed by the masses of ladies who pepper me with questions when I run errands. The community is so open and welcoming, especially the people living with Binta. I have been shown the greatest hospitality in being here and I was happy to get to celebrate one last time with everyone before I begin writing my final paper and preparing to take my leave of Mbam.  

November 24th- Busy busy busy- and hey I'm over my fear of roaches!

Apart from a minor touch of a stomach bug (what else is new?), today was probably one of the best days I have had in Senegal so far. Actually, scratch that, even with the stomach issues (which were minor, I swear!), today was one of the best days I've had in Senegal.

My mood from the moment I woke up was fairly jovial. I can't be sure if it was the return to routine (today marked my first day back at the school after the break for Tabaski) or my overcoming the major homesickness I was feeling a couple days ago, or perhaps it was neither of those things, but my day started out bright. I thoroughly enjoyed my rushed breakfast of baguette and chocolate before running to school with Thiarma. I taught the CM1 kids about the importance of trees and thought that the lesson went fairly smoothly. I was also glad to be entrusted with the class all on my own. The instructor had to go run an errand (something that happens with some frequency at Mbam II, and, I would think, other schools as well) and so I got to have some time with the kids. They are a lot different and more relaxed when it's just me around, so I had fun.

And returning to the house, I couldn't help but be in a good mood. I stopped at two boutiques in search of phone credits (which I successfully found!) and loved greeting everyone along the way. Upon my return, I almost immediately left again with Kumba to do our daily market run. I found out we were going to eat mafay- one of my favorite Senegalese dishes!- for lunch. Delicious! It's a thick peanut-based sauce that also has fish, tomato, and other veggies. So good. And filling. I helped her cook lunch and we enjoyed a leisurely lunch hour at home. There weren't all that many people around, which I think I found really relaxing after the craziness that was the week of Tabaski. The kids were mostly at school and some of the company has left.

After lunch it was apparent that Kumba was leaving again, and I asked to go along. She was leaving with Ndiaye (one of the neighbors who may as well live at the house) in search of peanuts. I love going to the fields to work, so I was really glad to get out a bit. It turns out that peanut cultivation in Mbam is more tedious than I ever could have imagined! The plants have already all been pulled and processed, but you can imagine that with all those little peanuts, many of them fall off in the dirt in the course of harvesting. So today we went to the field and combed it by hand in search of the individual peanuts that are left on the soil. It was a long, sweaty afternoon full of pricked fingers, aching backs, and really hot water. But it felt so good to be working, doing something, moving, that I hardly minded. Kumba and Ndiaye told me many times to “Repose-toi!” but I ignored them and kept up the work. We picked up a few buckets full of peanuts (that was a lot of work for what I thought to be a fairly paltry reward....) and headed home. On the way we stopped to pick the blossoms of red hibiscus plants (here known as bissap) and to gather firewood. At this point Ndiaye was carrying a seven-foot long log on her head and Kumba was carrying a bucket full of peanuts and millet with some firewood tied in a bundle on top. I was a little ashamed at my bucket full of peanuts and bissap blossoms, which paled in comparison to the loads these ladies were carrying, but I am still learning so I can't be too hard on myself.

After the field it was to the well! I did my usual ancillary tasks while wearing Birane on my back. The ladies are always so funny, making fun of me in Serer and Wolof, trying to see if I understand. Tonight I got the whole gamut: how could I have a baby already? No one even saw me pregnant! That couldn't be my baby- it's black! Who's the father? Where's my husband? Etc. All of it made me laugh and I was content that Birane didn't cry once even though I had him for more than an hour and he's usually a big mama's boy.

After the well was my typical bucket shower and the beginnings of my stomach discomfort. Ah such is life! But I ate a good dinner of cere with some sort of sauce and fish and now I am relaxing and enjoying a little 'me' time.

The last big development of the day is that I am definitively over my fear of cockroaches. You may be wondering how it is that I can know that so confidently when months ago I was trembling with fear over their very existence. Well tonight a large cockroach crawled out of the latrine while I was using it and rather than getting afraid, I was just glad that I didn't pee on it before it started trying to crawl on me. If that doesn't prove that my fear is gone, I don't know what does. I can't believe how living in the brush has desensitized me to everything. Snakes, lizards, roaches, bats, birds, you name it! I am really at ease with my surroundings.  

November 21st- A typical Mbamois day

A typical day

After living for a month (!) in Mbam, I feel as though I can begin to describe what a typical day looks like. Keep in mind that for me there really isn't a 'typical' day, so to speak, given my general lack of structured activities. Within a moment's notice I can be whisked away to a wedding or a funeral or to the river or any number of other things. But, on the whole, I feel confident that I can generalize to give the impression of how I live here.

Tuesdays and Fridays I teach at Mbam II, the local elementary school. This is my only true structured activity from week to week, so these days I can count on pretty well.

6:45 am- wake up, throw open shutters to sounds of cocks crowing, donkeys braying, and birds singing. Luckily, I can count on sunny, clear skies.

7:20 am- Take my breakfast. Here it is Cafe Touba (spiced Senegalese-style coffee) and a baguette with chocolate spread. Yum!

7:45 am- Wander down the dusty path to Mbam II with Thiarma, who is in CM there. She walks with her gal pals and they all speak in Serer, so I have absolutely no idea what they're saying. Occasionally they attempt to communicate in Wolof though, which is nice.

8:05 am- Class gets called to session. I head to CM II to wait my time to teach

Sometime before 11 am- Give my 30-ish minute lesson, which generally seems to fall unheard on an uninterested audience. Except the fact that I'm a toubab seems to make them care a little bit.

11 am- Wander back home with Thiarma, probably for the day. Sometimes I head back in the afternoon to plant trees or work some more, but usually not.

11 am-1 pm- Run around doing errands with Kumba. This usually means repeated trips to the 'marche,' a shady spot under some trees where lots of ladies sell spices, veggies, and fish.

1pm-3pm- Enjoy lunch and attaya (with so much sugar I am fairly certain I'll be diabetic on my return stateside). Lunch is always served with rice and usually is some fish and veggies with sauce. I LOVE the produce here. So much squash, cabbage, carrots, eggplant and manioc. Binta's family eats well!

2pm-4pm- 'Repose-toi!' Usually some lazy activity like reading, napping, journaling, blogging, etc. It's siesta hour so I never feel all that guilty about taking some really necessary 'me' time.

4 or 5 pm-7pm- Run more errands with the ladies. Usually involves me carrying a heavy bucket on my head that is not nearly as heavy as the ones the Senegalese ladies carry. We make daily trips to the well, where I carry a 20-ish pound lidded-bucket and the other ladies have multiple trips with open-topped, 30-40ish pound ones. The women of this house haul ALL of the water that we use- drinking, bucket showering, cooking, etc- from a well about 1/3 mile from our house. Oftentimes we also head to the mill, the tailor, or visit friends during this time. It's also the hour to prepare dinner! I am occasionally of use, but only occasionally. My skills are limited to using a mortar and pestle to grind pepper/other spices and chopping vegetables.

Sometime between 7 and 9pm- Dinner time! Binta sometimes makes me something special, like a rich sauce with baguette or pasta, but the average night is cere (millet-based cous cous) with fishy or peanut sauce! Yum! Neex na!

After dinner- Take my daily bucket bath. This has become increasingly unpleasant with dropping temperatures. It's still in the high sixties, but that feels cold when you're basically outside with a bucket full of well-water that was pulled only hours before, without the benefit of a day in the sun.

All night long- Lounge. Watch television (occasionally, when the power isn't out). Work. Read. Etc. Usually head to bed long before most Senegalese people. It's funny, but getting into bed with a mosquito net feels like a lot of work nowadays.

On days that I'm not at school, I spend the morning running errands with Kumba. We go to the river to barter for fish, or to the fields to harvest peanuts, or to hunt for fruit. Sometimes we head to the fields in the afterlunch lazy period too. Everyone works their hardest to avoid making any effort during the hottest hours of the day. This is especially true of me because I get made fun of a lot everytime I burn, or tan for that matter. The fact that my skin changes color almost daily really amuses my family here. For the most part, the days all blur together in a contented whirl of activity. The ladies of the house are my lifeline. Even when I am in the most foul mood, Kumba, Khady, and Ke manage to make me laugh and run around the village like a fool. There's something very nice about wandering around on dirt roads with the ladies at sunset. The sky turns lovely shades of pink, blue, and purple, and there is always a slight smokey haze rising out of the huts. Add the silhouettes of baobab trees, the random wandering of animals, and the fact that there is a full moon that rises before the sun sets and you can imagine that Mbam is basically the most picturesque place on the planet. I can already tell that this whole experience is going to feel very surreal when I leave.

November 20th- Jours feries and the post-Tabaski doldrums.

This week has been interesting. It was the week of Tabaski, so naturally everyone took the entire week off. For me, that meant that I was introduced to an entirely new, completely transitory, new cast of characters. Family from out of town flocked to Mbam, including three nephews of Binta's who were staying at my house. This was in addition to the fact that many of the people I'd grown used to seeing daily, including Ke, Thiarma, Khady, Jean and Joe went back to celebrate with their families in other villages. I had no work to do given that it was a holiday and was faced with a new social makeup. One of the houseguests made me feel really patronized all the time, so I got fairly cranky pretty quick. My emotions have been really up and down and I can't decide if its a result of hormones, culture shock, my headcold, or all three.

Even with my uncertain emotional state, I can't help but count this week as a success. I have eaten really well, given that the sheep came just in time to make up for the lack of fresh fish that's started. I got to see a ram slaughtered and celebrate a major Muslim holiday in a Senegalese village, with all the luttes and dances and accompanying gaiety. Really, I have done quite a few new things and will remember Tabaski fondly.

The funniest development this week was discovering the way that jours feries happen in Senegal. I needed to know which days school would be canceled, given that I volunteer at the elementary school in town on Tuesdays and Fridays. Tabaski was Wednesday, so naturally Tuesday and Thursday classes would be canceled to allow people to visit their families. Everyone at the house immediately started complaining that the break was far too short. After living in Senegal awhile, I have to agree. If anyone is planning to leave town at all, three days is barely time to make it out the door. But the decision had been made by the school authorities, so I figured that people would deal and I planned to go to school on Friday. When Thursday night arrived, Binta said that she wasn't sure if there would be class the next day. I asked how that was possible, given that I had talked to the director and he assured me there would be class on Friday. She told me that sometimes things happen and classes may or may not happen. Hm, vague and confusing. But I woke up the next day and headed to school anyway. When I arrived, I found about half the student body, one teacher, and the director at Mbam II. Apparently everyone else just couldn't make it back in time. How hilarious! The two men were trying their best to find a way to hold classes, I think more than anything to make a point, but they just couldn't manage. They ended up having short sessions with two or three of the classes, and afterwords everyone got to go home. It was so funny to me to see that the holiday was universally regarded as too short, so people just didn't show up. Even funnier, the high school usually has class Saturdays, but after canceling Friday they went ahead and canceled Saturday too, so the break turned from a three day break into a five day break.

I couldn't help but think of the lead-up to Korite, when everyone claimed that they weren't sure which day the celebration would be. I can't help but think that the Senegalese really knew all along that school would be canceled but didn't want to say it out loud for fear of jinxing it or something. Ke Ndiaye didn't even bother to come back to Mbam on Thursday, which to me seems to indicate that she was pretty sure there wouldn't be class Friday. I think it's really funny that a day off happened by the force of everyone's unified (but unplanned/undiscussed) unwillingness to rush their Tabaski for the sake of following rules and schedules. I guess this happens other times too. Every year the Senegalese celebrate the Magal de Touba, a day that celebrates the exile of a major Mauride religious leader, Cheikh Ahmadou Bamba, and everyone at the University Cheikh Anta Diop in Dakar decides not to show up. But I guess that's just the way things work here. I find it understandable, especially in the case of Tabaski, when everyone wants to go home and physically cannot make the trip in the three days allotted to them.  

November 19th- Peanuts!

One of the things that has most enchanted me so far with my internship has been the opportunity to harvest peanuts. Peanut production in Senegambia is one of the major vestiges of the colonial era and the chance to see the process in action made me really excited. Yes, I am the world's biggest nerd. I also love agriculture, so that is pretty exciting too.

The colonial powers used taxes as a way to draw the Senegalese into the cash economy and peanuts often became the answer to the problem of how to make money in the first place. The French encouraged peanut production because at the time peanut oil was used to make fine soaps. During the colonial era, peanuts were exported raw from Senegal for very cheap prices and then transformed into finished products in France that the French could then sell for high prices. It was a really nice system to make the French a lot of money. And Senegalese peasants needed to grow something of value to get the cash to pay taxes. So wasn't that a nice little system.

The point is that peanut cultivation is a really important part of Senegal's culture and history. Mafay- a rich peanut sauce- is one of my favorite foods in the village. In fact, peanuts are now used in many Senegalese dishes and most families (including mine here) have a field where they grow a combination of millet, peanuts, bissap, and other crops. I am astounded at the diversity that one little plot can contain. After spending my life in the Midwest, where monocultures are rampant, it is really nice to see an agricultural scheme utilizing a little more diversity. But yes, peanuts. I was bumming about not getting to visit the Gambia until I realized that getting to harvest peanuts in the Sine-Saloum River Delta is probably a lot cooler experience to report upon.

It is so cool to be able to see every step in the cultivation of the food I eat here. Admittedly, the family eats rice imported from Vietnam with lunch almost every day, but the cous cous (it's Senegalese cous cous- or cere- which means it's millet based) we eat for dinner was all grown in Mbam and processed in my backyard. All the vegetables and fish and meat that we eat come from the gardens, nets, and yards of men and women in nearby houses. Watching the women pound millet is one thing that will never cease to amaze me. I have tried to do it, and it takes a phenomenal amount of strength. They literally shake the ground with their efforts. It takes a lot of time and energy to make this local production work. People are never truly idle. The women almost always have a pestle or some food item in hand and the boys are constantly chopping millet for horses or wood for fires or reeds for palisades. Peanuts, I have learned, are a truly tedious food. There are so many steps to make them ready for eating. In the fields, a horse with a plow turns the plants. The harvesters (that's me!) follow the horse, dusting off the plants, and placing them in piles all over the field. They then sit to dry for a day or two before we stack them in pagnes and carry them home on the charette. Once home, everyone sits around with the plants, pulling the peanuts off the stems individually and placing them in buckets. But even then, we have to remove the shells before they can be eaten. Sometimes they are burned in a pile of brush before the shells are taken off and we eat them, fresh roasted from the ground, but other times we take off the shells and leave the peanuts out to dry in the sun. After all that, they are finally ready to be used in our food. It takes so much time. Particularly cumbersome are the steps where one has to individually remove and deshell the nuts. What a pain. It also really hurts my fingers cracking open all the shells.

It sounds like I'm complaining but in reality I'm having the time of my life! It's still sort of novel for me to be doing the tasks that I'm sure become menial after awhile. Life in the brush is work, as Binta is so fond of telling me. After living here for a month, I can see it is true. It takes so much time to make everything work. Water must be carried from the wells (I have learned to walk with a 10-20 kg bucket full of water on my head!), food brought from the fields and boutiques and markets, fires built and wood chopped. I understand why everyone takes a siesta almost everyday. I feel so worthless; my skills are regularly surpassed by the four and eight year olds living in the house. But I guess that's to be expected. My family here has hosted many toubabs and so I figure they understand if I fail a little bit.  

November 17th- Tabaski!

This semester I have been fortunate enough to get to witness some very important events. I was in Dakar for a large part of Ramadan and the celebration of its end, Korite, and now, a little over a month later, I am in Mbam and we've been celebrating again! Today was Tabaski, a Muslim holiday celebrating the willingness of Abraham to sacrifice his son Ishmael that always takes place in the months after Korite.

I have been looking forward to Tabaski for a number of weeks now, especially after I learned that it is a holiday marked by eating all day long. The reason that so much eating gets done is that Tabaski is the ram-slaughtering holiday. Every household buys a male sheep and butchers it in the morning, eating all the pieces as the day wears on.

The days before and after Tabaski are always taken off work and school in preparation for the holiday (everyone leaves Dakar and heads to their villages...we had lots of company!), so naturally the celebration started the night before. After taking our tea and eating dinner, I headed off with the ladies of my house (actually just Khady and Sayjo and some of their pals) to a dance. It was at the elementary school, which made me laugh, but the school made a better forum than the party in a field I went to the week before, so I went with it. The dances in Mbam always feel like barn dances to me. The moon was full and the music could be heard all through the village. One thing that strikes me about fetes in Mbam is that there is a serious mixing of generations. Last night I went with ladies of high school age, but at the dance there were many people younger and older than any of us. The age range was quite honestly early teens to mid thirties. But that is normal for Mbam. The Senegalese habit of staying out all night apparently holds true in the village as well. I was made fun of for being a party pooper when I decided I wanted to go home at 2:30 in the morning...by a fifteen year old. But the party was very lively and I learned a dance that hails from Guinea-Bissau called “The Obama.” Obviously a night well spent.

But the adventure didn't end when we left the dance! Sayjo and Khady and I walked home and woke Kumba up to let us in. After returning from the restroom (you have to go outside to access it), Kumba was out in the yard looking around. She looked at me with a look of bemused alarm and said “LE BEGUE, IL EST PARTI!” She was referring to the ram that had arrived on the top of a bus with our visitors from Dakar earlier in the evening. Apparently he didn't want to be breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and he had made a great escape effort just as we arrived. He was still wandering around the courtyard, but started to run as he realized we were coming for him. The entire house woke up to the cries about the escaped sheep and the whole lot of us ran around, weaving through the road and the yards of our neighbors, trying to catch the sheep. I was useless, laughing too hard to do anything and way too afraid of my lack of skills even if I did get close to the sheep. But there was something really wonderful about running around at 3 am trying to catch an escaped sheep under a full moon.

Poor sheep. I fell asleep to his perturbed “baaah”s after he was more securely attached to a tree out back. But I didn't sleep long! The ladies of the household wake up very early the day of Tabaski to finish preparing the sauces and vegetables they started preparing the night before. That way once the men return from the mosque to kill the sheep all that remains is the cooking of the meat! So after sleeping very few hours, I woke up and went out to see what was going on. I was fairly useless because I don't know how to cook anything, but it was interesting to watch. Senegalese women are pros at making food for the masses, using huge pots over open fires to make gigantic batches of onion sauce and french fries.

The sheep was still sitting and bleating sadly- knowing, I think, what awaited him. And he was right to be afraid. With the return of the men from the mosque at around 10 am, they set to work digging a hole to drain the ram's blood when they decapitated it. I was pretty excited to see the sheep get butchered actually. I had never witnessed the butchering of an animal before and I was really curious to see how it went. So the men dug a hole (using machetes because I have stolen all the shovels for my projects at the school) and the poor sheep was laid to rest. I was fairly surprised by how quickly they managed to remove the skin and finish the cutting of the meat. The whole process took maybe an hour. And they were using really dull knives. I was also impressed by how calm I was watching a sheep get killed. All the guys were making jokes and trying to get me to help and playing with its testicles (obviously the 8 year old and the 16 year old were taking the lead on that one). Oh yeah, and the guys were butchering the sheep on the door to my host brother's hut. Typical.

With the sheep freshly killed, Binta and Kumba set to work preparing the liver, which would be our breakfast! It didn't take long (remember they did all that preparation before!) and before you know it we were eating a delicious breakfast of lettuce, french fries, freshly slaughtered sheep's liver, and a rich onion sauce. So tasty! And it was only 11am!

The whole day passed in that sort of fashion. We hung around the house, making attaya, visiting, getting visits, and eating various parts of the sheep. I can't be sure exactly which parts I ate, but I do know that I ate a lot of things that I would probably not appreciate knowing the identity of. Actually I know I ate intestine and probably some testicle and a bit of the jaw, so I can't imagine that there is much more unknown that could bother me. There was a lutte and a dance tonight, but after last night's adventure, and looking forward to another adventure tomorrow, I think I need a break.

Oh Tabaski! What a rush. The sheep was too much. And we ate the entire thing. Literally the entire sheep, with the exception of its horns and its hooves (which are saved for another festival thirty days from now), is now gone. Oh begue!  

November 15th- Donkeys, funerals, and la lutte

A blogworthy day if I've ever had one! It started out so slow and ended in a bang. I definitely experienced the full range of human emotions today. And I feel like each portion really needs its own blog but I don't really have the time or battery power to make that happen, so here we go.

This morning was slow. Really slow. Well, for me at least. Everyone else was in the midst of a major house cleaning and getting ready for Tabaski and the millet sacrifice, both coming up fast. It was one of those times where there was so much to do that no one really had time to teach me to do anything or tell me what I could do to help. I was more in the way than anything else, so I just held Birane and waited. I guess I helped a little bit with the laundry, but that hardly counts. I was also really tired because I slept poorly last night (something didn't sit well with my stomach...bummer). And lunch just really wasn't all that fulfilling, which normally wouldn't bother me, but I had really been craving a delicious saucy Senegalese lunch and it didn't happen.

So I was just sort of existing here chez Binta. I was starting to feel like I was in a rut again, starting to lose my good spirits.

And then Binta came out dressed fancy, looked at me a little sideways, and asked if I was ready to go. Apparently Mame Ndiaye's aunt died (that gave me the impression that she was old, but in reality the deceased was a young woman, not yet married or with children) and we were about to go to the funeral. In fact, Joe was already off fetching the donkey that would drag our butts to Gague for the service.

This was all news to me! I think it's easy to forget that the toubab doesn't understand most of the conversations around here because everyone laughed and apparently they'd been talking about it quite a bit. So they threw me back in the boubou I wore to the wedding last week and about ten minutes after being told I was leaving, I was sitting on the cart with Joe and Binta and one other lady, ready to hit the road.

It was at this point that the familiar feeling of being someone's pet began to return. Much like my frustration with the wedding the week before, no one had consulted me about wanting to go to the funeral. It seemed like a private event that would be rude for me to encroach upon, but then I told myself to snap out of it. Clearly I was going and it would only make things seem longer/more painful for me to whine internally about having to go at all. Binta was offering me a really special chance to see a unique part of Serer/Senegalese culture that I otherwise would have no access to.

So there we were. In Gague. We did the typical rounds of salutations and ate a little rice and meat and then we sat. By this point my impatience was gone and I was interested in what was going on. The genders were separated, although it seemed more by choice than anything else. No one in the yard was talking, only an occasional whisper or donkey braying could be heard. I didn't know what we were waiting for, but it was clear that everyone was waiting for something. Then a car, clearly carrying the body, pulled up. It was then that the crying began. I don't mean crying as in tears, that was going on all the while, I mean crying as in shouts of anguish so profound they send chills down your spine. This tradition is forbidden during Muslim burial/funeral ceremonies, but is a traditional part of Serer rituals. Binta was explaining (I think) that it is a way to let others know that there is a deceased member of the household. I had never heard such anguish expressed in a human voice before. There was one woman who seemed to be crying “WHY?” over and over again. I know she probably wasn't speaking English, but it sounded like it to me. And it was very appropriate. After the body was brought in (they brought the corpse directly into a tented area where only very immediate family would go for the traditional washing and other rituals), the crying continued. After awhile, important friends, family, and colleagues of the deceased spoke and the body was carried out and to the cemetery to be buried. I didn't attend the internment, but when most everyone else had gone, a group of women stayed behind, pounding grains. I don't really know why, but there were so many of them that the ground shook. Overall, it was a very moving experience. I have been to funerals before, but never have I been to one with the pain so audibly expressed.

So the funeral was over and it was time to go back to Mbam. Binta had a car waiting, but I opted for the donkey cart with Joe (following Pape's, of course) instead. I am so glad I did. The air was fresh and the sky was mostly clear. The stars are so bright here and the moon is getting close to full. The landscape is gorgeous and there are really no lights to speak of when you're out on a road that runs through fields of peanuts, millet, and hibiscus plants. The donkey attached to our cart was sort of hilariously angry. Every time Joe whipped it (something that it took me a few weeks to get accustomed to. I still tend to flinch every time, but an slowly getting used to it) the donkey kicked its hind legs into the cart. Apparently he hasn't been trained much yet (or so Binta said). The cart was pretty light with only the two of us, so that donkey really got us going fast. I was so sublimely happy, sitting in a fancy dress, without any shoes, and riding through peanut fields on a donkey cart that was cruising along in the moonlight. Joe and I don't really talk all that much when we're together, I sort of get the impression he doesn't like to speak French, but we exchanged a few jokes and the ride was entirely pleasant, if not smooth.

When we returned home, there was a delicious noodle dish and baguette waiting to be eaten! So delicious! And the drums and music from a lutte séance were audible in our neighborhood! So I changed quickly into a lighter dress (everyone was complaining about the cold but I thought it was lovely) and headed out with Ke, Khady, and Thiarma. The lutte was lowkey but entertaining. The victor received a goat and a few thousand CFA as a prize. It was sort of like a barn dance, but for Senegalese people.

So it's fairly obvious to see that my day was a total rollercoaster. Boredom, alienation, sadness, joy, it was all there. And now it is late and tomorrow I am getting my hair braided for Tabaski, so I had better sleep. I wish I had more of a chance to explain, but it will have to wait!

November 3rd- Kids and cultural adjustment

Week one has just ended and already the thing that I have been noticing the most is the incredibly large role that children play in making things work around here. Binta doesn't have any children of her own (at least not that I know of), but there are no fewer than seven people under the age of thirty living with us. There's Ke (18), Jean (16 and since Senegalese people don't really dig the whole 'J' sound thing his name is pronounced 'Zean'), Khady (17), Joseph (22 and pronounced 'Zoe' of course), Kumba (also no idea but has a baby), Binta Jr. (8-9ish), Kordu (4) and Birane (4 months). There's also an older man named Doudou who lives in one of the buildings out back, but I don't really know his story. The young people living in this house basically run the place with Binta (the older version) acting as the conductor. It is amazing to see how much work they do, even Kordu. I am by far the least productive member of the household, except maybe Biran.

The girls of my age group (I am including Ke, Khady, and Kumba) do all of the cooking, most of the housework and go to class all day. They wake up at five or six each morning, do a load of chores, go off to school, and come home in time to go harvest some peanuts, get some fish, and make dinner. It is astounding. One of Binta's favorite phrases is “Life in the bush is work!” and it couldn't be more true. Thiarma (apparently Binta is a nickname for this? Or maybe Thiarma is the nickname for Binta? And here I am referencing the nine year old) comes home from school during the lunch hour to eat and then proceeds to do all the dishes for the rest of the house and buys produce before heading back to school. Kordu is just starting at the church school in town so she is at home most of the day, but whenever I walk in the door I find her toying with the mortar and pestle or getting people water to drink or bringing Binta dishes.

Everyone is so capable. It is clear that a child's education here begins very early. My family in Dakar always told me that Senegalese children learn to work with their hands first, cooking and doing work around the house, so that, if nothing else, they will be able to subsist. They apparently really meant that. Ke and Khady are able to cook just about any traditional Senegalese dish. Their ability to make the ground shake when they pound millet and dance is something that I think should be reserved for two hundred pound men. Kumba does all of these things with a baby on her back. And Kordu is practically still a baby and can already use a mortar and pestle far better than I can.

My inability to contribute in any meaningful way gives me a sort of inferiority complex. I realize that the people of my house have had years of practice and that I, given the time, could probably do the same, but for the meantime, I can't help but feel a little helpless at always having my food served to me on a silver platter (literally- my meals always arrive on a silver tray) without having put in any legwork myself. I always offer to help. Sometimes the ladies take me up on it, which almost always ends with laughter and jokes about my clear lack of skill. The other day, for instance, Ke was sweeping the house. This is a daily activity because the buildup is pretty incredible. Women here use hand brooms, ones that require arm strength to use. And as always, the ladies encourage me to use my right hand while performing any meaningful task, something that inevitably makes banal work exceedingly difficult. I started sweeping, doing what I thought to be a fine job, and Ke started laughing and pointing at 'dust' that remained on the ground (this 'dust' was invisible to me and I didn't see any more dirt move when she redid the room a minute later). A friend of mine told me that the Senegalese believe in negative reinforcement, using mild insults to inspire harder efforts. I hope that was the case because I was left feeling a little sheepish. So sometimes they accept my help laughingly and other times I get scoffed out of the kitchen. I guess with my untrained hands I could do more harm than good. It's fortunate that I have already undergone the process of culture shock once this semester because I do feel like I am more patient this time around. I am definitely more open to the possibility that not every giggle is a judgment of my skills.

It is difficult to sit around on a chair and watch everyone working without feeling inferior, guilty, or both. Sometimes I don't want to offer to help because I think that I will get laughed at or make a fool of myself or break a social code that I don't know exists. I can usually talk myself out of these excuses and end up offering to help anyway, usually to one of the common responses I listed above. Then starts the guilt. I sit around on a chair, sometimes playing with Kordu or a neighbor boy named Alioune, and watch other people work. It makes me feel very separate and privileged. I am here as an intern, to learn, so watching and doing small tasks around the house when I can is probably a fine contribution, but I really want to be a more active member of the household. I feel like I am capable of doing more than I am and it pains me to see people, many of whom are way less than half my age, working all the time, oftentimes for my benefit, without being able to give back. At the same time, it has only been a week and I would guess that my involvement will increase as I give myself time to learn. Patience is a virtue that Senegal imbues in large quantities.  

October 27- When I was clearly experiencing the initial high of cultural adjustment...

So much to say and so little time to say it! I am writing this as a blog hoping that sometime I will have the opportunity to post it, but who knows if that will ever happen? I can't believe I have only been here three days! I feel like so much has happened and I already feel very at home. Binta, my new host mother, is amazing. She is childless, but has 6ish (I can't actually tell who really lives here...) students boarding with her and also a number of relatives. The house is very lively at all hours and I have made fast friends with a four year old girl named Kordu who speaks only Serer, so our games are all basically just her using me as a jungle gym. I really like it here even though my life has devolved into this blurry mush of French/English/Wolof/Serer. Everyone here speaks Serer all the time, which means that they greet me, hear my response in Wolof and then switch to that and French for my benefit. It also means that I can't understand anything anyone is saying unless they are speaking directly to me. It's funny, but also I think it makes me more relaxed since I never really have to listen or worry about the conversation unless I hear “Mariam” (my Senegalese name that everyone uses here) or “Ndubu” (the Serer equivalent of toubab). The village is really beautiful. It is very green and there is a nice fusion of thatch roofs and cement block houses that makes everything into a lovely jumble of buildings. And there are a billion animals running around at all times. Today I took a tour around town with Djiene (that has to be spelled wrong), who will be my supervisor. Mbam is beautiful and ASPOVRECE (my org's name) has some really cool projects going on. Lucky for me, there are projects going on. Apparently sometimes people show up and there is really nothing to do.

It has been a lively few days here! Day one I didn't do much but sit around and be a bit awkward. Yesterday however, I had so many exciting firsts! I went to the market in Foundiougne with Kumba (Binta's niece who lives here with her four month old son Birane). We took a charette/sarett/horse cart! I was so excited! It was fun, but I also pity any woman who has had to give labor on one (yeah, that happens...more often than most people would like to admit I think) because it is not exactly a luxury vehicle. They are basically the car rapides of Mbam, given that fare was 100 CFA and the riding was hilariously bumpy. After arriving at the market I ran into Ousmane Diouf, an acquaintance from my first night here. It was lucky because I needed to go further into Foundiougne to buy myself some water while Kumba did some shopping and Ousmane is a jakarta (I have no idea how to spell this but it is pronounced exactly like the capital of Indonesia so that is how I will spell it) or a young man who drives around on a motorcycle and ferries people around town. I paid him 200 CFA each way to get to the store to buy water, making jakartas Mbam's taxi equivalent. It was only after I finished my ride that I realized that I HAD NEVER BEEN ON A MOTORCYCLE BEFORE! What a momentous occasion! I really enjoyed it and also look forward to the fact that motorcycle is how I will get around for the next five-ish weeks. The only other really notable moment from the market was when we were leaving. While trying to get on the horse cart, I missed, hit my thigh, and fell off. That was pretty funny for every Senegalese person nearby who laughed and said “Ndubu!” but also resulted in a pretty gnarly bruise forming on my thigh. Such is the life of an amateur charette rider.

Today! What a day! Even more exciting than yesterday!!! I can now add “peanut harvester” to my list of firsts on this trip. Next time you buy that nice little jar of Jiff, think of me! I spent most of the late afternoon in a random field pulling peanut plants from the ground in the wake of a horse and plow. It was tough work, but really rewarding. The plants didn't really look like I expected, but I guess I had never seen peanuts in a field before. And also, peanuts fresh picked are delicious! They are sort of green tasting, like an underripe banana, which I really enjoy. I was doing the whole take on off of every plant I pick thing...oops. The worst was coming home after we finished only to realize we still had to pull all the peanuts off the plants for deshelling! The work of a peanut grower is never finished. I can't believe how much time it takes! I was also far dirtier than I can ever remember being in my entire life. My entire body was eight shades darker than normal because there was a thick film of sandy dirt covering every inch of my body. I could literally scratch off the layers with my nails. Never has a bucket shower felt so good. I am exhausted right now, but it is the entirely satisfying feeling of knowing that I spent the day doing physical labor, from walking, to helping cook, to picking peanuts, to sorting the plants, etc. I also made bissap with Binta, which was so refreshing to come home to! There is just so much going on and I am bummed that I won't be able to post blogs more often because I feel like everything I do right now requires story time. I guess I will do my best to sum it up here and put away some gems for later.

Back in Dakar!

Ah! So the past month was a complete whirlwind. Yesterday I woke up a little before 5am and my host siblings walked me to a bus stop. Unsurprisingly, the bus is supposed to leave around 5:30, but we waited for more than an hour. The bus was really easy and I made fast friends with a number of the apprentices (the equivalent of the car rapides guys- they hung out the doors of the bus and tapped on the roof when people wanted to get off) who laughed at my poor Wolof abilities. The journey took quite awhile- we had to wait for a ferry to cross the river at Foundiougne- but I ate a lot of sugared peanuts and enjoyed the ride. The bus driver was playing mbalax loudly and I had a nice window seat to enjoy the Senegalese landscape as we went. Last night I passed a relaxing evening with some of my friends here indulging in all of the foods we didn't get access to in the village- pizza, hamburgers, ice cream, etc. It was so nice to catch up! I was also pleasantly surprised by how comfortable I felt immediately when I got home. My house here really is like home! I missed my mom and we had a nice chat to catch up. I am sad to only have a week left. There are definitely things I am going to miss. I feel like I am finally at ease and now I'm leaving! But I couldn't be happier to be heading off to France and I can't wait to get home in time for the holidays!
I have been keeping blogs since I left for my internship, so I will start to post some of those now. It may seem a little anticlimactic since I am already back in Dakar, but I figure since I won't actually be home for another few weeks, maybe it will have a similar effect.
Also here's a link to my facebook album with a few photos from my time in Mbam:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2065439&id=1271100054&l=101149d525