Heyo Toubab, Give Me a Present!!!

  Toubab.  A word that will continue to haunt me and everything I do for the next year and a half.  In Senegal "toubab" is a term that generally means "Westerner," "foreigner," or "white person."  For Americans, pointing out differences, especially race, is an uncomfortable and generally avoided topic.  In Senegal the complete opposite is true.  In case you didn't know, I'm white.  It has been made glaringly clear how white, and therefore different, I am.

   What does this mean to Senegalese?  Toubabs are all super rich and keep American visas in their back pocket to hand out to everyone they meet.  (That was sarcasm.)  Like I've glossed over before, Senegalese culture is extremely giving and open.  If asked, they will usually give.  Some volunteers have a problem with the term toubab and what the perceived consequences of being a toubab.  We are often asked for money, or visas, or our hand in marriage, or even just our things.  Here's the thing: so is everyone else.  We toubabs are just much more awkward about it because we're not used to such blatant demands.

So what really bothers me?  It's not the word or the attention, it's the constant reminder that I am not from here and will never be able to fit in.  No matter how I acclamate to the culture or perfect my Pulaar, it is just too glaringly obvious that I was not born here.  Will they ever accept me? I'm not sure.

   I do think we are targeted more, but only because we're so visible.  I can now spot another white person from three blocks away.  This combined with the idea that all toubabs are rich will draw the talibes (Koranic students who beg on the street) and just regular children wanting un petit cadeaux.  It was super awkward at first, but now I just say no or I give them something.  The other day I was riding my bike through the streets of Kolda munching on some corn on the cob when a child yelled, "Yo toubab, okk kam tabano! (Hey white girl, give me your corn)"  I was full and the corn was not that good (fun fact, the corn here is the corn we feed our livestock in America), so I gave it to him.  He was obviously not expecting that, because his eyes lit up and he started running after my bike to get the corn.  Conversely, today someone asked me for my bike and I declined.  Sometimes I turn the tables on them and tell them that I'm their guest and they should be giving ME presents.  Sometimes this backfires, and they offer me the only food they have or the 100 cfa they've begged that day, which I might take for a second just to tease them and then give back extremely magnanimously.

In the words of my father, Stephen Boland, better known at Steve-o: "He who hesitates is lost."  Thanks, Steve-o, you really get Senegal.

Suduu am e Asmau

The two-benoir laundry system.

This is my "douche," aka shower (left) and "toilet" (right)

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Storage and water filter.

My beautiful square hut!

My mom's hut, my hut, my aunt and uncle's hut.

As-meow!

C'est Senegal Quoi!

    I'm back in Kolda after being away for about a month and it feels great!  While I was away I learned so much at IST, caught up with my friends, and got to compare stories about our villages.  It's crazy how different yet the same all of the regions and ethnic groups of Senegal are.  One of the best underlying qualities of Senegalese culture is a communalistic approach to life, and I'll share some anecdotes on why I love this so much:

  After and intense two weeks some of us headed to Popenguine (THE BEACH) to relax before going to plant some mangroves. We got two different houses, and some of the girls were hanging out at out house chatting and boiling some water so we didn't have to buy some and lug it down a mountain.  The gas for the stove was turned off nice and tight, so after some struggling we had the boys come over to use their muscles to turn it on.  So we're chatting and Courtney all of a sudden says "fire," very calmly.  Fire? Oh yes. Fire. On the stove. First instinct: Get the fire extinguisher.  Then I remembered fire extinguishers aren't really a thing here (except in cars- seriously), and all of my fire training momentarily went out the window.  We tried turning off the gas, but since the tank was under the stove and we couldn't even turn it on, this was a bust.  Did I mention our house didn't have any water? No? So we were throwing our half empty water bottles on the fire.  Screaming like chickens with our heads cut off, along with the medium sized stove fire, alerted the people on the beach to our woes.  Suddenly there were at least ten Senegalese people in our house yelling at us not to throw water on it, but throwing sand.  One of the boys hurdled the counter, turned off the gas while simultaneously beating out the fire with a sheet.  And then the fire was out, and the Senegalese women helped us sweep up the sand.  Then our landlady told us that stove was broken and there was another one.  We had thought it was a counter.
  But how awesome was it that all those people, who probably thought we we just a bunch of silly tourists, ran in to help us put out a fire?  We all thought it was pretty awesome.

Scenario Deux (that means scenario two in French):
Those of you who know me know that I do not hold onto my things very well.  Throughout this three week adventure I managed to hold on to my stuff surprisingly well.  Last night I stopped in Tambacounda with some of my friends, and checked my internet before going to bed.  Then I woke up early this morning and headed to the garage.  I'm at the garage, all proud of myself for losing nothing, when I come to the horrible realization that I left my computer in the regional house.  Not only do I actually have a ton of work to do now, but I have to check my Facebook at least 40 more times before I go back to site.  And by the time I realized it we were one person away from filling up the sept place, which could take minutes or years.  So I told the sept place driver, who didn't speak Pulaar, so he got a third party translator, who decided we would just go to the house and get it.  None of us knew where it was so he flagged down a taxi who took us there, where my wonderful friend was waiting outside for me with my computer.  And that is how I came to write this riveting blog today.  Any driver in America would have told me I was SOL, but six strangers agreed to take me literally to my doorstep to retrieve my things.
   Was I done losing my things today? Absolutely not.  I managed to leave my sleeping bag in the sept place and my phone in a taxi.  I went to the garage without much hope, and the sept place driver knew exactly who I was and gave me my missing bag.  I called the taxi driver and he came back to my house and returned my cell phone, which is pretty nice- it has a flashlight in it.  In America, and most places, those things would have been gone.  Today Senegal has treated me well.
   

A PCVs Travel Day in Pictures

Yayyyy, we love alhams! Traveling is so easy and comfortable and fun!

So much room!

A Ferry? That's normal.

OMG WE'RE MOVING.

I guess it stopped being fun.

Don't worry. Only 5 more hours to go on a bumpy road in the dark.  What could go wrong?

I guess just a small fire and a flat tire.