Top 10 Things I Will Miss

What will I miss?

10. Kolda! Greatest place in Senegal. Beautiful, nice, wonderful. XOXO

9. Greetings.  These can be rough on the days I'm tired, but I love having a reason to engage people.  You have to greet, and you have to talk to people. It really gets you involved in the community, and I'm going to miss that sense of belonging.

8. Job Freedom.  It's a fact that I will never have another job with such ambiguous goals and expectations ever again.  While there's something to be said for structure, it was nice to make my own schedule.  I did the projects that I wanted with the people and groups that I wanted, and I also made my own down time.

7. English as a secret language.  This is a double edged sword as it's really frustrating not being able to understand everything 100%, but its also got a bright side.  We can say whatever we want in English, especially when we're mad!

6. Tea Time.  While I don't really really really like tea, like some people I know, I really enjoy the togetherness that it creates.  Let's hang out and drink tea!  It's just casual time to hang out with friends, family, or guests and catch up or get to know each other.  It's how I learned Pulaar and got to know almost everyone I know.

5. Afternoon naps.

4. Senegalese/Guinean wax.  I may have went a little crazy, but I have a whole new wardrobe made entirely of this fabric and tailor made to my body. Sorry, can't share.

3. Joking cousins.  Baldes are thieves and they lie and steal all the time.  They often eat too many (or all) of the beans, and then have a fit of flatulence.  They're also pretty ugly and smell bad; never heard of a Balde showering unless forced.  Any successful Balde got to the top by stepping on the good, normal, innocent people like the Diallos.

How can this really be a thing?! This kind of conversation accounted for about 95% of all my conversations in Senegal, and gained me at least a million friends.  If you are with me somewhere, and I run into a Senegalese person, and then I start really berating them, it'll be ok.  I'm just trying to save you the horror of having to talk to a Balde.  If we run into a Diallo, however, they'll be accompanying me the rest of the day as they're a good, honest people.

2. My family and my village, especially the kids. They're so bad but so cute!

1. Senegalese hospitality! Imagine if I just showed up at a strangers house and demanded tea? Or needed some money, just for now, I'd pay them back? Or just wanted to chat because you look nice? Or I needed help with a project and heard around town you were helpful? This would never fly in America.  And that's why Senegalese hospitality is the most beautiful thing.

You're Throwing Us Away!

I was very nervous when the time came to start saying goodbye to people.  How is it done? Who do I say goodbye to? Do I have to spend a whole day, or can I just pop over with a "peace out?"

Answers were not given by Soso and Oumou.  Around September 2013 they were already lamenting the day I would leave.  "Ah, Aissatou, you're leaving next year."

"Guys, I just got here."

This has been a constant theme throughout my two years.  The revolving cycle of Peace Corps Volunteers is tough on other volunteers; you have to lose and make new friends every six months. But it's also difficult on our villages.  Peace Corps has been here for over 50 years and there has been a revolving door of people ever since.

As I was leaving, my counterpart Moussa kept encouraging me to stay.  Just a year or two longer and Sanankoro would be all set! We've just gotten started, we must continue! You can finally speak Pulaar, you know everyone! Stay!  My go to response was that my parents refused, and you just gotta respect ones elders, right Moussa?

He wasn't the only one encouraging me to stay. My whole village was. And when I refused, as they knew I would, they hit me right where it hurts.

"Aissatou, you're just going to throw us away."

Throwing someone away is the worst thing you can do to a person short of murdering his whole family.  You don't call, you don't visit, you just do you.  You can't just do you, that is ridiculous.  And here everyone I'd ever met was, accusing me of throwing them away. Ouch.

And there's nothing I can really do to combat that now.  I went to all of the villages I'd worked in or known people in, brought cola nuts and tea, hung out and talked for a day.  I made a point to go to family members' houses and each of my counterparts, as well as my Peace Corps friends family.  I threw a fete; everyone knows I care.  The trick will be to keep reminding them that just because I'm in Senegal anymore doesn't mean I've thrown everyone away.

Getting the R

And here we are. The baggage is packed up and has been transported from Kolda.  I've given away what I didn't need, thrown away what was gross, and saved the rest.  I've got far too many wax clothing items to be really needed in America, and presents for my friends and family waiting for me back home. 

The paperwork is done.  I've gotten all of the forms filled out, had several meetings with staff, conversations about our experiences and what's next.  I've seen many doctors who all can confirm that I am healthy and safe.

I've said goodbye to my Peace Corps family.  Some were left in Kolda (some even nice enough to see us off at 3:30am), some were greeted enthusiastically in Dakar only to say goodbye, for who knows how long, 5 days later.

But despite what I'm losing, it's important to remember what I've gained. A second family, a second home, a new outlook on life that will forever shade how I see the world.  I've had a baby named after me. I've got some Pulaar tics, interesting phrases.  I can hiss down a taxi from down the street.  I can insult a Balde until he cries. 

I've gained new Peace Corps friends, new connections, new networks.  I've gained experiences, professional and personal. 

 And at the end of it all, I've also gained my "R."  Here's to going home, a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer! #RPCV #Senegal

Courtney, me and Anna with our "R"s!

A Very Merry Fete

As a going away present, I threw myself a party.  Now I know this sounds super pathetic, but it's not.  It's culturally appropriate.  My family threw me a party when I arrived, and now I'm going to throw a party to say thank you.

Ramatou and Dienaba with the day's spoils.

This party was a very Senegalese party.  My host family was instrumental in making it a success, mostly because I had no idea what qualified as a successful party.  I made it clear that I didn't want to spend a ton of money (toubabs are made of money everyone) but was willing to do something small.

Kouta making cheb rice.

It did not end up being small.

My friends cutting vegetables.

A couple days before the party, my host Omar asked me what I was going to buy.  We went through a list of things needed for a successful party: 15 kilos of rice, 5 liters of oil, adja and maggi (seasonings), what seemed like an endless amount of onions, smaller amounts of vegetables, tea, sugar, juice, ice (bought in Kolda and transported village on motorcycles).  Originally I had wanted to buy a goat.  Part of the reason for this was because I wanted to tell people that at one time I had owned a goat.  I also wanted to name him Bottari, which is Pulaar for lunch.  He would have been delicious, but Omar pointed out that goats are expensive right now and don't really have a lot of meat on them.  I grudgingly conceded and we bout a lot of cow meat.

Nathan getting down!

The day before the fete we had already bought almost everything.  For the things that were left I gave Omar the money along with a meticulous list, and his older sister, who lives in Kolda, went out and bought everything the morning of. Omar also went to fetch the "sen," or speakers and DJ equipment from Kolda with his donkey and charette (wagon).

I was delegated to do other work: beautify.  Soso spent the afternoon braiding my air (I swear to God if I get compared to Sean Paul or Coolio one more time, I will curse you) while Dienabundi, one of the neighborhood girls, hennaed my feet and hands.

Mansata enjoying lunch.

Both of these processes take a long time.  Soso was braiding my hair for about two or three hours. My village was really happy to finally see me braided.  After two years of refusing, of telling everyone that I was scared of how much it hurt, of exclaiming how much stronger Pulaar women are than me, I finally embraced one of the things that makes a Pulaar woman a woman.  For days afterwards people would just stare wistfully at me, "Aissatou," with a wistful head shake. "You're just so weydi (pretty) now."  As if I had wasted two years of my life looking average when I could have been beautiful.  I didn't have the heart to tell anyone my American friends would ruthlessly laugh and sing Coolio lyrics at me.  I can be pretty today if you want me to be.


To continue with the weydiness of the day, I had two sets of matching outfits with two separate groups.  My Peace Corps friends and I got matching shirts, while the women in my compound finally got the fabric I bought them for Tabaski last year made into clothes.  This is a Senegalese tradition, and in Pulaar it's called nurolei.  It's often reserved for big weddings, but what the heck.  We looked awesome.

Soso, me, Ramatou, and Oumou holding baby Aissatou

The actual party was nothing really different from most Senegalese functions.  The night before the women arrived to help make fried dough (sans powdered sugar) for the guests.  They also arrived early that day to help cook.  They cut up the vegetables and meat, cooked kilo upon kilo of rice, made sauces and juices, and bagged the fried dough into individual baggies and handed them out to guests.  Soso, my neene, and Ramatoulaye, my host's older sister and child Ramatou's namesake, were in charge of running everything.

I just got to sit around all day and chat with people.  My VSA (Volunteer Support Assistant), Tidian Diao, who works too hard, was able to come, and that meant a lot to me.  My friends Nathan, Jim, and Brad were also able to come, and we looked pretty fashionable.  Friends from other villages came, and everyone from Sanankoro came.

Nathan, me, VSA Tdian Diao, Jim and Brad in our fete finest.

As the afternoon wore on the women went home to shower and put on their best clothes, and as dusk fell they slowly filtered back into the compound.  On the music had started there was no controlling the children- they were going to dance whether anyone wanted them to or not!  That was really fun to watch, but what was even more fun was watching the women dance.  I always feel inadequate when dancing next to some of these women.  Sira, who can bring her legs up ridiculously high, Nima, who has joints in her hips and maybe also her rear end, Mariama, who has the energy.

Dancing with strength.

They would pull me into the circle. "Aissatou! You must dance! Dance with us!" And since I love dancing, but hate being bad at it, I do.  Oumou looks over at me admiringly.  She's also not a great dancer, and gets embarrassed easily.  "You know, Aissatou, you may not have the moves down, but you dance with power."  I guess that's better than just being bad.

Sira showing us all how it's done.

We, the women and the children, danced until the gas ran out out he generator, and as if someone had snapped their hands and told everyone to leave, the compound looked deserted compared to what it was just ten minutes earlier.

Family photo.

Omar came up to me. "Great party Aissatou, you did good. Everyone is so happy."  And I was really happy too.

Water Water Everywhere! Sort of.

About a year ago, my village approached me to bring them a well.  There were two parts of the village that had to travel fairly far in order to get water, especially for drinking water.

My area of the village was included in this; my compound has a well, but it only function during the rainy season when the water table rises.  The rest of the year we had to go two compounds over to get out water.  This may sound close, but try carry liters and liters of water back.  I quickly became proficient at carrying water on my head, and just recently I could also carry one in my left hand as well.  This is when I officially became a Pulaar woman.

The other section of the village had to walk even farther.  On the other side of the road there is another village, called Sare Koutayel.  The women of Sanankoro would either pull water from the same well I did or go to Sare Koutayel.  Either way they were walking at least 50 yards per bucket, sometimes more.

Omar Diallo helping to dig the well

I know this sounds awful to you, but let's examine this for a second.  Think about how much water a person uses a day: cooking, washing dishes, doing laundry, drinking, showering, hand washing.  Now let's remember that a woman pulls all of the water for her family.  If she has an older daughter, I'd estimate 12 or older, she is also expected to help her mother.  

My host moms, Oumou and Soso, are both young mothers with no daughters and no teenagers in the house.  Soso has to pull water for her husband and 4 young children to shower in the morning and the afternoon/nighttime; Oumous does the same for her husband and two children.  Whoever cooks pulls water to cook.  They each pull a several buckets for the drinking water, which is kept in clay pots in their rooms. If they aren't cooking they are probably doing laundry by hand.  Usually my host sister, Ramatou, does the dishes after school, and she pulls that water in a mini-bucket. She's about 8.

Think of all of this work, on top of carrying that water on top of your head.  It's exhausting. I know, since I'm pretty weak.  I never had a personal garden because I didn't want to go to the well two more times for watering on top of the three I already went for showering and drinking water, and more if I was doing laundry.

Sanankoro takes a photo at the well

So I totally believed that the village needed even one more well.  Luckily at the same time I was planning to finance one well in my village, another financier from an Islamic organization pledged another well, solving the problem of deciding where to put it.  My well went to the part of the village going to Sare Koutayel, and the other well came to my neighborhood.

To say that people were ecstatic is an understatement.  They are so happy, so grateful.  The women say they are less tired, the men are happy the women are happy.  

 Bringing new water resources is one of the best and EASIEST ways to increase health in the developing world.   Easy access to water promotes hand washing and hygiene.  Access to clean water decreases contraction of water borne diseases (diarrhea is one of the top three killers of children 0-5 in Senegal, not to mention everyone else). 

Some villagers praying for the well

If there's something you'd like to do to help increase access to clean water, I'd like to recommendWater Charity to you.  They have funded countless water based projects throughout the developing world, including mine.  Thank you to everyone who has already donated! My village really appreciates it.

A billion people, 3,000 languages, 54 countries, 1 continent: AFRICA

A question I frequently get from my good friends back home: HOW'S AFRICA? This is a frustrating question, which most people don't understand.

But you do live in Africa.

Ah, a good point my friends.  I do live in Africa, but generalizing Africa ignores all of it's complexities.  For example, there are 3 million languages in Africa.  Wrap your head around that. 3 MILLION. In Senegal alone, a country the size of South Dakota, I can think of at least eight languages off the top my head, not including French.

This is a concept that many Africans don't get either.  For one of my programs I needed to have to students draw a map of their villages- they came to class with what was more of an artistic interpretation of what their compounds look like.  Others didn't know what a map was and were too afraid to ask.

Enter PCV Jim Courtright, map enthusiast. Jim designed a project where he would go to a select number of schools to paint a map of Africa.  With the map elementary school teachers would also get a manual with some lesson plans.  Each country's map was included, as well as a basic map reading lessons and some fun facts about geography in Africa (highest mountain, longest river, biggest lake, etc).  To go along with this he also made a map of Senegal.

So Jim and my sitemate Nathan came out to Sanankoro to help paint the map. Let me preface this my saying that Jim made a stencil of Africa with an exacto knife and plastic, in an ingenious system.  There were four stencils, with each one being done in a different color. It took about two hours and looks amazing! Yay Africa!

Corruption in Senegal

Senegal is not known as one of those countries with massive political problems.  Compared to its neighbors, notably Guinea- Bissau, it is a peaceful, transparent, and law abiding state.

According to Transparency International, Senegal is the 69th most transparent country in the world.  To put this in perspective, Mali is 115th, Mauritania is 124th, the Gambia is 126th, Guinea is 145th, and Guinea-Bissau is 161st.

This is not to say Senegal is perfect.  This week Karim Wade, the former president's son, was sentenced to 6 years in jail for corruption.  I know some of the facts, but I am no where near an expert on politics in Senegal.  I do, however, feel in the loop enough to offer some articles that could give you a better understanding of the Senegalese government and corruption.

Transparency International- Senegal

What if Wade was re-elected in 2012?

Macky Sall- 2012

Karim Wade Jailed for Corruption 2015

WAIST- Go Kolda

This year's West African International Softball Tournament was wonderful all around.  After two days of intense sports in the Peace Corps League, Kolda literally took home the trophy! Shout out to Kaolack for coming in second, and to Kedougou for having the amazing distinction of losing to us twice.  Also shout out to the Peace Corps team in the normal person league, for making it so far!

Champions!

Macky Sall, MCA, and the new Diallo Bridge

Hello Readers! About a month ago I attended an bridge opening held by the Millennium Challenge Corporation and the Senegalese government.  Myself and four other Peace Corps volunteers were given special tickets to attend the event in embassy style.

We were picked up in the morning by the embassy crew, including press,security and our very own ambassador, along with representatives of the Millennium Challenge Corporation.  For those of you who don't know, the MCC is an initiative created by the US Congress in 2004 in order to "lead the fight against global poverty."  There are posts all throughout the developing world, and the competition is stiff to receive funding.  For more information about the broader program see the MCC webpage. 

PCVS with the Ambassador and MCC Representative

In Senegal there have been quite a few programs involving agriculture, specifically in the Delta region, and addressing water salinity issues.  Those projects are all up north.  There is, however, one project that has been effecting my everyday life for the past two years: the Kolda road.

When I arrived in Kolda this road was the pits.  Literally.  A trip from end to end would take six hours of body jarring death wishes, numbed only slightly by the use of my Ipod.  I didn't leave Kolda very often. It was just too hard. And painful.

Macky Sall Greeting the masses

In the fall of 2013 they began work on the road.  It's a vast undertaking; about 260 km (99.42 miles) from Ziguinchor to Velingara. To put this in perspective it took me about 3.5 hours to drive the 226 miles from Albany to Rochester. For the mathematically challenged, that's 126 more miles and three more hours on the Senegal side.  Since then the projct has almost been completed: it now takes 2.5 hours to get the 150 km from Kolda to Velingara. Talk about progress!

In true Senegalese fashion there was a party to commemorate the project.  The road in Kolda ended with a bridge over the Casamance river. It has very appropriately been given the name Pont du Abdoulaye Diallo, a stand up guy known for being benevolent and wonderful.

Ambassador Zumbalt

As Peace Corps volunteers we were given the full embassy treatment.  We were picked up in air conditioned cars, given a tour of the new artisinal market, the bridge, and then headed over to MCC
's Kolda base for a chat with Ambassador Zumwalt, embassy staff, and MCC staff from Dakar and Washington.  It was a really great conversation in which Dakar staff took a really big interest in how volunteers live their lives and view Senegal, and it was really therapeutic for us to give all of our opinions and share stories from village.

Macky Sall was supposed to arrive late morning and ended up arriving early afternoon.  We wasted the time chatting, eating road snacks, and people watching.  Macky Sall and his entourage rolled up, walked down the street, cut the ribbon, and headed over to the government buildings to give a speach. I got to walk down the road with the entourage, and now I totally see why people join entourages. It's fun.

Speeches were also good.  They were given in French and relatively short.  A lot of people turned out and everyone was really excited to see the president.  Everyone in my village listened to to speeches broadcast on the radio and I got to talk about a really cool event for a couple of day

Traditional Kora Player

Les Gendarmes

Wasting Time

As a new volunteer, one of the biggest challenges is learning how to not do anything. This doesn't sound like a problem, but think about it: how long can you not do anything? 2012 Kim loved a lazy weekend and relished a night of nothing as much as the rest, but I would go crazy during summer vacation when all there was to do was hang out around the house.

Senegal really relishes doing nothing. A lot. Lunch is sandwiched by hanging out in the morning and hanging out in the afternoon. Field work gets in the way of tea drinking. Women do laundry right next to the people hanging out so they don't miss the lively conversation.

Constant conversation might sound lovely, but even two years in I still get lost. My friends will be talking about lunch one second and then are off gossiping about their aunt's daughter's brother in law over in another village and I'm zoning out the next. And they know I'm not paying attention; I must have a slightly glazed look on my face, and they say "Oh Aissatou, you're dreaming of America again!"

Sometimes I am, and sometimes I'm silently freaking out that I could be doing something more worth while. Studying for the GRE, reading a book, writing, listening to a podcast, anything to increase my brainpower and get ahead.  I never knew not doing anything could be so stressful!

And then I read this Why is Everyone so Busy?  There are some interesting concept in there, like "time poor," "the harried leisure class." In Senegal, I am definitely viewed as a rich American, and in a way I am.  I get paid (however little) every month, and I have a safety net at home (thanks for the safety net Mom and Dad, I swear I'll grow up some day.  But I also have more stuff to do.  I have Peace Corps work (grants, meetings, reports), post- Peace Corps prep (resumes, job searches, networking, grad school), and cultural pressures (sitting, drinking tea, greeting). All of these conflict, and make me obviously more harried.

"I'm sorry Neene, I absolutely must get internet today, I have so much work, and if I don't do it, the entire fabric of the universal will unravel. You're welcome."

Statistically, I'm headed for a future where I work hard at a job all week, put in extra hours, and then do the majority of child care and house work (thank God for machines).  Does that sound fun to you? Not on paper.  I will have more schooling and less leisure time, and the leisure time that I'll have will be stressful because I'll have so many other ways that I could be using my time.

But do you want to know what? Those are just statistics, and that's not the way people have to be.  In Senegal, one of the things people know about (aside from Rihanna and that our president is black) is the phrase "time is money."  I never realized how we really take that to heart.  I see myself working constantly, always trying to get ahead, and it doesn't please me.

So one of the biggest lessons I'll be taking home from Peace Corps is just to enjoy the moments you have with the people you love. Have a really great conversation about politics.  Talk about your friends you haven't seen in a while.  Do it over drinks. Do it without the distraction of technology.  It's all about being present, and there's no way you can be in the moment with someone while you're trying to create a moment with someone else.  My host family always reminds me, "Aissatou, life without people isn't living. You have to be with other people in order to live life to the fullest."

I think they're right.  I'm looking forward to coming home, catching up with you all, and having some really great conversations about life. So I'll be home in May. I'll bring the tea and conversation starters, and you can leave your Iphones at home.

House of Slaves

One of the first things I learned about Senegal was that an island off the coast of Dakar was the largest exporter of African slaves.  What a depressing Google search.  At the time I didn't really know what that meant. Why? Seeing it from an American perspective, all there is was how horrible slavery actually was and how it's torn the fabric of society.  No matter how hard we try to stitch it up, our history is always there lurking in the background.

So when I finally visited this island, called Goree Island, I was interested this was not how it was perceived in Senegal. The port was decorated with flat screen TVs, showing snap shots of important people's visits: Obama, Clinton, Hollande, Sall, all of them looking contemplative.

We got off the ferry and were welcomed with exuberant drumming, bar signs, and local women trying to entice us to visit their shops.  The tone of seriousness, of gravity, that I was expecting did not greet me.

So what did we do? We went shopping. Honestly, my first impression of the island reminded me of my quick trip to ; colorful French colonial buildings, manicured plants yet it still gave the impression of not being cared for, and, most of all, the sellers.  Rasta men followed us around playing some sort of marachos, trying to get us to forever remember Goree with a fun, easy instrument.  All of us declined, but that didn't stop me from practicing.  We did end up visiting the artisinal market, where there was an assortment of bags, clothes, jewelry, and fabrics.  Unlike the Caribbean, where I felt so overwhelmed I just shut down and didn't buy anything, this time I was equipped with my Pulaar and two years worth of haggling skills.  I also found another Diallo, and she gave me a good deal on some bags (because we're family).

Shopping was followed by a walk around the island.  We walked up, past the art vendors and restaurants, and followed by the Rasta men.  Goree also used to be a French base, so it was peppered with large guns.  All of them had vendors, and some of them were a stone's throw away from some one's home.  There were cliffs overlooking the ocean, and you could see the port from the east side of the island.  Very picturesque.

During our walk we tried to go to the Maison Des Esclaves (House of Slaves).  The eastern shore was filled with these houses, where the slaves would be quartered before being sent to the Americas, and only one is now open for tourism (the others have been converted into homes).  This is the place the Obamas had a pensive photo.

It was closed when we tried to go, but we did meet a tour guide. His name was Mamadou Balde, so  I immediately had to question his credentials. When I insinuated that he was probably really bad at his job, he discovered I was a Diallo. "Ah a Diallo! A slave! When we are done here I'll take you to the house of slaves were someone can buy you! HAHA."

You would think this would be followed by an uncomfortable silence. It wasn't, because slavery is part of the joking world that I've been involved with for two years.  Baldes and Diallos call each other not only bean eaters, lazy, and ugly, but also slaves. Pullars call the Mandes their slaves because they were actually
 their slaves just a short while ago, and even the Wolofs even get a jab in every now and then.

Slavery is talked about, but let's remember Senegalese slavery is not the same as the back breaking, dehumanizing slavery that was found in the United States.  This does not make it ok,but it may explain why the Senegalese don't have the same feelings about slavery as Westerners, specifically Americans.

So Balde and I joked about enslaving each other on this memorial to the horrors of slavery. I know it sounds bad.  Then Balde looked over at us, very gravely, and started giving us a history lesson in jilted English.

"You know, we're all to blame, black and white, Senegalese and American.  The Americas wanted the slaves, but we didn't have to give them."

I'd like this to be an uplifting end to a blog, it can't be in the way Americans will want it to be.  I doubt that Western slave merchants would have given up the slave trade had there been no African middle man, and I doubt the African merchants knew what they were getting their merchandise into. What struck me was that Balde had the script down pat, but he didn't really know what he was saying.  Countries like South Africa, Zimbabwe, the US, they know what racism is. And when I say racism, I don't mean getting "toubab" yelled at you on the street; I mean actual hatred of another human being for no other reason than the color of his skin.  But Senegal, they don't get racial hatred; it's just never come up.  And maybe that could be a different kind of happy ending.