Why Getting WAISTED was Awesome

Every year the American Embassy in Dakar and Peace Corps Senegal hosts the West African International Softball Tournament in Dakar, hypothetically drawing participants from all over the region but in reality mostly ex-pats and volunteers from Senegal.  I was fortunate enough to be able to participate this year.

We take our softball very seriously.

The highlight of the weekend, without a doubt, was our homestay.  Courtney, Anna, and I were placed with the wonderful, generous, cuisine-inclined Ogg family for the weekend.  Not only did we get to stuff our faces until our pants were too tight, but we got to hear all about their lives globe trotting around the world with the State Department.  Eight different countries in twenty years is really amazing, and to have such a smart, down to Earth family was super cool.  We had some great, stimulating conversations over grilled meats, salads, and Senegal's finest imported wines.

Kolda!

But Kim, you must be saying. What about softball? Wasn't that fun?  Well, dear friends, the reason softball was so fun is because Peace Corps doesn't actually participate in the softball part of WAIST.  We are really there just to have a good time and meet some cool ex-pats.  So yes, we still technically play softball, but we're in our own league.

The best part about the softball, actually, are the themes.  Each region picks a theme, dresses to the nines, buys a beer or ten, and goes to the field to mingle with old friends and make new ones.  This year Kolda was Where's Waldo? Can you find him?

Aside from softball we had a BBQ and talent show (of course featuring a choreographed Kolda region dance to KPop), a masquerade ball hosted by the Marines, and, just to make it all the more American, bowling.

So, in summary, my Pulaar has degressed, my English has improved, and my pants don't fit anymore, but it's ok because who wears those in village anyway? Can't wait for WAIST 2015!

Christmas

Christmas was fun! We all took our annual showers, but on clothes that were clean (or GASP new!) and spent some quality time together!

Universal Net Distribution

Yay free stuff! Universal net distribution was recently in my village and I was lucky enough to be involved in the entire process! Net distribution is a government organized, USAID funded program with the ultimate goal of every person to have a net to sleep under, every night, all year long.  While there are flaws to this plan, it is not because of the project structure.  People just don't like to sleep under nets.  Some people find them too hot, others think the pesticide coating causes itching, and many people simply say they don't have enough money to buy them.  Net distribution addresses the last excuse.

The process for me began with a census.  I went with my counterpart and the other relais from my health area (Bignarabe) and went house to house, asking how many people lived in each compound and looking at each sleeping space.  Why not beds? you might be asking. Not everyone has a bed, and kids often sleep on a mat or mattress on the floor, and other people have areas set up outside.  These are all included in the census.  I hit 7 villages in 3 days and went to approximately 200 compounds.  This was just a fraction of the villages and compounds we were expected to cover, but other relais went to other villages.  Once we were done we brought our results back to the health post, who took them to the regional capital in order to actually request the nets.

Fun midway fact, I was the only female involved in the census.  I pointed this out to my counterpart, who has come to understand my sensitivity to gender differences, and he said it was because women can't ride bikes, and the whole census was done on bikes.  That's ridiculous! I ride a bike.  Then I asked Fatou, my female counterpart, and she confirmed it- none of the women could ride a bike, and the only one that could was a teenager and needed to go to school instead.  Thinking about it later it would have been hilarious to see these cheb mama women riding their bikes through bush-beaten tracks.  But I digress.

We had two days of distribution prep and a full day of actual distribution.  Prep involved unwrapping each net and writing the name of the head of household, town, area, year, and date.  We were provided with four pens, all of which ran out on the first day.  We poured water into them to get every last mark we could, and we able to borrow two pens from the Totstan teacher.  Things would have gone much quicker and a little less frustrating though if we were all able to have pens.

I really wanted a good pen.

The day of was very simply people coming to my village and picking up their nets.  We tried to give a talk beforehand, but we hadn't told anyone this was a requirement and everyone thought they could just pick up their nets and go back to cooking or the fields.  The rest of the day went well though, and I got to see everyone from my village as well as meet people from the surrounding villages.

Nima with her new nets!

For your viewing pleasure.

Scholarship Complete

     I have wrapped up my scholarship program for the 2013-2014 school year.  Yes, school has started.  Most of the students have finally arrived in village to begin the scholarly year, and that includes my six beautiful, smart scholarship girls.

     The process began right after I installed in May.  First their teachers recommended them, then they had to undergo an interview, write an essay, and introduce me to their families.  Once this was over, the Peace Corps SENEGAD (our PC gender equality board) approved their application, sent me the money, and I was able to pay their inscription and go shopping for them.  Senegal does not have a free public school system, so if parents want their children to learn they have to pay for them to go to school.  Primary school is a 500 cfa inscription fee (roughly $2), middle school is a 5 mille inscription fee (roughly $10), and Arab school is free. Buying school supplies here is not easy.  Families often have to scrounge the money for he inscription let alone notebooks, backpacks, pens, etc.  I bought each girl a bookbag and filled it with notebooks, pens, and a geometry set.  I was also able to purchase them each a math textbook.  This is great because it will ease the contribution of the family.  With that money they could send another child to school or buy more food- the possibilities are endless.  And most importantly, the girls get to learn.

I presented Djeneba with her certificate. Isn't my mansuit fetch?

The girls, the principal, and me with their certificates.

When I was conducting my family visits, my site mate and I made the trek to a village 20 km away
 to see two of the girls. We went to meet the first family, and the father wasn't there- they sent a child to the field to get him.  We waited probably half an hour and decided to go see the other family and come back.  That went fine.  Everyone was welcoming and polite; only later did I learn that she was supposed to get married and the decision to send her back to school for another year was made last minute.  She is currently in my village and has kept learning.  When we returned to the first family the father had still not come back.  After a while he finally came back, and we told him why we were there and what we were offering, not even thinking that he would turn it down.  Who would turn down money? He did not seem excited.  We asked him if he was ok, and he told us he had to talk to his older brother; they weren't sure if she was going back to school.  Families here are hierarchical, so younger brothers must consult older brothers about important issues.  They talked for what felt like a long time, and I was very nervous.  What if they told her she couldn't go back to school? What was the reasoning?  Fortunately, I did not have to find out.  Her father and uncle came back, and said she was going to learn.

    I was nervous she wouldn't show up when school started, so I brought each girl their backpack of goodies right after Tabaski, when everyone told me school was about to start.  I wanted to remind them of what I was offering and make sure they would come back.  I'm very glad I did.  I'm not sure if they forgot or were originally underwhelmed anyway, but I brought my village cheif with me and he made a huge show of asking every child in the village if they were going to school this year, and he talked to the parents explaining the program in native Pulaar tongue.  His family hosts several students from this village, and he greeted all of their families too and made sure they were returning.  Would they have come back without this push? I'm not sure.

     School in Senegal is difficult, especially for the children who have to leave home to learn.  The kids in my village are able to stay with their families, but there is only one other middle school in my area outside of Kolda, and no high schools.  Kids have to find homestays or walk ridiculous distances in order to get the most basic of educations.  Primary schools are more abundant, but if the goal is an educated population Senegal is not meeting it's mark.

   So what I'd like to say is thank you to everyone who donated, and for those who did not I will be doing the same program starting this March, so look for my donation link.  If you don't have the money, I would love it if everyone just appreciated what they have been given.  Education is a beautiful thing, and since I've been here I thank God every day for the opportunities I've been given.


JAM TAN.

The Running of the Konkoron

My introduction to the konkoron began innocently one fall day.  I went out onto the Kolda streets and was immersed in a huge crowd of men and boys.  At the front of this crowd is... a thing.  I'm not sure how to describe it, so good thing I have pictures.  It's like a cross between Bigfoot and a tree, if either of those things wielded machetes.  I escaped unscathed, but my next encounter involved me riding my bike and a konkoron chasing me with a machete (I won).

WHAT IS GOING ON?

  In Senegal, males aren't circumcised until they are around 8-10 years old.  A respected, older man in the community will take them into his hut and perform the surgery.  Once they are circumcised, they are now men.  The day of circumcision they are pampered and petted, and the village women cook them huge meals.  Weeks later, there is a party because they are finally healed.  They get fed and pampered again, and they get new outfits and a fancy hat.  Their fathers put them on their shoulders and carry them to the chief's compound to celebrate their manhood, and everyone has a huge dance party.

So how does the konkoron fit in exactly?  I'm sure there's some Santa Claus-Christmas link there somewhere, but I have yet to fill it out.  A vital piece of information: women aren't supposed to see the konkoron.  The Consequence?  He or his guard will hit you.  The konkorons have machetes and their minions have large branches.

FOOD.

Receiving a blessing from the cheif.

This sounds worse than it is.  The women love the konkoron.  Running from the konkoron is really fun.  All of the women gather on the road and when they see the konkoron approaching start running.  I thought it was silly- he's so far away! He's never going to catch us!  Then the konkoron started sprinting and my vision became a blur and all of a sudden I was also sprinting.  Every once else had the foresight to run into a hut- i found shelter in a douche.  Why? I don't know.

A father with his son on his shoulders.

The boys in their new attire

Before the circumcision.

After the circumcision.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Thanksgiving is the best holiday.  There's no hype, then it's just here, and everyone is together and eating and it is wonderful.  It is my favorite, and although I'm missing my family back home, I might feel even more thankful for things than I ever have before.  There are the materialistic things: good, vitamin rich food, running water, the internet, and my Kindle are all things I'm thankful for.  I'm also thankful for road repair teams that have the thankless job of getting rid of those menacing potholes.  This year, however, I've been looking at the bigger picture: if I wasn't born into the life I have, where would I be?  The possibilities are endless.

Comparing myself to the girls in my village, I know exactly what I'm thankful for.  I'm thankful for being given the opportunity to learn and better myself at any moment.  At no point in my life did my parents tell me I couldn't go to school.  At no point did they insist I break free of my childhood and start pulling my own weight workwise.  At no point  was I ever made to feel inferior to my brother just because I was born a girl.  I've been watching these girls struggle against gender norms and it is just so bizarre to me.  I've been listening to people argue for the girls, yet there is still the older generation that insists it is the girls who don't want to learn.  This may be true for some girls; school isn't for everyone, and it is especially challenging when it is not taught in one's native tongue.  That is not, however, the majority's opinion.  While I watch this struggle I am also able to witness the growth that is happening, certainly slowly but also surely.

So I am thankful for my supportive parents, supportive teachers, supportive grandparents and coaches and friends, and my supportive government.  Thank you for giving me an equal opportunity.  Thank you for encouraging me and instilling a desire to continue learning.  Thank you for never making me feel like a second class citizen.  Happy Thanksgiving!

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.