Ready or Not, Here I come
(I am back in the US, but this was an entry I wrote during my last two weeks in Senegal.)
Here I come, back to the land of Stars and Stripes and amber waves of grain and the American dream. Away from this land of Teranga, tea, and rich Senegalese culture.
Back to a place where I will no longer be anything special because of the color of my skin. Where children won’t scream and cry when they see me, where men won’t propose at first meeting.
Away from this place where guys greet one another on the street by asking, “How’s it going? Are you in peace?” Where people understand Asalaa Maleikuum, Jerejef, and Incha Allah.
Away this land where it’s cool to love your mom and God.
Away from small neighborhoods with boutiques on every corner selling everything you possibly need. Away from frequent fruit stands, fresh baked baguettes for breakfast and dinner, and a thriving informal sector such that you can buy anything from fans to LED lamps to stuffed animals to tissues from the window of your transportation.
Away from this place of $.10 mangos, and where $.20 will take you a long ways.
Away from this land where the call to prayer is heard 5 times a day and where Muslim brotherhoods chant for hours on end.
Away from this land where the temperature is comparable to paradise almost every day.
Away from family meals around a communal bowl, where it’s acceptable to eat with your hand.
Away from this place where men, women, kids, and elders spit, blow a farmer’s snot, talk about diarrhea, and burp, but excuse themselves when they hand you something with their left hand.
Away from this place where the fish on your plate looks like a fish with its head, eyes, and tail in tact and where the chicken is killed minutes before it’s prepared.
Away from this place where a peanut butter sandwich is horrendously unappetizing, but camel meat, fish eyeballs, and a ram’s head are a fine delicacy.
Away from this place where every day feels like a fight for my life while walking down the street.
Away from this place where my nose always runs from the pollution.
Away from this place where dirty feet are simply unacceptable, where the people are beautiful and elegantly dressed, even when leaping across puddles of sewage.
Away from this land where men appreciate nice women with a solid, curvy figure, where big is beautiful.
Away from this place where the men know how to dance, lead, and aren’t afraid to hold a girl.
Away from this country with its rich village culture.
Away from this place where most people speak at least 2 languages if not 3, 4, or 5.
Away from this place where I live with minimal ecological impact.
Away from this place that taught me the true value of family, friends, community and humanity. Back to a land where I’ll understand the conversation around me and where simply communicating won’t feel like such an accomplishment.
Back to a land with four seasons rather than two (wet and dry), and where cold means cold, and not just the lower-70˚s.
Back to a land where defensive driving presides over offensive driving, where there are more taxis without cracked windshields than with, and where the vast majority of roads are not made of sand or dirt.
Back to a place where pedestrians have the right of way and cars and motorbikes are not likely to use the sidewalk as an extra lane.
Back to a land where sheep are not likely to be found grazing in the city or tied to a streetlamp, and the only cows you’ll see in the city are remnants of Chicago’s public art display.
Back to a land where hot water heaters are common and Turkish squat toilets are not.
Back to a land where Sundays are spent watching football, basketball and baseball, rather than soccer and traditional wrestling.
Back to a land where men are afraid of touching one another, where they don’t hold hands while they walk down the road.
Back to a land where men are less likely to try to tell me what to do with my life.
Back to a land where I don’t eat meat, poultry, or fish.
Back to a place where the prices are set, where I cannot bargain for any purchase I make.
Back to a place where I will no longer sit on the street for hours with friends watching people pass.
Back to a land where a Jewish vegetarian unmarried 20-year-old woman who doesn’t cook is understood.
Back to my biological family, my roots.
Back to the country in which I was born.
From Africa to America, from Senegal to the United States, from Dakar to Chicago, from the Ecovillage of Mbam to the Village of Skokie.
From Anna to Hannah. Annastasia to Hans. Back to Hannah Elizabeth Gelder. No longer Anna “Mbam/Tigadegue/Blockage” Basse/Sagna/Mbengue/Sarr by name, but always that person in spirit.
Goodbye Senegal. Thank you for what you have taught me and for fostering the experiences I’ve had. Jërëjef for helping me become the person I am today.
An Ode to Mbam
There’s something about the bush that grabs me. I think it’s the tranquility and the simple way of life. Saying goodbye was one of the most difficult things I’ve done in Senegal. It’s hard to explain the emotions attached. It is a place that I will never forget. It’s a place where I feel loved and appreciated. I hope that I can…no no, I’ll write this affirmatively… I know that I will continue to go back there and maintain the relationships I created.
On my last visit to Mbam, I returned to the beach, one of my favorite places in the world. I walked there alone, balancing my bag on my head, the wind blowing against my body, walking across the wind-drifted sand road. I traversed the village, greeting people as I passed them and shaking small children’s hands. Eventually, the houses disappeared behind me and the river came into view in the distance. Me, the sand road, baobabs speckling the countryside; the late afternoon sun beginning its descent, a flock of white herons taking flight, their wings glistening in the sunlight; the silhouette of men washing their horses in the river, the dry fields cleared, sown, and waiting for the rains to come, the flat salty lands leading up to the river. I felt whole. I was sad, and I was happy. These are the scenes that I love.
I met friends at the beach and as we walked back toward the village, they broke into an impromptu wrestling match. I watched as they wrestled and played in the sand, their dark bodies smeared with the blond sand and white salt residue. They ran and washed themselves in the river. These are men in their mid-20s. Some are still in school. Others are not. Some have left the village for work, but are back for the weekend. This time of year, though, they all spend long hard days in the fields getting ready for the rainy season. They are tired, they say, but here they were just having pure fun. That’s when I realized I’m jealous. I so rarely see happiness manifest itself in such a pure form. At home, fun comes in such forms as baseball games, BBQs, movies, and plays, but these are all organized events and activities. Here it was just man and nature. And they live there! They have this every day of their life.
It hurts to know that I won’t be returning there soon. It hurts to know that soon I won’t even be in the same country, let alone the same continent. At least when I’m in Dakar, I’m comforted by the fact that Mbam and its people are a 4 hour ride away. But this time I won’t be going back. Maybe I’ll be back in October, maybe in January, or the following May. Yallah rekk ko xaam. Only God knows. I hope I’ll be back sooner rather than later. My experiences there are ones that have changed me forever. I will never forget and will always appreciate the way people treated me with open minds, hearts and arms. It’s unbelievable. Mbam is part of who I am, and I will bring it with me wherever my life leads me.
So, Goodbye Mbam. Thank you for the lessons, the tranquility, the community and the millions of memories. I hope to keep you a part of my life. It’s too incredible to give up. They think I’m lucky to live in the US. But remembering the guys playing at the beach, so carefree and happy, I think they’re the lucky ones. Their life is hard, but it’s simple. And simplicity is something I think we should all strive for in our lives. Their worries are more fundamental—food, money, rainfall. But that’s what it is. There are no guns, no lack of community, no running from one place to another, no approaching deadlines. Oh it’s too different worlds, but I am so glad and so fortunate to have been exposed to this one. It has taught me so much. May God keep them, Bless, them, and love them. Que dieu vous gaurde, waa Mbam.
The Beauty of Community
Tuesday, I returned back to Dakar from my last visit to Mbam this time around in Senegal. I'm still working on perfecting my entry to try to capture the essence of Mbam and what it is about village life that grabs me. But in the mean time, I thought I'd post on one of the aspects of life in the bush that attracts me.
Community. That's what it is. In Mbam, everyone knows everyone. They stop in the road to greet one another and chat. And though small communities have their disadvantages too, namely gossip, a person has a true sense of belonging. When I return to Dakar, I am always surprised by how many people there are. People pass one another on the street without the slightest acknowledgment. Everyone does their own thing. But fortunately, human nature, drives us to search and create a community. And I've created that for myself in various ways, even in the hustle and bustle of big city life.
In Mermoz, my neighborhood, I obviously don't know the majority of people that live there. However, I have created a group of friends, and I often encounter them on the road when I come home from work and go out at night. Tuesday, after returning from Mbam, I was on my way to the tailor's, and feeling sad about leaving Mbam, when I encountered a friend sitting by the street. I stopped and chatted for a bit, and that's when I realized that even in this big neighborhood, I still had a community and network of friends. Then there's also a group of young boys that play soccer in the street. One of them figured out my name, and now they all call out to me when I pass by their game.
My American friends always commented that if walking with me in Mermoz, it took them 10 minutes longer to get somewhere because I stopped to greet everyone I knew along the way.
I've also found a community for myself in Point E, the neighborhood in which I work. Today, I was shocked when I left the office to go get cafe touba (a spiced coffee from the city of Touba; it's very good) and two people I passed on the street greeted me by calling out my name, "Anna." One man was walking carrying a large lunch bowl, and the other was driving by in his car. I didn't recognize them, but they seemed to know me. After my cup of coffee, I passed by a fruit stand and said hello to the young vendor from whom I buy fruit from time to time. Then I continued on to my usual lunch stand where all the waitstaff (not a very good wordchoice for this eating environment) know my name, as do most of the people who eat their regularly. It's a good feeling.
I crave community. I subsist on interhuman interactions. I thrive in settings in which I know people and people know me. I think these daily interactions with people are what make each day worth living.
This is why I love the village of Mbam, the neighborhood of Mermoz in Dakar, and the small community of Macalester College.
I don't know what will happen when I return to the US where I don't stand out quite as much as I do here. There I'll blend into the background with my white skin and speaking the local language won't be a surprise to anyone. People won't take such an interest in me anymore. I hope that I can continue to find and create little communities for myself where ever my life takes me. The lesson I will take with me from Senegal is the importance of greeting your fellow humans, being open to conversation and taking the time to chat casually with others. That is how relationships and communities are built.
Over and out. 11 days until I'm Stateside again. Wow!
Senegalese Teranga at its Finest
The Setting: Dakar-Mermoz, and Saint Louis, Senegal; Saturday, May 26-Monday, May 28
Characters: Jess and Chris (a South African and a Canadian I met who work at the hotel where I stayed during my most recent trip to the Gambia); Seynabou, Ndeye Marem, and the other members of the Mbengue Family
The Event: The Annual St. Louis Jazz Festival
The Background: Jess and Chris were going to the festival. I thought about joining them up there, but ultimately decided it would be too difficult to meet them, since they didn't have a cell phone and I didn't know where they were staying. Also, my boss was in town until Friday evening, so I couldn't leave right after work, meaning I'd miss the main concert. Friday evening, I learned that Monday was a Federal holiday, so I wouldn't have to go to work. I spoke with Chris on Friday morning as they passed through Dakar, I told him I was entertaining the idea of meeting them in St. Louis, he said he'd e-mail with their logistics once they arrived.
Saturday afternoon around 3:30pm, I checked my e-mail and found a note from Chris giving me the name of their hotel and saying they hoped I was on my way. They were meeting other friends in front of the Governor's Palace at 8pm. I had originally wanted to go to the Jazz Festival and I wanted to see Jess and Chris again, so I decided, on a limb, to go for it. I ran home, packed my bags, grabbed the 9000cfa ($18) I had stashed in my room, and headed to the garage to catch a 7-place station wagon to St. Louis. Upon arriving at the garage, I discovered there were no cars heading that way. I waited over an hour for a mini-bus to show up and then against my better judgment decided to take the bus to St. Louis. While waiting, two women (enter Seynabou and Ndeye Marem) felt bad for me and decided to take me under their wing.
Once the bus arrived at the station in Dakar, we weren't able to leave immediately because there was a dispute about the number of passengers it would carry. The apprentices wanted Seynabou to pay for 2 seats because she was just that big, and a fourth passenger could not comfortably sit in her row. Ultimately, all the passengers chipped in 200cfa to pay for the final seat so that we could leave.
We left for St. Louis around 6:45pm. It's a four hour drive, but due to terrible traffic conditions we didn't arrive until 11:50pm. Now I had the mission of finding my friends' hotel. All I knew was the name. Seynabou and Ndeye Marem, however, insisted, that I come back to their house, spend the night there, and then try to find my friends the next morning. I relented because I knew my mission was likely to fail and it was foolish to set off on my own at midnight with practically no money. I also learned that the hotel was on the far-off outskirts of town. It just didn't make sense to try and get there.
We went to their house. They heated up dinner and Ndeye Marem's husband made tea. We sat, chatted in Wolof, and watched TV. Then they called Seybabou's son Ablaye back to the house. They told him to take me around to see the festival. So off we went at 1am. We passed by the free concert in the stadium featuring a Senegalese artist just as it was finishing. People poured out of the doors, and filled the street. We continued walking for another 1/2 hour to the island, which is downtown St. Louis. After the concerts are over, all the local bars and clubs host afterparties. Ablaye knows all the bouncers, so we didn't have to pay a cover charge anywhere. He took me to see all the local venues and we ultimately chose a bar with live jazz music. Around 4am, we headed home because I was exhausted.
The conditions were probably not ideal by most American standards. Before I came I would have been uneasy with the squat toilet, bucket shower and uncomfortable bed. But I was pleased to see in myself the ways I've changed. I thought this arrangement was perfect. Not a problem at all. I headed confidently into the bathroom and felt spoiled for having my own room with electricity and a mosquito net.
The next day, I woke up with the intention of going to find my friends. I had breakfast, showered, then went to the bank. Money in pocket, I felt much more secure about my existence in St. Louis, as I could pay for taxis, purchase food and water, and pay for a room at the hotel. But before I left, the family insisted that I stay for lunch. Who was I to turn down a meal of ceebujenn. Plus, I had no idea how to meet my friends. Would they still be at the hotel at noon? So I stayed and sat in the courtyard with the family. We chatted, danced, played soccer and basketball. It was lovely. I was adopted by yet another family in Senegal. After lunch, we drank tea and lounged some more. At this point, I'd given up completely on trying to find my friends. I went to the market with one of my little sisters to get the ingredients for dinner. Back at the house, my little brother was in the process of killing two chickens. I forced myself to watch. Much to my dismay, he thought it would be fun to play with the beheaded-head as the body twitched and jerked for a few minutes until the blood and muscles settled. I figure if I'm going to eat the animal, I have to be able to watch it die. I had mentioned earlier in the day that I like chicken. My brother told me that since I like chicken and he likes chicken, we were going to have chicken for dinner. This was as close as I've come to having an animal prepared in my honor. Then my sister, brother, Ablaye, and I headed onto the island again to see the fair and festival during the day.
We saw an African-dress fashion show and walked through the market jam-packed with vendors and people. It was crazy! We stopped for a bit to sit outside an art shop where Ablaye new the owner. As we sat, I suddenly saw Jess and Chris pass by the nearby intersection. I finally met up with them! We chatted for a few minutes and made plans to meet later that night.
My siblings and I headed back to the house for dinner. It was delicious chicken and couscous. After tea and TV, my siblings and I went to the free Vivian Ndour concert. She's a famous Senegalese singer. This was the free concert as opposed to the expensive jazz concert on the island. The concert was great. I was one of the few tubaabs in the entire stadium. This is remarkable because at the afterparties, I'm convinced English is the dominant language because every peace corps volunteer from West Africa seems to be at the Jazz Fest. It was funny for me to understand the conversations around me. It was a bit of a preview for my return to the US.
Anyway, I received a call from Jess and Chris. We tried to figure out where to meet one another, and ultimately came to the conclusion that it was just going to be too difficult to coordinate. That was disappointing, but that's life. Seeing them clearly wasn't in my cards.
Ablaye and I headed to the island, and went to a local bar for a beer. It was seedy, smoky and quite different from the other establishments on the island aimed at the tourists. Then we returned to the live jazz bar and eventually returned home at 5am.
The next morning, I left around 11 after waking up and having breakfast. I got back to Dakar without a problem. Santa Yallah.
But I think this weekend is a perfect anecdote of my time in Senegal and my experience travelling in the region. I had a plan, though I'll admit it wasn't a very good one, but then I was willing to let it change. And I think my experience was all the richer for it. I was able to experience the local way of life. I can hear jazz concerts whenever I want in the US and with e-mail I can keep in contact with my friends. And though I'd come all the way up to St. Louis to see Jess and Chris and then had less than 5 minutes with them, the experience staying with the Mbengue family was much more valuable. They taught me a lesson. Senegalese Teranga (hospitality) never fails to amaze me. How incredible it was that they just took me into their home like that. They didn't want money or gifts (though I insisted on leaving something with them), they just wanted to help me out. And it was nice for me to find that I was able to give back as well just by being open and friendly with them. Seynabou told me one day I had to come back and stay for 15 days. And often, I'd look around the room, and find them all sitting and looking at me with a smile on their face and this look of wonder in their eyes. Who is this tubaab that just came waltzing into their house and life? But we all had a good time together and learned from one another. When I called on Monday night to tell them I'd arrived safely, all the members of the family wanted to say hello. I have their address and intend to keep in touch.
This weekend confirmed my faith in the goodness of humanity and kindness of the human heart. This world would be a better place if we all had more trust in one another, let down our guards, and opened ourselves to new people and new experiences. That is how I try to live my life. What a fortunate coincidence to have met the women at the garage.
Cultures Collide, Again
And so another fundamental difference between my culture and that of the Senegalese becomes more and more obvious as my time tally grows ever larger. This time it is about money and giving.
Yesterday, I had not one, but two conversations in which my Senegalese friends emphasized the communal aspect of life in Africa. (It is them that say it’s an African phenomenon, not me making generalizations.) I’m not sure where to begin. And it’s hard to know where to begin when having this discussion with the Senegalese. This is not going to be an eloquent blog entry because I cannot figure out my own thoughts.
Here, you share EVERYTHING—from your cigarette to your lunch bowl of ceebujenn (fish and rice) to your salary and savings. (I have partaken in peoples’ meals on the street more times than I can count since coming to Senegal. They are insulted if you refuse to join them around the communal bowl.) Here, though, most people don’t really have savings. According to my friends, this is because you can’t earn enough to open a bank account and you cannot just stash some away in your house. If a family member comes asking for money, you can’t lie and say you don’t have any when there is some hiding beneath your mattress. There is a sense of obligation here to give what you can, even if it is not much, at least you’ve made an effort to help.
Apparently, it is common for distant family members and friends to approach one another for help with a bill or to buy a sack of rice to feed the family. I don’t believe this exists in the States. Though I can’t say for sure. It has been over 8 months since I’ve been in that culture. But I try to explain to my friends that this phenomenon doesn’t occur, that people don’t freely and openly ask for money. I think there is a certain shame that accompanies this act in the States that doesn’t exist here. I am, by no means, trying to say that asking for money is a shameful act; it’s just that money is just such a taboo topic in the US. Please correct me if I’m wrong.
When speaking with the Senegalese, I find that I often speak in superlatives or broad generalizations. They tell me that in Africa you share everything you have. If you “have” you “give.” My friends tell me that even if all you have is 100cfa ($.20) and someone asks you to help them out, you’ll give them your 100cfa without even thinking about it. I simply reply that that mentality does not exist in the US. People don’t ask one another for money in my culture. In the US, if you have you often give by contributing to organizations that work for a cause you want to support.
But then I begin to realize that my experience—my family, my circle of friends, and my neighborhood--doesn’t exactly represent the reality of the average American. Maybe the same pattern of behavior exists in the US as in Senegal, but I have been blessed to live a life that is financially comfortable. And then I start thinking some more. I remember that there are the usual characters that come around the neighborhood asking for money. My family almost always tries to help in whatever way we can. But there always seems to be a sort of unease that arises when this one man comes to our door. Does this mean these interactions are viewed as socially unacceptable? Do they occur more frequently and comfortably in other neighborhoods? I don’t know.
I told my Senegalese friends that it is exhausting being a tubaab sometimes. People are always asking for money. Vendors at the market and cab drivers consistently offer us inflated prices. Beggars demand “cadeaus” (presents), 100cfa, or the clothes you are wearing. After a bit, it certainly begins to feel as though we are seen as a walking dollar sign. But I’m beginning to realize that maybe we’re too sensitive. I think what we tubaabs don’t realize is that the people who ask us for money ask the next Senegalese person for money as well. Maybe we’re too sensitive to this because we have the money and we don’t give it. And maybe this all has its roots in the fact that we are different here; we stick out on the street like a sore thumb. So these requests for money, that are a regular part of one’s daily interactions with people here but that are not at all standard for us Americans, are misinterpreted by us as being a result of our skin color and nationality. And since people don’t freely and openly ask for money in the US, that is why we feel so uncomfortable when it happens here, especially because I think most Americans are aware of the financial advantage they have coming from the US.
But there is also this other component. It’s not that I don’t want to give, but I know I personally cannot share everything I have while I’m here because I will have expenses, such as textbooks, when I return to the States. My friends often say to me, what’s the point in saving? You may be dead tomorrow. 5000cfa will be of no use to you tomorrow if you are dead. And though they make a good point, I seem to ride on the fact that I will likely, Incha Allah, be alive tomorrow and still kicking even 20, and hopefully 60 years from now. I will need to have money saved to carry me through my life activities. Is the Senegalese mentality inhibiting their own development? One cannot accumulate capital without savings and investment.
It was funny, and completely awkward and bizarre, when I told them that I opened my first bank account when I was in kindergarten. My bankcard still has my photo from when I was five. So I’ve grown up with this appreciation for savings; as soon as I earn money, it goes directly to the bank. My friends here, on the other hand, are inclined to spend their money as they receive it.
The other thing, I try to explain to them, is that I’ve been working since I was old enough to baby-sit. Since I was 16, I worked at my synagogue and held summer jobs. I earn my own money for my clothes and entertainment; I contribute to my university education, and I was even able to save enough to purchase a used car. My friends here don’t work. They get money, I presume, from their parents or older siblings, or are paid for by their friends. The inherent advantage for me, though, lies in the fact that there are jobs in my country. Here, how is a son going to work when his own father doesn’t even have a job? My inclination toward working and saving—is this actually a privilege?
My final thought, and then I think I’ll conclude because this has been yet another marathon entry, relates to the family value in Senegal. My friends always scoff at me a bit when I tell them I work and then put my money into my own account, and that after school I will likely not move back home. They question me for not giving my earnings to my parents. I could at least give them something at the end of each month; they propose a sack of rice. It is hard to explain that my parents are much more financially stable than me and that contributing to help buy the groceries would not make that big of a difference. I try to explain that it makes my parents proud to see me earning my own money and becoming independent. In fact, it is more helpful for them that I buy my textbooks and clothes, rather than give them the money I earn. At least, that’s the impression I have. (Mom and Dad, feel free to correct me if I’m wrong.) So maybe my friends are right. Maybe I ought to treat my parents to a nice bottle of wine every month or flowers or a fruit basket. After all, my parents are the ones that got me to where I am today. Every boy's dream, here, is to one day have enough money to buy a nice house for he, his mom, and his own family. So I don't know, maybe I don’t show my parents as much respect as I should. That is definitely one lesson I’ve taken from Senegal. (Though material goods are not necessarily my preferred form of respect.) But my questions is: is my experience unique to that of someone in the upper-middle class? Or do most American young adults share my mentality and contribute similarly to their families?
Oh it’s hard to know. It is frustrating being a symbol of wealth and power because of the color of my skin. It’s tiring to constantly feel exploited when negotiating prices. It’s difficult to often be told, “Danga naiye” (you’re stingy; you don’t spend your money). It’s hard to describe my culture to the Senegalese. It’s hard to justify the frustration that arises from requests for money. Senegal has taught me a lot. I am constantly reminded how lucky and fortunate I am to be in the financial situation in which I find myself. But more importantly, it is vital to share and to help a fellow human out. Yes, you must do it within reason, but you should always make an effort. And you should give willingly and happily and without expecting anything in return. I hope that our two societies can find a happy medium—that the Senegalese will never lose this aspect of community and group survival, but will also learn to save and invest in their own future, and that Americans will learn to take better care of one another and will share as a way to demonstrate thanks and respect.
The Bush, the UNDP, and Another Reason I Love Senegal
Hello there.
I can't believe it's already been a month and a half since I last posted. Excuse me. Please. Life here seems to take you under its wing and fly away.
My academic program came to a close at the end of April. I celebrated by spending 5 days back in the village before coming back to Dakar to begin my internship with the UNDP.
It was excellent to be back in the bush. There is something about the life there that grabs me. Life is simple. Life is tranquil. You have time for your friends and family. The community is strong. Going back there is a bit like the "Cheers" theme song: "Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name. And they're always glad you came." It was good to reconnect with my family and friends. I planned my visit to coincide with their annual cultural festival. So mornings were spent lounging around the housing compound, and evenings and nights were spent watching traditional wrestling matches.
Men beat the drums, spectators danced, wrestlers performed their ritual gri-gris (routines, potions, and practices prescribed by their Marabout, spiritual guide, to ensure their success in the match) along the perimeter, and men wrestled in the center of the ring.
Everyone wore their finest boubous. It is not uncommon for a woman to save all year to have a new, elaborate, colorful, beautiful outfit for each of the four days of celebration. I wore two of my own traditional outfits and they were quite the hit. Though they didn't even compare to the elaborate clothing of the villagers. The music was contagious. You couldn't help but bounce your body and clap your hands to the intense beat of the drums. One man in his 70s danced for 30 minutes before the wrestling began. Women would rush up and give him money. The entire event was very animated. Dafa xumb, we would say in Wolof.
Generally, we would arrive at 4 or 5pm to get good seats. The wrestling would begin around 7pm and last until 10 or 11. On the last night, the final match ended at midnight. Then we would all return home, eat dinner, and get ready for the night time activity. Friday night they had a traditional Serere music troupe (guitar, drums, and singers) plus professional dancers. Saturday night was a dance. Needless to say, I didn't come back to Dakar as well rested as I usually do after time in the bush.
Since returning to Dakar, I've begun my internship with the United Nations Development Program -- Global Environment Facility at their Regional Coordinating Unit office located in Dakar. This is easily summed up by saying I work at the UNDP-GEF-RCU Dakar. Welcome, Hannah, to the world of acronyms and beaurocracy. It's fabulous being in this building every day. There is just this energy of good work and I'm excited about the connections I'm making. I am here to help the Climate Change Technical Advisor for West and Central Africa (who's actually located in Paris-- e-mail, teleconfrencing and Skype it is for communication) learn how the UNDP can enter the voluntary carbon market. I've learned about a couple very cool projects that we may be able to pilot in Mbam, the village in which I lived. It will be incredible if this actually works. I will have a personal connection to the project beneficiaries. More on this later as the project develops.
In the meantime, one by one, my American friends are slowly leaving Dakar. Two weeks ago my friends who did the academic year program with me returned home. Now, my roommate and our mutual friend leave on Wednesday, and I'll be the only one left. It's crazy to have been here when they arrived and now watch them go. And I'm still here. This is part of the real test I think, living in Senegal without my immediate American support group. We'll see. I know this last month is going to fly by. And that makes me sad.
Life is good here. My understanding of the culture is growing ever deeper and I'm indentifying places in which I will always clash with the Senegalese. For example, an attempt to make casual conversation with someone via simple questions (like, what did you do last night?) is viewed as nosey. For any of you that know me, this is a big problem for me. All I ever do is ask people questions. It's how I learn and interact with people.
My integration in my family seems to be complete. I find I am often fighting with my older brothers, arguing and getting completely frustrated with them. Sound familiar to any of you with older siblings? Not to mention the teasing I endure on a daily basis (vegetarians, Jews, and women that don't cook don't really exist here).
Well I need to get back to work. My lunch break ended 10 minutes ago. But lunch is a perfect example of why I love Senegal. I left my office and walked around the corner to eat lunch in a corrugate metal stand with one table around which all the customers sit. I greeted the owner, Bassirou, who also knows my name. He prepared my usual $1 sandwhich on a 1/3 of a baguette, with meat, onion sauce, fries, a hard-boiled egg, and mayo, no mustard or hot pepper. I shot the bull with the other customers eating there, most of whom I've talked with on other lunch occasions.
On my way out, a woman in the stand next door encouraged me to come buy vegetables. I told her I wasn't cooking today, and responded to her question that, 'No I don't have a husband. I'm a student here.' She offered to find me a husband and pointed to the man standing next to her. I laughed and continued down the road. I walked a block and a half to a stand in a neighborhood. He sells cafe touba (a delicious spiced coffee). However he was eating lunch at the boutique across the road. They all called me over and insisted that I eat with them. There was no saying no. So they offered me a little bench and a spoon, and I sat around the big bowl and ate some ceeb-u-jenn, their national dish of fish and oily rice. They were not happy when I said I was full, but finally I convinced them. They told me to sit and wait across the street and they would come sell me coffee when they were done eating. This was not a problem at all, but one of their friends prepared my coffee so I didn't have to wait. I paid my 20cents and off I went. I returned to the office, chatted briefly with the guards about the heat and cafe touba and returned to my personal office with a door, big window and air conditioning on the fifth floor of this building.
And that is my regular lunch routine. This doesn't happen at home, I don't think. A hearty cheap lunch around one communal table. Or people who are offended when you don't come and partake in their meal that they eat on the street.
Back to work I go. Take care!!
My life these days
I recently went to Mali for spring break. I will at some point, when things become less hectic over here, post on that. But here is an abridged e-mail I sent to a friend that serves as a nice update...
I think my favorite part about spring break was the style in which we traveled. It's cool to finally be old enough to travel on another continent on your own. To have a plan and be able to change it. To accept people-you-meet-along-the-way's offers to stay at their house. To see in which new direction your adventure will turn, while all the time discovering a new place, people, and culture. Mali was beautiful too. There's a picture on facebook of me sitting with 2 friends looking out on the landscape below from the top of this huge escarpment in the middle of the desert. It was so grand. It was breath taking, really. The world is soooo sooooo big. But yet so small at the same time. Because two nights later, we met some other Americans at our hotel, in Mopti, Mali, and one of them has known a good friend of mine from Mac since primary school. Crazy right?!?!
Life is going well here. I love my friends and my family. And work is interesting, super interesting. Might I be laying the foundation for a career in carbon offsetting projects? I don't know. It will at least carry me through the summer, I'm hoping. I have a phone interview next Wednesday to determine if I'll stay.
Senegal is still incredible. Yesterday, I was walking home and saw a peacock on someone's fence. Then I had to walk through wet sand that wreaked of sewage, presumably because a pipe burst and made lots of yucky puddles in the sand streets. This morning I took a freezing cold shower because we don't have water heaters. But then I made myself some scrambled eggs for breakfast in the kitchen at work. This is my life. The best is that the other day I saw a man scaling the side of a huge truck with no roof on the trailor. He was hitting something with a long stick. Then I looked to the back of the blue truck and saw a camel's head peering over the top. I think he was going to be sacrificed on Saturday for Mohammed's birthday. But I was shocked to see that camel in that truck. And maybe the funniest part is that none of my friends here were really too surprised when I relayed the story to them. The other day I again, saw a heard of cattle heading down a very busy street in Dakar. Oh Senegal.
So this afternoon, I'm off to Ngueye Mehke, finally, to coordinate the solar oven study down there. 5 Senegalese and I will be interviewing the 100 households that have solar ovens to find out how often they use them, the problems they are having, etc. This will also allow us to calculate the rates of carbon offsetting from the ovens. Then next Monday, I return to the Gambia, to talk with the organizers of the Plymouth-Banjul Challenge car rally about becoming carbon neutral. There is also a potential summer job offer for me down there with a local NGO. So I will talk with that group as well. Pretty exciting!
Hope spring is warming all of your hearts and lungs.
Happy Pesach. (I made charoset for an informal dinner party on Sunday night and it was a hit. I'm planning on making a dinner of matzah brie, charoset, and latkes for my family next weekend, presuming my matzah arrives in the mail.) Okay. That's all from Dakar-Yoff, for the time being. Over and out.
Hannah Gelder: Carbon Consultant
I joke when I call myself a carbon consultant, but maybe one day in the future...
So, people are asking what I’m doing here, and here’s my answer. I am researching carbon offsetting initiatives in Senegal and the Gambia and devising potential ways to use the voluntary carbon market to finance offsetting projects in these two countries.
Next question: what is carbon offsetting and carbon financing? You may have heard it as carbon fincancing, carbon accounting, the voluntary carbon market… the titles go on, but essentially it applies a market system to the world’s carbon emissions. Carbon financing is a growing sector in both the private and public sectors. Carbon trading is done on the international level, under the Kyoto Protocol, between developed and developing countries. Developed countries can finance carbon offsetting projects, massive reforestation projects for example, in developing countries, where often there is adequate space, in order to offset their own carbon emissions. This practice is controversial for many reasons. Something, I'd be happy to discuss at a later point in time. Here though, I am focusing on the private sector of carbon accounting.
The voluntary carbon market is growing rapidly. This is for people like you and me, private businesses, event organizers, etc. who want to offset their carbon emissions. You have most likely heard of it in terms of people offsetting their emissions from air travel because this is the biggest way in which we pollute in our lives (1 ton of CO2 is emitted when you fly 2000mi). Also, the latest trend has been to make big events carbon neutral. And this is where the voluntary carbon market enters the scene. On the market, private parties can finance projects that offset or sequester CO2 (or its equivalent).
Another buzz word is green tags. Green tags are, essentially, a receipt indicating that you've paid to offset one ton of CO2. Now there is also a lot of debate on green tags, which, I'd be happy to explain to you, but I truly believe they're a good thing. I don't think they're a solution to global warming. We all need to reduce our emissions...a lot, but it is impossible to live without some carbon emissions. So, after we've tried to reduce our emissions as much as possible (using compact fluorescent light bulbs, energy efficient appliances, driving less… to name just a very few number actions we can take) we can offset the rest of our emissions by buying "green tags." It’s not ideal, but it’s a step in the right direction. Plus, depending on the project that you finance, you can make a huge impact on the environment and lives of the beneficiaries of the project, with just a very small donation.
The projects on this market vary greatly. It is important for consumers to make informed decisions. I do take issue with some of the projects in developed countries, especially wide-scale reforestation efforts. There is a lot of merit in investing in renewable energy projects, like wind farms, through the sale of green tags. I think our green tag money is best spent though, and call me biased, in developing countries like Senegal. And that is the project on which I've been working this semester.
I began this semester by trying to help my NGO (CRESP) figure out how to sell green tags to finance their mangrove rehabilitation and solar oven projects in the ecovillage network in Senegal. The mangrove and solar oven projects have huge implications for the people affected by them. The mangrove ecosystem in my village, for example, was rich and dense in the 70s and due to drought and overcutting, has completely disappeared. Rehabilitating them by planting during every wet season, brings back fish species (source of food and income), prevents shore erosion, sequesters carbon from the atmosphere, prevents the advance of the saline waters which has destroyed farms and the water source, etc. The benefits go on and on. With the solar ovens, it prevents people from cutting trees to use for fuel, has no CO2 emissions when used to cook, improves women's health since they are not cooking over smoky fires, improves family health since they use less oil in the meals, save's the women time since they don’t have to go searching for wood, and provides them with an additional source of income as they can use the oven to bake and prepare other goods to sell, to name just a few of the benefits. It's a small donation with a huge impact.
Now, the project idea has grown, we’ve met with people from the UN Development Program’s Global Environment Fund, and we’re looking at establishing a partnership between the Global Ecovillage Network—Senegal and the Dakar Rally. I calculated a very conservative estimate of the emissions (1,019 tons) of the Dakar Rally (a huge bike/car/truck rally from Lisbon to Dakar during the month of January) and then figured out how many solar ovens (340) or hectares of mangroves (750) would need to be planted, in order to make the event carbon neutral. Imagine the implications. These projects are currently funded by the Global Environment Fund’s Small Grants Program. However, they are looking to diversify their sources of funding. In addition, there is never enough money to take these projects as far as the organizers would like them to go. There are many more villages in the Saloum Delta Region who want to participate in the mangrove rehabilitation project, but there is just not enough money to support the project. The sale of green tags is a good way to increase funding for these projects and other similar ones in the ecovillage network.
So that is what I’m doing in a nutshell. A very big nutshell. Feel free to e-mail me with thoughts, questions, comments, anything. I’ll be traveling for the first couple weeks in April, doing work on these projects. But I welcome all input. I’m new to this field, as most of the world is. But pay attention, because I think the voluntary carbon market is about to become a huge deal.
