Beneath a Baobab: Stories from Sénégal

Ready or Not, Here I come

2007-06-21T17:41:00.000Z

(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

2007-06-21T17:33:00.000Z

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

2007-06-07T14:51:00.000Z

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

2007-05-31T11:32:00.000Z

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

2007-05-24T09:15:00.000Z

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

2007-05-14T14:21:00.000Z

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

2007-04-03T11:30:00.001Z

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

2007-03-28T14:28:00.000Z

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.

The Bandits of Mbam--A flashback to an unforgettable ride

2007-03-05T16:03:00.000Z

On Wednesday, November 8, 2006, I accompanied my cousin, Pape, and brothers, Jo and Badara, to take a woman home to her village via the horse-drawn cart. We left her village at dusk. On the way home, Pape stopped the cart and took several bundles of recently harvested peanuts from an adjacent field and threw them onto the cart. I coined us the bandits of Mbam; my brothers loved it.

We rearranged ourselves so as to use the newly acquired bundle of peanuts as a backrest. And then we set off again, bouncing along the sand road, far from all forms of civilization. The last glimmers of sunlight slowly disappeared. There were no people, no lights, no blaring television sets. It was just us, the cart and horse, the baobab and mango trees dotting the landscape silhouetted against the late evening sky, and the farms stretching for as far as the eye could see. The sky was magnificent, saturated with twinkling stars. We continued along, the horse seemingly familiar with the route, and Pape conducting when need be. I savored every moment of the ride; I was so happy. It was too perfect, sitting there, cracking and eating our peanuts, taking pictures, laughing, talking and joking, the country setting trotting past us. I was sure that at that very moment, there was absolutely nothing I could be doing that would be cooler than riding, under the cover of the night, with the bandits of Mbam.

Kii jigeen la. Now that’s a woman.—A compliment or insult? Comparing the roles and rights of women in the US and SN.

2007-02-26T18:54:00.000Z

So my head is, as it often is here in Senegal, in a jumble as I try to sort out my thoughts on yet another tough topic—women. This translates into feminism, women’s rights, and the role of the Senegalese woman. Senegalese society is incredibly different from that of the States, or at least that in which I grew up in Skokie/Evanston, Illinois. I recently had a 2-hour discussion with American and Senegalese students on this topic. It opened my mind and eyes a lot.

When I first arrived in Senegal, I was extremely disappointed to see the seeminly subordinate role women play in society here. I believed that they were relegated to all that was domestic and didn’t have much of a choice in the course their lives took. Society, it seemed, expected them to grow up, marry young, have lots of children and stay in the house all day to raise the children, cook the meals, clean the house, do the laundry, etc, etc. … the tasks from which, I feel, women in the US have been fighting for decades to be relieved.

I hope that as I continue with this entry, no one is offended. I suppose my thoughts could come across as judgmental or offensive to women in the US or “une senegalaise” who might happen upon this site. But I feel it’s best to express my dead-honest opinions, the ideas that tumble and collide with one another in my head. I shared the following thoughts with the group:

I think everyone can agree that education is a fundamental human right. And I believe that it is at the base of feminism. Once you are educated, opportunities open up for you. Your life is improved. Economically speaking, you can enter the professional world. And that opens up an entirely different conversation about equality in the workplace, one that I’m not willing to discuss right now. (But on that note, I was shocked to read the other day that they just now made it so that men and women are awarded equally for winning the Wimbledon. There is still a lot of work left for us in this world.) Anyway, I guess it is our western feminism that believes women should not have to stay at home and should instead be at the office alongside their husbands. The Senegalese pointed out that this is not a model that can be imposed upon Senegalese, or African, society. It simply does not work for them. Women are the most honored and respected members of society. You could say, they hold this society, with a high value on family, together. You will never talk to a man who loves his mama more than a Senegalese man does. Unfortunately, women play a subordinate role. Even though all decisions are run past the mothers and, in theory, take their opinion into careful consideration, it is the man who is the vehicle for making and announcing the decision. Men are always served first; when shaking hands, it is appreciated if the woman curtsies; men hold the leadership positions; men earn the money, women tend to the household…. And the list goes on. But ask any man, and his mama is his favorite person. All men know the value of the woman. They know they would not exist if it were not for their mothers. And it’s true, “Les femmes senegalaises font tout!!” The Senegalese women do everything!! It’s really unbelievable.

So my question is now this: as this new generation of women advances in their education, what will they do once they are married? Will they work/continue to work, and leave their children with another family member during the day? Or will they stay at home to raise their family? Originally, I judged this as throwing away their education. But I now realize that this is NOT at all the case. It is important to have educated women raising families. I personally thought working in the professional field was the only way to put an education to good use, but I was WRONG, and I am the first to admit it. I personally benefited from having a mother who slowed her professional interests for many years in order to raise my sister and me. And I am ever grateful. So who am I to judge a nation of women who make the same sacrifice in order to raise their children?

After talking to the women who were in this discussion, they said, once they get married they plan to combine their familial and professional interests. They will likely do like many families in Dakar that have a working mother and father, they will, incha allah, hire a maid to help with the cleaning, and use their family members to help take care of the children during the day. However, they will still continue to do their share in child raising, meal preparation, and household cleaning. One woman wakes up at 5:45 every morning to sweep the house and do other chores before leaving to participate in this program, and she has achieved her bac, done 2 years of higher-education, and worked professionally for a year. But she knows that if she doesn’t wake up early, it will be her mother who has to do the work and she hates to see that happen.

At one point I made the comment that I am almost proud of the fact that I don’t know how to cook or clean. They were appalled. I definitely don’t take pride in this, but it was to say that: yes, I AM a woman, but no, those are not things I will learn to do, or feel obligated to do, BECAUSE I am a woman.

One of the Senegalese men also brought up a huge point—privilege. Throughout my time here, I’ve become increasingly aware of the privilege I was awarded by being born into an upper-middle-class white family in the United States, but I had never thought of it in this context. In the United States we have machines that do everything. Machines that save women time so they can go to work instead. You put your laundry in a machine, go to class or work, come back and it is clean. You turn on the faucet and water comes out. You run the vacuum cleaner and minutes later, the dust has been removed. Just the fact of having a carpet means you’ve got decent funds. And after a long day at school or work, you can come home, pop something into the toaster oven or microwave and have your meal ready in 5 minutes. In Senegal, this is not the case! Laundry is a four-hour process requiring constant action on the washer’s part. In the bush, you must go to the well to get your water. To remove dust, you bend your body in half and use a hand-held broom. To make a meal, you cook for 2-3 hours. In Senegal, if these women don’t do all these tasks, who will? In the States, you can say the machines will, but that is not yet the case here. (And of course, you can ask why can’t the men help with all these tasks. This is a good question. But they also have defined chores, such as tending to the farms and animals to provide food for the family, and collecting the materials to make fences, etc. Personally, I’d like to see men and women share in all these tasks, and they do to a certain extent, but throughout human history, there have been activities relegated to the different sexes.) So I think that all westerners, before judging too harshly this society with defined gender roles and trying to impose our values on another culture, must first carefully consider the privileges we have at home, with the means to buy our time-saving machines, and the infrastructure, such as electricity and running water, that allows them to work.

I also tried to explain to the Senegalese that in the States, stay-at-home-moms do not receive nearly as much respect as the women do here. Is this a side effect of the feminist movement? —that now raising a family is looked down upon, compared to a woman who works alongside her husband in the professional field. And maybe my impressions are all way off the mark, but this is certainly how I feel. It is considered alternative these days to be a stay-at-home mom. How is it that raising your children is now alternative?! (And I think that this is also another privilege, since it seems to me that you need two sources of income in order to support a family these days.) In Senegal, there is an extremely strong family value, one of which I am not aware in the United States and I believe this is thanks to the fact that the mom stays at home to raise the children here.

I fear that in the US, women who stay at home to take care of the family and do domestic chores are seen as taking on a secondary role. It brings me back to the popular “a woman’s place is in the kitchen” jokes from high school. I think that attitude has made me very resentful of everything that is domestic; I’m on a personal mission to prove myself equal to men. In this quest, I’ve tried to dissociate myself with anything and everything domestic. But in Senegal it’s a different game. I shared with the group, that when in the bush, nothing made me prouder than when a man or women would come into our compound, and upon seeing me doing the dishes or sweeping the floor, would announce, “Kii jigeen la,” meaning, “Now that’s a woman.” I loved helping in the house. That is an honored and respected role here.

My other question for these women, is that if they decide to stay home and stop working once they are married, will they be doing this because they want to or because they feel this is society’s expectation for them as a married woman? I never really got an answer to this. But I think it is because they want to. Though I’m not sure they feel there are many other options. But they told me that just as I take pride in not being able to cook, they take great pride in being able to cook and take care of a household.

At one point in the conversation, one of the Senegalese men acknowledged that their society was transitioning, that women were achieving high levels of education and entering the work field. But he asked the women to do it slowly, and to teach their children these new values. But I reminded them, that this transition would require a change in the men’s comportment as well. As increasing numbers of women go to college and enter the professional world, men will have to accept this, and make changes in their own attitudes, behavior and contributions in the household so that the women can do this successfully.

And now, I suppose this comes back to me. I had a lot of time in the bush to sit and think, to evaluate what is important to me, and to try and figure out how I want to lead my life, based on the life lessons I’m learning here. In fact, I think I did that for about 12 hours a day. Here, when a man asks if I’m married, I give him an incredulous look, shake my head, and tell him I’m too young. He asks my age; I tell him twenty. Without fail, he tells me I’m not too young, and asks how long am I planning on waiting. I tell him about 10 years. Now he’s the shocked member of the conversation. His jaw drops. He tells me I’ll be too old when I’m 30. But I explain that I need to finish my studies at the university, and travel and work for a few years, incha allah, to establish myself in the professional world, before settling down with a husband and starting a family. If I’m lucky, he finally nods in agreement and understanding; sometimes though he’ll insist that I need to get married soon, telling me my plans are no good; or he’ll just give up since I’m a tubaab with western ideals. I hope that I can find a happy medium between being a professional and being a mom. I don’t think these are two mutually exclusive roles. They definitely should not be. It would be incredible to be at home during my children’s early years. I was lucky enough to have both my parents working from the house through my junior year of high school. I think this has had a huge impact on the person I am today. I want to do the same for my children. My parents have shown to me that this is possible and I am forever grateful. I have always had a hard time reconciling my personal professional goals and wanting to be a “good mom,” without ever being considered domestic. But I think in Senegal, I’ve realized that it’s possible to be all three and that that is a huge accomplishment and honor.

The Crazy Things You Can See in Senegal

2007-02-22T12:39:00.000Z

This post is dedicated to all the seemingly ridiculous things I've seen in Senegal, that bring a smile to my face, sometimes a full-out laugh, but get no response from the Senegalese.

We'll begin with cows since they are a constant source of entertainment in this metropolitan area of Dakar. The other day, while waiting for my bus along a very busy road, traffic came to a halt while a huge pack of long-horn cows was herded through an intersection. Here I am, in the middle of a city with lots of cars, and cows come waddling through. I couldn't help but laugh. I looked around to see if anyone was as entertained as I was, but no one else seemed to acknowledge the fact that this was happening. Another incident came when my friends, Jayna, Megan, and I were walking home from class, along a busy road leading into downtown and we encountered another long-horn cow walking freely along the sidewalk. I grabbed a great picture. Finally, last week on my way to work, I passed a huge long-horn bull tied to a lamp post. He was there for a couple days and then disappeared, I presume for a sacrifice for a baptism or wedding.

Sheep are another category. You can almost always hear a sheep bleating in the distance. I would expect this in the bush, but not in the city. There are sheep tied to trees throughout the neighborhood. Then you see them in funny situations, like a live sheep being stuffed into the trunk of a cab. Or many being loaded and tied onto the top of a Ndiang Ndiaye. From the interior, you hear their hoofs scuffling on the roof, until they finally settle down for the ride.

Another smile is brought to my face by men in the informal job sector. You can buy absolutely anything you want from the window of your car or as a pedestrian on the sometimes-existant sidewalk. My favorite item for sale are the baby palm trees. Men walk down the street carrying one in each hand. The roots are wrapped up in plastic, and they walk around in hopes of a sale. I guess we all have to make our money somehow, but I never would have thought of selling trees!

Now I know I've talked about this before, but the lack of pedestrian rights and defined pedestrian areas never fails to amaze me. The rule of the road is: the biggest object wins. Therefore, pedestrians don't stand a chance. And if the area is big enough, it's fair game for vehicles to use. Thus, every day before and after work becomes a tricky game of strategy and careful navigation, and often some swearing at passing vehicles. My NGO is located along a very busy road that leads to the airport. One side of the road, has patches of sidewalk, the other side is just completely sand. The cars, frustrated with the traffic jams, often drive through the sand in order to cut time off their commute. But this is the only place for pedestrians to walk as well. I have to laugh when I look up and see three or four cars headed at me, bouncing along the sand. It reminds me of a rodeo, for some reason, all the cars are horses running over a mound. But after I laugh, I then quickly try to position myself behind some solid object like a boulder or fruitstand, so as to protect myself. Don't worry, the cars can't drive too quickly in the sand. This certainly keeps what-would-be-a-boring-walk-to-the-bus stop very exciting.

Here, we are in the final countdown to the presidential campaign. Campaign rallies and political meetings are a bit different than they are at home. Often, they are smaller and held in public neighborhoods spaces. They are very dynamic. I never understand because they are held in Wolof, but last night, the speaker would say something, and suddenly the women dressed in their boubous and foulards would rush out of their chairs, blowing their whitsles, and bouncing their butts and bodies to the beat of the drums. Men would wave their flags wildly. It's very exciting. You will also see caravans of Ndiang Ndiayes and car rapides going down the roads, packed to the brim, often including drums or stereos, and with people on top as well, all calling out, holding posters and wearing t-shirts supporting their candidate.

And my final thought for the moment, though I'm sure I'll continue to update this post, is the current status of my bus stop. I would sit on the unsheltered bench down the street from my work every evening while waiting for the bus. It was an uncomfortable blue metal bench, rusty in some places and slanting at one end; its legs were rooted in a concrete platform. A metal blue and yellow square stood on a post behind it to indicate it as a bus stop. One day last month, I came out from work and couldn't locate the bench. Finally, I discovered it was where it always was, the problem was just that there was the nose/grill of a huge truck over it, having apparently run into it and completely knocked it over. How this happened, I'll never know. As my father would say, "It's a good thing I wasn't sitting there." A couple days later the truck disappeared. However, the bench to this day remains a mangled mess of metal. Now I use another bus stop, but smile every time I look down the road to see my former point of embarkation.

That's all for now. Life and work in Dakar are going well. Not too much else to say, except how much I love this crazy country that always keeps me on my toes...

Oh Senegal, how you never fail to amaze me.

“Yeggal” Get on. A ride in the Car.

2007-02-19T16:34:00.000Z

I wrote before that I would know I was really “Senegalese” when I could comfortably and independently take their famous Car Rapides to get around. Now I use them and their more standardized buses daily to get to and from work. I know I blogged the first time I rode in a Ndiang Ndiaye, very similar to a car rapide, but my ride today has inspired another entry. I want to take you with me in this unique form of public transportation.

First, you must be able to differentiate between a Ndiang Ndiaye and a Car Rapide. A Ndiang Ndiaye is an all white 40-passenger van, with two columns of benches. There are seats that fold down in the middle aisle, so you can have 5 people per row. The accepted and practiced etiquette is fascinating, everyone always moves up to the seat farthest forward as they open up, so that the new passengers can sit down. The vans load from the doors in back. You grab onto a ladder (which grants access to the roof), step onto a board and then into the vehicle. (Sometimes men will run after a car, grab the ladder, and then jump on. The best is when four or five do this all at once, especially when the car is really full. The car seems to gobble them up as they one by one squeeze their way in and disappear into the interior. If there are already too many passengers, they hang off the back with the apprenti (French for apprentice).) I’ll try to take some pictures of this.

Car Rapides are a bit different. They are painted half yellow (top) and half blue (bottom) and then have beautiful images painted on the sides and hood. (Often the hood and grill of the van depicts two eyes, and then the word “Alhamdulilaay” written in the middle. This means, “Thanks to Allah.” It’s funny when these vehicles seemingly stare you down on the road.) They, too, load their passengers from the back. In car rapides, there is a main cab section where the driver sits and a bench, which can uncomfortably fit up to 3 people. Metal bars separate the cab section from the rest of the interior. The wall of bars is lined with a bench that can seat over 6 people, and then there is a row of benches facing this first row. Passengers finagle their legs and bags so that every thing fits. Behind these two rows of benches, benches line either side of the car. In the states we would never try to fit more than 4 people on these benches, but here they squeeze in 5 or 6. It’s unbelievable, and also uncomfortable. But no one grimaces or complains.

So anyway, to catch my car today, I waited at a bus stop, also used for Car Rapides and Ndiang Ndiayes. After hailing a car and getting in since it was going in the right direction, I asked the apprenti where they were going as a final destination. I explained where I wanted to go, and about five other people in the car all joined the conversation, debating with one another whether I should get off at one stop to take another car, or keep going. (Mind you this all occurred in Wolof!) But at least five people, if not more, were discussing with me, the apprenti and one another, trying to determine my best route.

You can always ask for help in the US, but there is rarely quite the same sense of community collaboration. Maybe it’s because tourists/strangers aren’t quite as conspicuous as I am here. Or maybe it’s because our system of public transportation is much more organized with designated routes, and placards on every train or bus indicating the line number and direction of travel. They have buses of this sort in Dakar, but their Ndiang Ndiayes and Car Rapides have no such indication. Instead, there is just the apprenti hanging precariously off the running board, holding on to the open door calling out the vehicle’s destination point. To stop the car, he taps a coin against the metal side. There are few predetermined stops. The stops are generally decided by when someone hails the car, or a passenger requests a stop. And you pay your fare of 15-20 cents when the apprenti asks for it.

Today, one of our apprentis was wearing an old worn-in plaid sport coat that was too big for him with faded grey dress slacks. A black beret completed the outfit. He looked to be 12 years old, though he was probably 17, but he reminded me of a newspaper boy from the 50s. He stood on the ladder, leaning his head to the side of the car calling out “Fann, Fann,” the neighborhood to which we were headed.

It is amazing to me the community ethic that forms within a car rapide. It manifests itself in other ways too. An older woman got in and her shawl was dragging on the ground. A woman already seated, picked it up, held it while the first woman situated herself, and then re-draped it over her shoulder. Or two women got off, and they each had big plastic basins with them that they’d stored under the benches. The two apprentis swiftly picked them up and placed them on the women’s heads, without even seeming to think about it. It is second nature to them, though it was something I had to learn to do while in the village (help a woman put a basin on her head, that is.)

The visual images are incredible too. The cars are beautiful on the outside, but often more than worn-down on the inside. Benches have tattered blue vinyl covering, the Styrofoam stuffing sticking out left and right. Sometimes, small squares of Styrofoam are tied together, in a puzzle-like fashion in order to make a bench seat. The paint is chipped and the metal is rusted. There can be pictures, or tattered curtains or pieces of fabric decorating the interior, but some cars are completely bare. But then there are the people. It’s a fabulous juxtaposition, the women with their heels and make-up in their incredible boubous, foulards (head wraps), and shawls, all made of brilliantly colored fabrics, sitting inside these crowded decrepit vehicles. And it is amazing how they wiggle in to fit 5 to a bench, especially because many of these women are not small by any means. They’ve got jaay fonde, Wolof for a very well–rounded bottom. I haven’t quite mastered the straight face all these women maintain when squished together. Today, one woman left an empty bench with little legroom, to come make herself the fifth person on our bench. I think half of her left butt cheek was sitting on my right thigh. I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling, or even laughing. But I love these little adventures in the car rapides, where everyone is willing to help one another, no one complains, and there is certainly no shortage of good people watching.

Some food for thought: The injustice in our world

2007-02-05T11:36:00.000Z

I guess this was bound to happen at some point, that I break down and essentially complain, or rather express my discontent and confusion, about the injustice in our world. I just watched the movie, "Darwin's Nightmare," a documentary about the fish export industry, prostitution, and poverty in Tanzania. I won't get too much into the film, but it reveals the unfair relationship between the Global North and South. 500 tonnes of fish filets are flown out of Tanzania to feed 2 million Europeans, but then there are 8-year-olds beating one another up in order to get one handful of rice for lunch.

The movie had interesting timing for me personally, because last night I went to a Superbowl party at the US Marine's house in Dakar. (I felt obligated to go cheer on the Bears. Too bad they lost.) Anyway, not only was it bizarre to be surrounded by over 100 tubaabs again, but it was shocking to see the extravagance of the Superbowl itself. I don't know how much money is spent on it between the millions spent on each ad, the 150-$5000 superbowl rings, the tickets, concessions, the half-time show, the players' salaries, the energy required to light the stadium, etc etc etc. If it is not a multi-billion dollar production, it definitely scores way up there in the hundreds-of-millions-of-dollars range just for one football game. And you can point to SO MANY THINGS in American society that are like this. (And on this note, why are professional athletes and artists being paid so much when teachers are being paid so little?)

It is so hard for me to reconcile the money being spent on the Superbowl when there are 8-year-olds fist-fighting for a handful of rice.

I mean, how can there be such injustice in the world? How and why does this happen? And then, more importantly, what can be done to change this? I'm not suggesting that the money spent on the Superbowl would be better spent sending food aide to Tanzania, because that is NOT a solution and is only a very temporary band-aide for a very big wound. And I'm not suggesting that the rich members of the world need to give up everything they enjoy in order to level the playing field. But I do want to figure out how this can begin to be changed. How can the structures in our world be altered so that these two extremes do not occur? ...so that everyone can have access to food, potable water, clothing, and a safe place to sleep. And what can I personally do in my life?, -- what can we all do in our own lives? -- to make this change happen.

Any thoughts?

Pensive, frustrated, and confused,
Hannah

An Apology and Update

2007-01-29T12:36:00.000Z

So here you have it, the long-awaited and much anticipated entry on my life in the bush. I’ve divided it into sections so you can read about what interests you. I apologize for the long delay in my blog update. Life has been more than hectic here and internet is less than immediately available. Since I'm dividing it into sections, I'll post them as I write them. I have so much to say about the village, but unfortunately, not enough time to sit down and write all my thoughts out at once. But this gives you something to read for the time being. Keep checking back periodically. I've promised myself to be done with all my entries by the end of this week, Incha Allah.

A quick update on my life in Senegal. As most of you probably know by now, I’ve decided to stay in Senegal for another semester. With my program, the second semester is dedicated to independent research and a long term internship. I decided to stay in Dakar, rather than continuning on in the village with the agency there. Much more work is done in this primate city, and well you’ll hear about my internship in the village later. It was a hard decision to make to stay here, it meant giving up a lot of things and time with people I love back stateside. But ultimately, this seemed like an incredible opportunity: I have a great family, a good network of friends, connections with organizations here, and a good support system from my professors here in Senegal. I am researching carbon sequestration projects in Senegal. I’m interning with the NGO CRESP (check them out at www.cresp.sn) and also with the Direction des Eaux et Forets, Chasses, et la Conservation des Sols. It’s a government division within the Ministry for the Environment and Protection of Nature. I am just doing basic research right now to understand the concepts of carbon sequestration, green tags, and Clean Development Mechanisms from the Kyoto Protocol. Hopefully, I’ll be able to help the ecovillage network in Senegal receive funding for its various “green” projects, such as mangrove rehabilitation, reforestation, bioenergy, and solar ovens. As the weeks progress I’ll be able to tell you a lot more.

And with great pleasure, I present to you: Mbam

2007-01-29T12:33:00.000Z

I’ll begin with a brief introduction to the village of Mbam. It is located in the region of Fatick, the rural community of Djilor, and in the islands of the Sine-Saloum River Delta. It is 3km behind the town of Foundiougne. It is a small Serere (an ethnic group in Senegal) village, well it’s big relative to others in the area, but by our standards of cities, this one is tiny. No one knows exactly how many people live there, as Senegal has not had the resources to complete a census in over 20 years. I heard estimations between 3000 and 5000. It’s important to remember though that each house compound has, I’d say on average, 8-10 people. The village has a for-the-most-part regular grid layout. The roads are all of sand, and many paths have been cut through the fields surrounding Mbam to connect it with the other villages in the area. The vast majority of people do not have cars. In fact, my siblings would run and jump up to look over the fence every time they heard a vehicle driving past.

(And on that note, I remember one time I was sitting outside with several of my siblings. The boys were roasting peanuts and my sister and I were working on pounding peanuts into peanut butter with a huge mortar and pestle. Suddenly everyone stopped what they were doing and looked up to the sky. I didn’t know what was happening. I asked and they all responded “Il y a un avion.” [There’s a plane.] Mbam does not seem to fall below any flight paths, so planes are rare events. This is huge contrast from my experience in Dakar. My house is near the airport and every plane landing in Dakar seems to fly right overhead, so close that I can see the paint details and read the serial numbers. So imagine my surprise when everyone stopped their activities to observe this one plane. But that is the essence of village life.)

So I was talking about transportation, horse- or donkey-drawn carts are the most common forms of transportation, besides, of course, the conventional walking approach to getting from place to place. It was by horse-drawn cart that I traveled to the weekly market on Tuesdays in the town 3km over, to other villages as a part of my internship, or for baptisms and funerals with my mother, or just to go to the beach to clean the horse and trade water for fish from the fishermen. (Don’t worry, I’ll address all these topics later.) I became adept at hopping onto the cart and developed the instinct of where to position myself in order to best balance the cart for the horse.

As for the amenities: there was electricity in Mbam, though definitely not every house had it. There was also running water, but again this was not found in every compound. And in those in which you could find running water, we’re talking about a single spigot in the yard from which you fill up buckets for bathing and cleaning. All drinking and cooking water is fetched from a well, and you can pay to fill water canisters at community faucets.

As for my house and family

2007-01-29T12:30:00.000Z

I lived with a large family. Bineta was my mother. She is an oddity in Senegal, a woman in her 40s, unmarried and without children. However, she has a huge heart and the financial means by which she can afford to take people in. There were five students that lived permanently at her house and one old man. The boys were: Badara (age 19), Joseph (16) and Jean (14). I think those are their ages, although they all say they’re younger b/c in Senegal, you can easily change your birth certificate in order to appear younger so you can repeat a grade in the school system if you failed to pass the promotion exams. (It’s complicated, I wish I could explain this better.) Jo and Jean are brothers. There were two girls: Marie Noel (19) and Fatou (18). Jo and Jean are brothers, and they, in addition to Badara and Marie Noel, are all from the next village over—Gague Mody. Then depending on the night of the week and if there were evening courses, Badara’s brother, Cheikh, and another girl Ami, would stay at our house. In addition, there were two boys Mbanigck and Pape, who lived in a nearby compound, but took almost all their meals with us and spend a considerable amount of time at our house.

Bineta’s house was a social center, people were always hanging out there. I LOVED it! Two other girls often at our house were Rama (20) from next door, and Sadio (10). Then there was also Fape Mag (Serere for Grandpa). Bineta took him in. He apparently has some mental problems, but I was never aware of them. He was just the sweetest, older man ever, who could sit and do nothing for hours on end.

The house compounds varied throughout the village. Our house was big by Mbam standards. We even had a cement structure, in addition to the sand-brick, thatch roof huts found in all compounds. The compound was encompassed by a large fence, as they all are, one side made of brick, the rest out of dried bean stalks tied together. The house had 5 bedrooms, a living room, a tiny kitchen with no light bulb, and an area referred to as the terrace. We never used the living room, except to watch t.v. at night and to entertain guests. Most of the living was done in the terrace area or outside in the yard. The kitchen is nothing like we’re used to. It’s essentially a storage area with all the spices, pots and large bowls, utensils, and gas canisters. The gas is brought outside or to the terrace and that is where all food preparation occurs.

All food is prepared fresh and by hand every day, every meal. You cannot buy minced garlic or prechopped onions. And, as it turns out, every Senegalese dish calls for minced garlic and chopped onions. They don’t have a stove and oven set like I’m used to in the States. Instead they have one canister of gas with a single burner, so you prepare one part of the meal at a time. Meal preparation takes a good several hours. Not to mention you are preparing for at least 8 people every time. (The night I cooked, I made scrambled eggs and potatoes. 3/4 liter oil, 29 eggs (1 bounced off the horse-cart), 4 kilos of potatoes, 2 kilos of onions, some salt, garlic, 4 green peppers and 2.5 hours later, I fed 13 people for dinner around two very large bowls. They loved it. It was good to have a taste of home too, but it was exhausting to prepare on that scale. I should also mention this entire meal, plus soda, and cookies, cost me US $21.20. 30 eggs cost me US $5, and that is considered very expensive.) So that was the house itself.

The rest of the compound consisted of 3 thatch-roof huts. One is the outdoor kitchen, but also doubles as a storage chamber for the horse feed (the peanut plant itself). The brothers in my family, slept in another hut, and the other hut was used for storage, but later converted into a bedroom for our grandfather.

And I suppose you want to know about toilets too. With the one spigot outside, flush toilets and showerheads were not an option. There was a chair (as they call the toilet bowls we know) that you could access from inside the house, but it was hard to flush (manually) and often smelled terrible. I preferred the Turkish toilet, which was part of the main house structure, but accessed from the outside. I also took my bucket showers in this stall. There was also an outdoor shower area, privacy created by the bean-stalk fence, and an outdoor traditional douce (a cement hole in the ground—don’t ask me what happened to anything deposited in the hole b/c I have no idea.) I know the Turkish toilet and toilet chair were connected to a septic tank, emptied periodically by a big truck. All trash was dumped in a pile, burned from time to time, behind a fence in our yard. (Not much trash was created though b/c this is not a culture like our own in which everything is individually packaged. All food scraps were given to the goats or other animals.)

I neglected to mention the other key members of our family. There was Malabar/Mbagnick the horse (he had 2 names), Hannah (the sheep they named after me) and her mother, Nyiadie the cat and her 3 kittens, a goat, 1 rooster, 3 hens, and 9 chicklets, And then there were many other animals that wandered through the yard throughout the day. I was in heaven! This was my dream-come-true village life.

ASPOVRECE—The internship

2007-01-29T12:26:00.000Z

I “interned” with l’Association Populaire des Volontaires pour la Rehabilitation et Conservation de l’Environnement. I think it took me all 6 weeks just to learn the name of the organization. Essentially it’s an organization of volunteers who work toward the rehabilitation and conservation of the environment. They also create/fund projects that contribute to the local economy. Their major activities include the rehabilitation of the mangroves, a bioenergy project, a plant nursery, and a small business that fabricates personal flotation devices (aka life vests).

Unfortunately, my internship itself was a flop. The grassroots organization was founded by 80 residents of Mbam in 1999. It does really great work both in Mbam, and in the 7 other surrounding villages. My third night in the village they convened a meeting for the leaders of the organization. They essentially asked me what I wanted to do as their intern. I had anticipated that they would have a project for me to do. So we were sort of at a standstill. They asked what I was interested in, and when my response was, “everything” they decided that the best plan of action would be for me to go around and interview residents of the other villages with which they work to find out what activities they do concerning the environment. They also arranged for me to observe a science class at the elementary school and talk with the teachers. In addition, I got tours of all their projects in Mbam: the bioenergy structures, the mangrove rehabilitation sites, the reforested eucalyptus trees, and an interview with the master tailor for the life vests.

They made a calendar for me, allotting a week for research and reading, two weeks for the interviews, and a final week during which I’d draft up my report. There was no formal structure to my days. My mom, Bineta, was the vice-president of ASPOVRECE and my head supervisor. I was to follow her to all of her meetings, as well, as part of my internship. There was no main structure to which I went each day, or set hours during which I worked. (Just my westernized idea of what constitutes an internship.)

I suppose this would have been a very cool opportunity for independent research on eco-villages if I’d entered the internship with a specific research question. However, I did not have a specific purpose so it was a bit awkward to try to create a set of questions to which I wanted answers. Ultimately, I tried to learn how the ecovillages inspire their residents to live in a sustainable fashion, since inspiring other always seems to be the biggest hurdle for environmentalists back home. However, I quickly learned that environmentalism in a rural village in Senegal is a whole different game from environmentalism in the large cities of the United States, shockingly enough. I’ll talk more about this in another entry.

So essentially, once the interview phase began, I would get up, Thierno Djiby (a member of the org) would pick me up an hour later than our designated meeting time, and then we’d take his horse-drawn cart to two neighboring villages. I’d conduct my interviews and we’d be back to Mbam in time for lunch. It was very relaxed. When I describe a typical day for me, you’ll see how relaxed and informal this internship was.

I guess in the end I did learn a lot about mangroves and their bioenergy project. ASPOVRECE works with one Economic Interest Groups (consortiums of villagers that collaborate to promote their economic interests) in each of the surrounding 7 villages. They coordinated the efforts of the villagers to reforest their portion of the mangroves in an attempt to rehabilitate the entire coast. During the 70s, the coasts of these islands used to have thriving mangrove ecosystems, but now the mangroves have disappeared completely due to overfishing and over-cutting of the trees for firewood. This has had a number of adverse effects on the environment, including the advance of the sea taking over valuable farmland, salinization of the land and groundwater, loss of fish (an important food and economic source), to name a few. The World Fund for the Environment funds efforts to rehabilitate the mangroves, and ASPOVRECE coordinates the efforts in this region. All the villages spoke about the positive efforts they’ve already seen since they started planting seeds a couple years ago. Some fish species have already begun to return and they think the mangroves bring more rain during the rainy season.

As for the biomass project, the objective is to produce electricity and cooking gas. It is an amazing project that I think has incredible potential for rural villages. The gas produced by fermenting cow manure and water, is burned to turn a turbine and create electricity. Some of the gas will also be captured and used as cooking gas by the local villagers. With the sludge that is left over, the water is filtered out and using in the farms, and the remaining product is dried and sold and organic fertilizer. Imagine the benefits this carries for rural villages short on electricity and gas and with a plentiful supply of cow pies. ASPOVRECE has all the structures in place and owns 4 cows. However, there was a problem with the funding, and the project has come to a standstill. I’m hoping to use my time here this semester to try and help find funding to continue this project.

So those are two of the very-worthy projects ASPOVRECE coordinates and about which I learned during my 6 weeks in the bush. As for feeling like I accomplished something, my internship was a flop, but I did learn a lot about the “green” projects in rural Senegal, and living in the bush was the most eye-opening experience of my time in Senegal. I am so glad I was placed in Mbam for my internship.

Hannah new na. I am back from the bush.

2006-12-16T19:17:00.000Z

And with this blog, you all will pick up a little Wolof, since I always feel inclined to include my new language in my title. "Hannah new na" means "Hannah has arrived."

So today is my 7th day back in the hustle and bustle of Dakar. Amazing. Today is also the official end date of my program. I cannot believe December 16 has already arrived. Time flies. I would also like to take this opportunity to wish you all a very Happy Chanukah. As with all things Jewish, the holiday is just not quite the same in a Catholic family in a predominantly Muslim country.

So yes, last Sunday at 6:30 am, I mounted the Ndiang Ndiaye, essentially a very large white van that seats 5 people to a row, to come back to Dakar. I sat behind the chauffeur, smooshed in between the window and a large woman with her baby and purse. I spent the five hour drive back to Dakar looking out the window, dozing, and reflecting on the six weeks I spent in the amazing village of Mbam. It was leaving Mbam, that I realized I am not ready to leave this country. And it was funny, despite the fact that I've lived my whole life in an urban/suburban setting, getting out at Dakar, I suddenly felt so displaced amongst all the cars and people. 6 weeks in the bush really changed me.

I'm sure this is not the blog posting you all were hoping for, since I did not describe at all my life in the bush, the incredible people I met, the different activities that became a part of my daily life, or my thoughts and reflections on poverty and development. Not to mention the life-changing lessons I learned. I am going to do that soon. Hopefully tomorrow, but it may have to wait until January, since I am leaving for the Gambia on Monday, and will be there until my family arrives in Dakar on Christmas. But I promise I will post on the village at some point. I took good notes in my journal while I was there, so I won't forget. And the way I will do it is as a series of small posts describing various aspects of life out there. That way you can read about what interests you. But this short little post is because I just wanted to let all my faithful blog readers know that I am back in Dakar, safe and sound and in good health. Alhamdulilaay. Sante Yallah.

All the best to you all!
Cheers!
Hannah

Suba, maa ngi dem ca all ba.

2006-10-29T18:34:00.000Z

Demain, je vais aller a la brousse.
Tomorrow I am going to the bush--also known as the village.

I realized last night, when I started to cry while saying bye to my dance teacher who is also a friend, that I am sad to be leaving Dakar. This is my home now. I feel confident and capable here. I have a social network, a family, a sense of location and direction. I have a purpose when I walk around. I can go running in the neighborhoods and not get lost or feel unsafe. I have adjusted to this way of life. I love eating from a large family dish with everyone around it. Getting my hands messy and greasy eating fish makes the meal that much more satisfying. Things like the squatter toilet with no toilet paper don't bother me. In fact, I prefer this method to a real toilet. I communicate in French easily without too much thought. I feel wanted and welcome amongst my friends here.

And now this is all about to change. I am heading to the bush. I will be doing my internship in the small village of Mbam, in the Kaolack region. All they have told me is that I'll be working on reforestation efforts and biomass fuel projects. I guess I'll know more very soon. And though I am sad to be leaving Dakar and the friends I have made here, I think it is good for me to go. I came on this program because I was attracted to the village internship component. This semester is supposed to be about growing and learning and developing, so it is a good thing to shake myself up again, now that I am finally comfortable here. I do not know if I will have internet access or phone reception. In some ways, I hope not to, but we will see. I guess I should be careful what I wish for. There are always land line telephones, though, so I do have access to communication. When I ask people about Mbam, all they can tell me is that it is very hot there and they have lots of mosquitoes. They also have a lot of greenery, so that will be pretty. And there will undoubtedly be incredible stars! I cannot wait for those.

The reaction I get from people from Dakar is interesting. When I tell them I'm going to a village for 6 weeks, they ask why I would want to do that. They say the life is boring there. Essentially, one boy told me, the routine is this: you wake up, go to work, come home, eat dinner, talk or walk with someone if you want to, then go to bed, and repeat. I think it will be wonderful to live this lifestyle for a few weeks. It will be a nice break.

On other topics, I went to dinner with the Elyse, Matt and Callie (all from Mac) the other night and we had a really interesting discussion about poverty. I don't feel like I am exposed to the poverty here. Or, well I guess I see it, but I am used to it now. It is interesting because, prior to my experience here, I think I objectified the poor. But now that I am here I realize that we are all humans. I hope this is not a terrible thing to say. But now I have first hand contact with people living in real poverty. And they are living. It's been a hard struggle in my head to try to comprehend the situation. Is it not so bad after all to be poor? The kids are still playing and dancing and lauging. They are living and eating and sleeping, just like me. What does it mean to be poor? But then Matt made the comment, that just because they can live the way they do, doesn't mean they should live that way or that it is okay thay they live in this poverty. And I think his comment was a really good way of putting it. There's just a glimpse of the thoughts I have here.

So now I must go. Go home to dinner and go off to the village. I cannot believe I've already spent 8 weeks here. The time goes too quickly, that is for sure. So goodbye to my family here, goodbye to Dakar and it's busy roads, goodbye to my friends, goodbye to the ocean, goodbye to dance classes with live music and children lining the windows dancing and singing with us, goodbye to my Wolof class, goodbye to my rooftop terrace, goodbye to the life I have grown so accustomed to over the past 8 weeks.

Ready or not, Mbam, here I come!

Reasons I love Senegal

2006-10-29T17:15:00.000Z

The following are small elements of daily life that make me happy:
1) boutiques every 50 feet that sell everything you could possibly want or need
2) the call to prayer 5 times a day
3) the Muslim brotherhoods that chant Allah's name for hours on end
4) the men in the park outside Baobab center that sell cafe touba by the cup and make their batiques
5) fresh bread for breakfast and dinner
6) buying the fresh bread and doing it completely in Wolof
7) women roasting and selling peanuts, or slices of watermellon, along the street for 25CFA (5 cents)
8) hole-in-the-wall restaurants that only offer the plat-du-jour and it costs less than 500CFA
9) the tradition of making and drinking attaaya (tea)
10) the sound of the djembe
11) dancing under African skies
12) walking everywhere
13) the close bonds between people and families
14) the goats and sheep tied to every tree
15) the beautiful clothing
16) talking in French and making complete sentences in Wolof
17) to be continued... it is a growing list that will never be complete.

Def naa ko. Je l'ai fait. I did it!

2006-10-29T16:58:00.000Z

So I always told myself that I would know I really belonged here when I was able to take a car rapide by myself. And I finally did that. I feel like I belong here in Dakar. I have friends, both guys from the neighborhood (des mecs du cartier), and my dance instructor and his friends. Unfortunately, it is extremely difficult to get to know the women here. They don't hang out like the guys do, they also don't have much interest in getting to know tubaab yu jigeen (white girls).

But anyway, here are my tales about the car rapides and Marche HLM.

Last Saturday, I went to the market with Jayna. I bought a couple shirts, an outfit for Korite (end of Ramadan), and a pair of heels. It was excellent trying to bargain in Wolof. They appreciate it when you make the effort. The market was filled with vendors and people. The term that comes to my mind is always, bustling boubous. That's what the market is like. You see women hovering around stands wearing the most incredible clothing and foulards (head scarves). It's a fabulous sight, so many vibrant colors. After the market, Jayna and I got instructions from a guard about how to take the car rapides back to Mermoz, our neighborhood. I was able to navigate the way. It was really satisfying to feel capable like that. We had to take two different cars and we ended up at home. Alhamdulilaay. De plus, it is so cheap to take these forms of public transportation.

On Friday night, after a lovely Thai dinner with the Mac contingency in Dakar, I took a car rapide for 75 CFA, which is all of 15 cents. The funny part though, about the public transportation is that the cars are prone to pull into a gas station and fill up with the engine running while on route, or it will stop at a big intersection for 10 minutes in hopes of getting more passengers. And the apprentis love to pack the cars full. On Friday, I sat in the car, inhaling the blue exhaust fumes of the car in front of us for at least 10 minutes. It was miserable, but it was safer than walking alone. When I hissed (to get the apprenti's attention) and said "Taxawal!" (Stop!) every passenger in the car turned to look at me. They were shocked that I spoke in Wolof. It was funny.

So those are my stories about car rapides.

Come to Joal with me.

2006-10-18T12:54:00.000Z

This past weekend, I travelled to Joal, a small fishing village along the coast of Senegal. I went with four other people from my program--Lindsay, Sara, Rose, and Matt Petcoff (from Mac). We were escorted by Ibou, a family friend of Lindsay's.

Getting there was quite the experience. We met outside our school and took two cabs to the "garage." The garage, as it turns out, is a huge field filled with hundreds of old station wagons. From the moment we stepped out of the cabs, people flocked to us--drivers offering us a ride to any destination, vendors selling fruit, phone cards, jewelry, crackers, cookies, clothing. As we made our way into the "garage" the vendors followed us, new ones arriving every minute trying to get our business. Fortunately, Lindsay's brother, Alex, and Ibou were there to negotiate for us. They finally found a driver to take us to Joal. It was a "sept-place" car, a station wagon with 7 seats. We got to the car and placed our bags in the small trunk. Then three of us were squished into the back row, three more in the middle row, and finally another passenger travelling to Joal sat in the front seat. We remained in the garage for several more minutes. Looking out: faces surrounded the entire car, vendors reaching in through the windows offering their products. Men and women with large baskets of fruits and cookies balancing on their head. One man leaned in to tell us we owed him a favor. They kept opening the trunk, putting things in and taking things out. It was sheer madness. Finally, we left, not totally confident the car was going to make it all the way to Joal.

Traffic going in and out of Dakar is always terrible. There is only one road that connects the Dakar peninsula to the rest of the country and they are doing construction on it, so you can just imagine what the traffic is like on a Friday afternoon. Fortunately, or unfortunately--however you want to look at it, our driver seemed to be a professional aggressive driver, using the dirt median as a passing lane, and sometimes crossing over into the lanes of oncoming traffic, in order to get around the traffic jam in our lane. Every time I get in a car, I'm never quite sure that I'm going to get out of it alive. Part of the adventure of Senegal, I suppose. Once we were out of Dakar and the first ring of suburbs, traffic cleared up. Night settled quickly. We bought dates and water from vendors along the road for the driver and other passenger to break their fast. We made a pit and prayer stop at a gas station. When we returned to the car, after buying snacks, we found the driver praying next to his car on the silver sun visor for the windshield.

Back on the road again, the three of us in the back seat, nestled in, making ourselves as comfortable as possible in the very small space we had. We cruised down the road to Joal. Out my window were the most incredible stars; out the right window was a terrific lightning storm. It was hard to decide where to look. Often I opted for the stars, occasionally being rendered temporarily blind by the bright flashes of lightning. The sky would flash a purplish-white, the stars disappearing, then quickly returning to their original positions. It was a very happy moment with the wind on my face, the stars and lightning above, the comfort of night, and the music on my iPod. The headlights illuminated the tall grasses lining the road, and beyond that the land was dark. On the return trip on Sunday, I was able to see that the land we drove through was mostly open--the countryside, speckeled with baobab trees, and small farms. Corn plants look the same everywhere in the world, but these are not the huge farms I'm used to in the midwest. Here, the plants do not grow in uniform rows and columns, but rather in a more helter-skelter fashion.

Joal was in a black out when we arrived. Everyone was outside, escaping the heat of their houses. By the light of a flashlight, Ibou led us to the house where we were staying. Lindsay's host family owns a second house in Joal; her aunt lives there to take care of the house. We payed for the food, and she prepared the meals. It was really lovely. Like most Senegalese houses, it had an open courtyard. With the lack of electricity, there was not much to do, so we sat in the small courtyard and gazed at the stars through the rectangular opening in the ceiling. It was perfect. There were more stars than I've ever seen before. Dakar has terrible light pollution and so do most American cities, but here, in the small African fishing village experiencing a blackout, there was nothing blocking the ancient light from shining through. We went up to the rooftop terrace and gazed some more.

Eventually dinner was ready. We ate fried fish and fries by candlelight. (Fried seems to be Senegal's national flavor.) Then Ibou wanted to take us on a tour. It seemed a bit silly, since without electricity you can't see much. He seemed to know everyone he passed and he doesn't even live there. He's from Dakar, but spends the month of August in Joal every year. We went to a hole-in-the-wall bar with room for only one table, and had a beer, again by candlelight. We sat outside where the air was a bit cooler, and chatted with the couple other residents also enjoying a drink. I was proposed to by an older man who supposedly works for the mayor. He was either really drunk, or has a bad slurring speech impediment. The power came back on, and after our beer we continued our tour. But the storm we watched on our way to Joal, arrived in the village. The winds picked up, and for the first time since arriving in Senegal, we all felt cold. We turned back to go home. The yellow glow of the streetlamps illuminated the eerily empty streets ligned with a solid wall of store fronts. Dust and trash rose and swirled in the wind. Fast moving rain drops and dirt stung our eyes. The image of the street in the storm is another that seems permanently imprinted in my mind.

The storm continued for a couple hours. Back at the house, they collected the rain water in buckets to be used to clean the walls and floors later. Nothing is wasted in this society. The power went out again and we enjoyed the sounds of the rain and thunder by candle light.

The next day we got an early start and went to Leopold Senghor's childhood home. It is now a museum. It was good to learn about the country's first president and one of the founders of the Negritude movement. Following the museum, Ibou gave us a tour of the Catholic cemetary in Joal. He unlocked the gate, and inside, in addition to all the graves, were 3 sheep and a donkey. Their owners put them in there to graze on the grasses. This way, too, the grounds are maintained. It's a win-win situation.

Then we walked to Fadiouth or Ile des Coquillages--an island created by seashells from fishers. A native of the island gave us a 3-hour long tour for $2. Highlights of the tour included the big mosque, several churches, and saint's shrines. We concluded at the cemetary, on it's own island. The caskets are buried beneath sea shells and it has a section for Catholics and a section for Muslims. One day I will get around to posting pictures. I think they will be a much better way of describing the sights of this island.

Exhausted we walked back to the house and enjoyed a delicious lunch of chicken and rice. I went to town, as I often do these days when eating meat, and cleaned off the meat of every bone. We then returned to the beach and enjoyed a bottle of wine and the fresh air.

As I've remarked in other posts, I have a different value set here. Well, my values are the same, but I behave differently. (Take for example, the fact that I eat meat.) I was telling my friends that sometimes I litter my coffee cup while I'm in Dakar. (After every dance class, we buy cafe Touba, delicious spiced coffee, to break the fast with our teacher and drummers. They toss their cups to the ground when they're finished, and sometimes I find that to be a very convenient option.) So my friends got upset with me, and lectured me about littering. Which is funny, because I'm normally on their side of the conversation. So to make up for my actions in Dakar, I did a little beach clean-up. It was a futile effort, because there was way too much garbage strewn about, but it felt good to get back in that mode of thinking and acting. The whole way home I continued to pick up litter.

The sun set as we walked home. Huge puddles from the rain storm reflected the palm trees and beautiful pinks and purples of the setting sun.

Once back at the house, we took bucket showers and had dinner--beef and spaghetti. Then we went back to the bar from the night before. We invited our tour guide from the Senghor museum to join us. Many hours later, we returned home and went to bed, exhausted from our long day.

Sunday, we woke up and packed our belongings. After eating 3.5 baguettes amongst the 6 of us and a cup of coffee each, we hit the road. Before leaving town, we made a stop at the fishing port. You could see the fishers in their pirogues (long colorful fishing boats). Inside, men brought in baskets of fish and dumped them onto already-huge piles. It was quite a sight, and a smell.

We finally got back on the road, again crammed into a 7-place station wagon. By daylight, I was able to see what I missed on the way to Joal. There are all types of scenes to be remembered, the helter-skelter corn farms, the baobabs dotting the landscape, two young naked boys playing by the side of the road, colorful building fronts, horse-drawn carts on the same road as us, donkeys, goats, sheep.

I love weekends in Dakar with my family. It's fun to be home to see how the household operates and observe all the preparations for each meal, but it was really nice to be able to travel. It was good to see another part of the country, especially a city that is not Dakar. Joal is an adorable town. I've traveled a few other times here via class field trips. As you drive, you go through the country and occasionally pass through small towns. I was happy to discover what is beyond the walls of the buildings lining the roads.

You wouldn't even recognize me

2006-10-04T12:28:00.000Z

It's hard to believe that we are already heading into October. Since there has been no change in season, I still feel like it's summer. I do miss the fall foliage of the midwest, but I love being here more. The temperatures are hotter than ever, though my maman promises it starts to cool off in October. I actually think I'm adjusting to the climate. The Senegalese seem to complain about the heat more than me, but I think it's just a way of making conversation with the "tubaab" (whitey). But regardless, the constant layer of sweat perseveres.

It's funny how quickly you can change your ways. The other night, while lying on my rooftop terrace talking with Amelia, I commented on the fact that for dinner we had a big bowl of beef and macaroni, and at one point I was scooping up macaroni with my piece of baguette. Mmmmm, meat and carbs. I eat them like it's my job here. Fiber, I've decided, is for the weak and should be eaten only in moderation. Who needs whole grains, fiber, nutrients, and vitamins anyway. Also, I take a secret pleasure in littering my peanut shells or lollipop sticks on the ground. There is a major lack of public garbage cans. When possible, I save my garbage and throw it away at home, but sometimes, I just do like the Senegalese.

And so you ask, how do I stay in shape here since all I ever eat is meat and carbs? Despite my fear of gaining weight due to excessive amounts of oil used in the cooking, I think I may actually be losing weight here. I walk at least 1h15m every day, sometimes I walk up to 2 hours. I dance for 3 hours a week, and regular household chores, such as doing the laundry and mopping the floor work up a good sweat (as simply being awake does) and gets your heart going. Last night, I spent 2 hours hand washing, rinsing, and hanging my clothes to dry. Cleaning my room entails sweeping with the hand held broom, then bringing a bucket of soapy water and a towel upstairs. I get the towel wet, bend at the waist and use my hands to make semi-circles with the towel on the floor. I fear it looks like an awkward dance to anyone observing through my open windows.

And yes, I am much more domestic here. It is part of being a woman, and sometimes I have a hard time accepting that. I was at a birthday party on Sunday. After the 5 men I was eating with were finished, I asked my male cousin where I should bring the dish. Rather than just offering to bring it in himself, he showed me where the kitchen was so I could take it. Later, when we were back home, he wanted to know who was going to bring him a glass of cold water. The maid and I were the only ones in the room. I kindly and playfully explained to him, that he who wants the cold water should get himself the cold water. Ultimately, I think Kine, our maid, got it for him.

So women work their asses off here, but they are more respected here than they are at home. While talking with my neighbor, he said he would like to come to the states, but he will never move there. He has to stay close to his mother. All men love their mamas here. It's incredible.

I've had many a frustrating conversation here about politics and homosexuality. These are usually the two topics over which I disagree the most with the Senegalese. Many people here think Bush is a great president because he's a strong leader who knows how to make decisions. He is also against gay marriage. At the same time, when Bush came to Senegal, people were not even allowed to be on the street when his plane flew over. The residents of Goree Island were all locked into a basketball court while Bush visited the island. It is so embarrassing to be American at times. So anyway, my neighbor, Jules, was explaining to me why homosexuality is so wrong and dirty. He can't stand the thought of two men being together, but he can understand two women. Women, he explained, are beautiful, soft, pure, smart, caring, kind. (It's nice to be thought of in such high regard.) Men are cowardly and weak. He, in fact, thinks it's amazing, that a woman would choose to be with a man rather than another woman. I thought this insight into their opinion on homosexuality was worth sharing.

People here are wonderful. All bodily functions are normal and a valid topic of converstaion. For example, my brother came home Saturday night and explained to me he had a bad case of the runs. The next morning, Kine also had diarrhea and explained it was because she ate too many hot peppers. There is no shame or taboo for these topics. Underarm and leg hair doesn't bother men in the least bit. And men appreciate women with a fuller, rounder figure. "Jaay funde" (probably spelled incorrectly) is a compliment, meaning you've got a big ass or that you've put on weight.

As for Ramadan, it is well underway and manifesting itself in a very interesting way. The night life in all of Senegal is dull. The clubs just shut down for the entire month. Personally, I fasted for 3 days and decided that was enough. It was nice to be in solidarity with most of the people I see in passing, but waking up at 5 for breakfast and having to explain myself to my Catholic family was getting a little overwhelming. I also realized it's not good for my health, I'm not completely adjusted to this climate, and I have no religious or spiritual obligation to fast. I also just did not feel good after I fasted (no food, no drink) and then danced last Wednesday. But there's still plenty of time left in the month if I decide to give it another go.

So other ways in which I am aware of Ramadan include the scolding I received yesterday for drinking on the street since people are fasting. Or my neighbor explained to me that he doesn't wear his earring for the fasting month. But at the same time young Muslim men still make advances or invite you "to their bed" and don't worry "they'll bring the condom." I"ll tell ya, the novelty of being a white woman gets old pretty quickly. I also think this weekend serves as a funny anecdote about living in this predominantly Muslim country.

Friday, I went to a soccer game between two neighborhood teams. The electricity went out at the stadium, so the game was cut short. We returned to my friend Jayna's house and hung out with her brother and his friends until 4am. I did this again on Saturday night. The only thing I had to drink was Attaye, their delicious tea. Then Sunday, I went to a neighbor's birthday party with my family. The neighbor was Catholic, mind you, and so by 3pm on Sunday, I found myself more than tipsy. Ohhhh, Ramadan. I also had a meal of what I thought was fish and chicken. After the meal, I asked my cousin what type of fish it was and he explained it was all pork meat. I asked why the difference in textures of meat, and found out that all the fish I thought I'd been eating was actually the fat of the pig. Ironic that this was the last meal I had before the beginning of Yom Kippur. On that note, I feel a severe lack of Jewish identity here. I was going to fast, but since I'd been sick the night before from the pork and didn't start the fast properly, I decided it would be in my body's best interest to eat rice and drink water.

And on being Jewish in a Muslim country. I think I wrote this last time, there is nothing to worry about. For many people here, I'm the first Jew they've ever met. The other night Jules, my neighbor, told me that before he met me he'd had a bad concept of Jews and he was ashamed he'd thought that way. But now I have opened his mind. So I guess my journey here is more than just a personal one of growth and development; it is two-fold, if not three- or four-fold. I came to Senegal to learn and make connections with new people different from myself. In the long run, it seems that these connections are invaluable and seem to serve a greater purpose than just the friendships I develop.

And now, for some random thoughts and moments.
I wake up every morning to the sound of our maid using a hand-held broom whisking away the dirt on the sidewalk. A kind of futile effort if you ask me. Now I don't think twice about the goat bleating in my neighbor's yard. I actually find it comforting.

Amelia (one of my best friends from home) is off to her month-long retreat in Joff. It was so fabulous living 5 minutes from her here in Dakar.

Being a white female makes you a hot commodity. Therefore, many men introduce themselves and I have lots of "friends" in the neighborhood. Sometimes it can be frustrating, but it's comforting that while walking down the street, every 100ft, there's another group of guys saying hi. I feel safer that way. Being a white female also means the vendors at the boutiques want to talk to you, especially when you try out your Wolof on them. On average, 3 Senegalese people are helped before the clerk actually gets Jayna and I what we asked for before the other people came up to the stand. But I do love these little boutiques. They are everywhere, and you can get anything you need.

The situation regarding their electricity is worse than ever. On Monday, Mermoz, my district, only had electricity for 4 hours from 1-5pm. Here, if there hasn't been a power outage all morning or afternoon, you know there will be one during the evening or night and you plan your activities accordingly. I, unintentionally, live a very romantic life here, doing everything by candlelight. Candlelit dinners, showers, and homework. If only I had a quill pen and ink well... I do love showering by candlelight, the water illuminated by the golden glow of the candle affixed to the wall.

I sleep on the rooftop terrace a lot. It is so calm and tranquil. This weekend, I'd go to sleep around 4am. I'd lay under the stars and moon and listen to my iPod until I'd drift off to sleep. At 4am, Orion's belt is at approximately 11 o'clock overhead (if using the clock location method).

Last night, there was another power outage and just too hot to sleep inside. At 3am, I woke up to find a huge storm brewing in the distance. It quickly blew overhead and we felt a few drops of rain. The other family members and I gathered our things and went downstairs. Since the rain still hadn't arrived, except for those few drops, I rushed back up to make sure my clothes were all securely fastened to the clothesline. (Without fail, it rains every time I do laundry.) It was an incredible moment in my groggy slumber, feeling a rush of adrenaline, racing against Mother Nature to check all my clothespins. The strong winds blowing, my clothes flapping violently, the bright moon suffocated by thick cloud cover, and the gray light accentuated by momentary flashes of purple lightning. In the distance people were singing and playing the djembes, yes even at 3am. Their energy seemed to build with that of the storm. I could see the lighted city of Dakar and other districts who had electricity, and the winds and cooler temperatures felt so refreshing on my face. It was a magical moment up there on my rooftop.

And I think I'll close with that. More in the near future. Inchallah.

There's hot, there's very hot... and then there's Senegal

2006-09-26T13:13:00.000Z

Well, I thought it was about time for me to make a post now that I'm actually in country. It is hard to find the words to describe the beauty that is Senegal. My 3+ weeks here have been fabulous, full of many new experiences. I don't even know where to begin. I'm finally getting into a daily routine now that we are two weeks into our classes. I am essentially in class every day from 9am-5pm, with a 2-hour lunch break in the middle. I'm taking classes on theories of development, a country analysis of Senegal, and break out sessions examining women, education, and the environment and the role they play in development. All so interesting and all taught in French. It is nice to be able to write in English here. The work load comes in waves, but it can be quite heavy at times. I have the evenings free to hang out with friends, my family, or just walk around. I take a dance class every Monday and Wednesday. We have been learning traditional African dances. They are so beautiful, so hard! It's nice to work out though and take part in this cultural tradition. The music is provided by live djembe players and our teacher is the neighbor of a girl in my program. 7 of us take the class. If you can play the djembe, I'll dance for you when I get home again. :)

Ramadan began on Sunday. It's interesting to see how this manifests itself in a secular country that is more than 90% Muslim. So far I have not noticed many differences. It's great to be here for this holy month, but from the tourist perspective it's a bit disappointing. In theory, they don't go out on weekends and, for example, one of the drummers from our dance class told me that during Ramadan, they don't play their djembes at the beach. I will have one week left in Dakar after Ramadan ends, so I suppose the drum cirlce parties will have to wait until then. I am living with a Catholic family, so Ramadan does not affect my domestic life. However, before coming here I decided that I would try to observe Ramadan since there is no Jewish activity here. Yesterday I fasted but drank water and today I'm trying to do the real deal. I woke up at 6, ate some bread and chocolate-peanut spread and drank a lot of water. I went back to bed, and so far I haven't ate or drank since then and that was before sunrise. I don't think I'll do the whole month, but I want to try in an attempt to be in solidarity with over 80% of the population who is fasting. It was a beautiful moment yesterday, though, during our dance class. We were glistening with sweat, working hard on the new moves and rhythms, and it was nice to know that I'd fasted just as our teacher and drummers had too. We broke the fast together after class with a few cups of coffee. My family does not understand why I would want to try to fast, but I just want to try something different. It's funny though, because I presumed I'd be with a Muslim family. Instead, I'm with Catholics who had a big wedding two weeks ago. There are still cases of beer left over, so every night, just about, they insist that I have at least one. So I fast during the day, and eat and drink during the night.

I suppose here, I am Muslim by day, and Catholic by night... and Jewish by belief.

And for those of you that were concerned about me spending a semester in a predominantly Muslim country, you have nothing to worry about. The people are fabulous. For most, I am the first Jew they've met (I hope I'm making a good impression), but they have no qualms about my religion. Some evenings, I go over to the neighbor's house where a girl from my program lives. Her host parents are out of town, so her 22 year old brother and his friends hang out there. It is so fun to sit and talk with these young Muslim men. They sit and play cards and drink tea all night long. A few smoke cigarettes, but that is their only vice. They help me with my wolof and french, so it's good practice. My Wolof is coming along, but there's still a long ways to go. People appreciate it though, when I make the effort to try to use some phrases and expressions. It's so fun to learn this new language.

The people here are incredible. I really can't emphasize that enough. Senegal is the land of Teranga. That is the Wolof word for hospitality. Hospitality has taken on a whole new meaning for me since arriving here. They will welcome anyone from any walk of life with big open arms. I can't describe it in words. They will share everything they have. For example, the other day, Amelia realized during lunch with her family that the man next to her was a homeless man they invited in from the street to eat with them. People here are so kind and welcoming.

As for what it's like living in a developing country... in many ways it's no different from my life at home, but in other ways it's completely different. Here you wash your clothes and dishes by hand. The maid didn't think I could do it, but I insisted that she teach me. Electric stoves and ovens don't exist. The power goes out more than once a day. You must always look down when you're walking, not because it's impolite to make eye contact but because you never know what hazard may arise. You could trip over a cobblestone laying on top of the others in the sidewalk, or fall through an uncovered manhole, or roll your ankle in a pothole. You must realize that pedestrians do not have the right of way and that you are not safe on the sidewalk, or dirt path bordering the street. The other day I was almost run over by a motorcycle using the sidewalk as a shortcut, and later that afternoon, my friends and I had to stop so we didn't hit a taxi that cut in front of us to use the dirt sidewalk as a shoulder to move ahead of other cars. Here I am hard pressed to find a vehicle that does not emit a plume of black or blue smoke. I constantly have a runny nose from all the pollution. The traffic jams are such that my brother's commute takes him 2 hours when it should only be 15 minutes. And there is no movement toward renewable energy here. The water in my bathroom stopped working, so now I use the porcelain hole like everyone else. Meals are eaten from one common dish, often with utensils, but sometimes with the right hand (it gives my family a good chuckle when I try). I don't understand most of what is said since everyone speaks in Wolof unless adressing me. Though now I'm able to understand a few words. The sounds of the call to prayer are heard every day, though now I don't even notice it, and on Mondays and Fridays, men chant Allah's name for 2 hours. Goats bleat in the neighbors yard all hours of the day and night. Horse-drawn rickshaws share the road with pedestrians, motorcycles, bikes, cars, blue and yellow car rapides decorated with brilliant colors and images, the all white djieng djiayes, black and yellow cabs, and huge city buses. The scenes are unlike any I have ever seen before. Here my favorite moments come while sitting in my room listening to Senegalese music blasting through our courtyard from my brother's stereo (the electricity was on at this point) and enjoying the aroma of the upcoming meal wafting through my window or while hanging my clothes (that I washed myself) to dry on the line and hearing the 9pm call to prayer or sleeping on the terrace on our roof to escape the heat with nothing but the stars overhead, and the frequent airplane or when someone says something to me in Wolof and I understand their message b/c I understood a few words.

So there is a long-winded glimpse into my life here.

Senegal is an amazing country with incredible people and a rich culture and a value for the important things in life like family and friends... and here, everyone is family.

A la prochaine fois, Inchallah.
Hannah

2006-09-02T17:40:00.000Z

Well, tomorrow I leave for Senegal. I can hardly believe it's already here. I had a fabulous summer traveling to Israel, staffing a 5-week cross country bus tour for Jewish high schoolers, and then taking a 10-day family vacation with my family out to Glacier and Yellowstone. Then I got some time to just be at home, which was quite nice. But it all went too quick, and I didn't do nearly enough journaling. That is why I set up this blog. Hopefully, I'll be able to take better 'notes' while I'm in Senegal, and this way it's easier for people to keep up with my journey. The only problem is, I have no idea what internet access will be like. The program doesn't make it sound too promising. I will have access to Internet cafes while I'm in Dakar, but once I move to the village for the last 6 weeks of the program, I think the frequencies of cafes will diminish. Then we'll all have to hope for the best and just pray that I re-emerge at the end of my program. :)
So while I'm still enjoying the comforts of my western home and have internet at my fingertips anywhere in the house, I figured I'd put up my first entry. Also, I'm new to this whole blogging thing, so bear with me.
Here's the deal. I'm going to Senegal for the fall semester of my junior year at Macalester. The program is MSID, Minnesota Studies in International Development. I'll be in Dakar taking classes and living with a family for the first half of the semester. We take a seminar on Theories and Critical Perspectives of International Development, a country analysis examing Senegal (looks to be very geography-esque, which makes me happy), and we will take classes in Wolof, the most predominant native language of Senegal. Then, in the second half of the semester, we will be moved to rural villages where we will do another homestay. Instead of classes, we will be set up in an internship with a grassroots agency working toward sustainable development and/or social justice. I'm hoping to be placed with a group working on sustainable agriculture, public health, or education and literacy. I don't know what village I will be in.
And also, I guess this is not immediately obvious because it certainly wasn't to me until I learned about this program. Dakar is the capitol of Senegal, a formerly French colony. It became an independent state in 1960 and is now a stable democracy. Dakar has over 2 million people, and Senegal has over 10 million. Senegal is part of West Africa, and Dakar is the western most point of the African continent. So I'm really not that far away! Tomorrow I fly to JFK, and then transfer to a flight on South African Airways which flies direct to Dakar. 8 short hours later, I'll be at my final destination. Dakar is 5 hours ahead of us, and 6 hours when we are not on daylight savings. I'll tell you tons more about this wonderful mystery place whence I get there.
As for now, I have no idea what to expect. I've heard peoples' stories, read some books and articles, but I really have no idea. I'm more just numb to the fact that I leave tomorrow. I have a ton to get done before I go, and for now I just want to be there. I'm over this whole build-up to the day of departure. But now it's time to get packing and I need to get a good water filter and bug repellent. Talk to you next from Dakar!
Over and out.

2006-09-02T16:05:00.000Z