Posts Tagged ‘ Ramadan ’

Vacance

I’m back! In a lot of ways. I’m back from a long blog-writing hiatus, but I’ve also returned from my vacation in France. I know my last post was uncharacteristic, but clearly it was something that had been bothering me for quite some time, and I’m glad I got it off my chest. I wish I could say the reason it has been so long since I updated is because I wanted my words to marinate a little, but I’m actually just lazy and haven’t gotten around to writing.

I spent two weeks in Paris at the beginning of August, and I had an amazing time. It was a much-needed break from the longest, toughest, craziest, most stressful, amazing year of my life. I have officially passed the year mark in my Peace Corps service, and in a few weeks I will be halfway done. It’s really quite unbelievable that I’m halfway done, but then I remember that I still have 13 months left and it becomes believable again.

If you’re interested in knowing what I did in France, shoot me an email. If you don’t have the time, just know that I did and saw all the touristy things. I also did things that aren’t touristy at all but super normal. These things, such as going to the movies and shopping, were also highlights because I am incapable of such things in Senegal. Being normal after an abnormal year was a breath of fresh air.

I also really enjoyed getting my anonymity back. Being an American in Senegal is like being a celebrity. Everybody stares at you all the time. You get harassed on a daily basis because you’re different and you stand out. Walking off the plane and blending in was such a bizarre, indescribable feeling. I was waiting for my luggage at the airport and staring in wonder at the number of white people surrounding me. I felt uncomfortable, actually. Leave it to Africa to make me racist towards white people.

I spent two weeks in the city of Paris, which I recommend to anyone who has the time to do so. Normally when traveling, I want to cram as much as possible into the shortest amount of time. A few days in one city, and then on to the next one. It was refreshing to be in absolutely no rush. This was what I wanted out of my trip. I wanted to relax and not stress about seeing everything in a limited amount of time. I ended up seeing everything I wanted to see and then some. I ate some delicious food (CHEESE!) and drank delicious coffee, wine, and beer. If you’ve never been on holiday, I definitely recommend it.

Because I had such a great time, I was really worried about coming back. I thought I was going to arrive in Dakar in hysterics. I envisioned the lovely stewardesses of Royal Air Maroc dragging my wriggling body off the plane and throwing me on the tarmac.

Surprisingly, the transition back to Senegal went pretty well. I landed in Dakar, stepped of the plane and was immediately hot and sticky from the humidity. The airline lost my luggage, and I got back at six in the morning because my flight had been delayed five hours. As I walked out of the airport, several taxi drivers started yelling and grabbing me. You’d think, after all of this, I would freak out and break down. Instead, I smiled and thought to myself, “I’m home.”

I’ve been back almost two weeks now, and it has been perfectly fine. I’m just as surprised as you guys probably are by how easy it was for me to come back here. I take it as a very good sign that I feel this comfortable in such an uncomfortable country. As much as Senegal angers me and stresses me out every single day, I really do love it. I missed my host family, who were excited for my return.

The trip did exactly what it needed to. It refreshed me and gave me a burst of energy. The month leading up to my leaving, I was impatient and fed up with Senegal. I got to rest in France and feel like a human being again. I loved every minute of it.

Where I Fly, Explode, & Get Jazzy

Where have I been? What have I been up to? I wish I knew the answers to these questions.

Wait, I do know. I am STILL IN SENEGAL. I have been here for over ten months now, and I am beginning to get itchy. Hence my impromptu purchase of a plane ticket to Paris. That’s right, Jamie is gettin’ outta dodge. I am heading to France for two weeks in order to escape Senegal in August. The way my service lines up, I get to experience three Ramadans in this lovely country. Unfortunately, Ramadan is not fun. Thus, I am taking a slight respite and I am going to wander around Paris for a little bit. As of right now, I plan on going it alone. If anyone would like to come, feel free.

Things I did in the last few weeks:

-Got thrown off a horse cart.
-Got a glandular infection of the eye.
-Went to an international jazz festival.
-Went on a booze cruise.
-Drank ginger ale AND 7 Up.

To start, let me explain how I almost broke a bone when a horse decided to contract suicidal tendencies. A few of my friends and I decided to visit another volunteer in his village. Regrettably, in order to get to his village, you have to take a 45-minute horse cart ride through the scorching African bush.

We climbed aboard this horse cart with a friendly Senegalese driver and were on our way. Suddenly, the horse decided he didn’t want to walk anymore. The driver, beating the animal senseless (which was both terrifying and horribly sad), finally succeeded and jumped back on the cart just in time for the horse to start sprinting like a bat out of hell. It was scary, yes, but we were fine and still on the cart, so we said nothing. Plus, the horse was moving, which was an improvement from his earlier immobility.

After several stop-and-go type scenarios that almost resulted in us flying off the cart, the horse finally succeeded when it took a corner too sharply and plowed into a stump sitting next to the road. Because the horse was sprinting, the left wheel stopped abruptly, while the right half of the cart continued on the path. I remember thinking, as I flew through the air, that I really did not feel like getting medevaced to Dakar. Luckily, my childhood gymnastics training/years of watching the Olympics kicked in, and I landed on my feet. I seriously have no idea how it happened, but I found myself standing several feet away from the cart, looking down at my friends, who were lying in a dog pile directly next to the cart.

My friends: How’d you get way over there?
Me: I have no idea.
My friends: Did you land like that?
Me: I believe so.
My friends: Seriously?
Me: ……

We finally clamored back onto the cart (we were bruised but not harmed), and for the duration of the journey, my knuckles were white from clutching the sides so tightly. I guess the horse was satisfied with the level of fear it instilled in us because it trotted softly the rest of the way. RUDE. We made it though, and the ride back the next day was, of course, a nice stroll through the countryside.

Next on the list: my glandular infection. Basically, the right side of my face exploded one morning because of this weird bump on my eye. My eye was super red and swollen and constantly leaking tears. I went to Kaolack to get medicine, which I took for two days. After little improvement, the PCMO (Peace Corps Medical Officer) told me to come to Dakar. I agreed (even though I really didn’t want to go).

I ended up staying at the med office in Dakar for four days. I went to the eye doctor, which was bizarre. He was French and very nice. I got three types of medication, which I am still taking. The swelling went down pretty fast, and the bump on my eye is tiny and barely noticeable.

I also took a slight vacation last week when I went up north to the 19th Annual St. Louis International Jazz Festival. I had visited St. Louis once before (for New Years), so I was no stranger to the ole French colony. It was really nice to see volunteers I usually don’t get to see, and I had a lot of fun listening to jazz music. All the legit shows were expensive, so my friends and I ended up bar hopping every night to listen to the shows that were playing at several smaller venues all over the island.

The second night we were bar hopping, I received a text message from a friend that read: Come to the boat. Free booze. Basically, there was this large, multi-story boat docked on the river that had been sitting there for days. My friends and I leapt up and ran across the island to the boat. We climbed several ladders and ended up on the upper deck. The party was amazing, and there was lots of delicious free wine. The boat never moved, but it was really beautiful watching the ocean and the bridge at night. You can even see the country of Mauritania from there (“I can see Mauritania from my house!”).

Overall, the weekend was really fun. I will definitely go again next year. St. Louis is a really cool and diverse city, and the jazz festival was amazing.

Last but not least: I found ginger ale in Kaolack and 7 Up in St. Louis. Livin’ the high life.

Korite

So, I survived my first Korite, which is the celebratory day ending Ramadan. Twas interesting. I decided that, as the day progressed, Korite reminded me of a different American holiday.

In the morning/afternoon, it was Thanksgiving. I woke up yesterday morning, and my entire family was busy cooking. There were potatoes and onions being cut, and a massive bowl of uncooked meat sitting around (surrounded by flies, of course). It’s funny that stuff like that doesn’t phase me anymore. There are flies everywhere…all the time.

We ended up eating around 2 PM, which is so Thanksgiving. The family was preparing this big meal all day, and then we ate mid-afternoon, then we sat around, lethargic, for several hours because we were so full.

After lunch, we drank orange soda and this pineapple soda that’s really good. I’s so strange…they busted out the fancy glasses for us to drink cold soda in. It was like the Senegalese equivalent of a fine wine or nice bottle of champagne. Korite is a special occasion, so OF COURSE we must drink orange soda. Muslims don’t drink alcohol, which explains a lot, but I still thought it was funny.

Later in the evening, towards dusk, it evolved from Thanksgiving to Halloween. All the kids get dressed up to the 9s and walk around their neighborhood to collect money/food/candy. They came into the compound and asked forgiveness. To who? I don’t know. Allah? My Wolof can’t support in-depth religious conversations, so I didn’t ask.

Unfortunately, the gang and I had to water our garden last night, and we went out during Mischief Night. The wandering children had a FIELD DAY with us toubabs. In addition to screaming “BONJOUR TOUBAB!” in a sing-song voice (3-part harmony), on Korite, they pulled on our pant legs and asked for money.

When I got back, I put on my EPIC Korite outfit. The gang came over to take pictures. OMG it was epic. We were SUCH toubabs: white as all get out, dressed up in Senegalese apparel, and make faces while taking pictures. My host family was like WTF.

The sun went down, and the fireworks started. 4th of July! It was so weird. Mostly they were on the ground, so I heard them/were frightened of them more than anything.

Korite was fun, and it’s odd that this was my first of three. Who knows where I’m gonna be for the next two?

Also, I got the result of my scary French test back. Apparently my French level is “Novice High”, which is actually where I’m at in Wolof now. To swear in, you have to be “Intermediate Mid” in your language. I am on track, which is awesome. I was worried.

Tomorrow is site visits. I am staying in Sokone until Thursday with a SED volunteer that lives there. Because my ancienne (UAg person I’m replacing) left six months ago, that’s why I’m staying with a SED person. I am coming back to Thies for a few days, so I will be able to update with my exciting adventures.

Andrew Lloyd Webber’s “BONJOUR TOUBAB”

So I have been in Mboro for nine days straight now, and my group and I are getting antsy. The eight of us cannot wait to go back to Thies, where there is variety in our meals and showers (oh, showers!). Luckily, these two weeks are the longest we are at our sites for any one time. We will return to Thies more frequently after this.

Wolof is going well. Unfortunately, the language has sort of plateau-ed for me. I was learning so much so quickly, and now I can make sentences/paragraphs, but the details and vocab are what mess me up. Lots of memorization now instead of learning. We get frustrated, and as a result, Sidy gets frustrated, which makes our frustration worse. Luckily, we have been doing tech the last few days, so the only Wolof we speak is at home (so basically all the time).

Aggie Update: our garden is coming along swimmingly. We lined the beds with rocks, so it’s nice to look at it. We made a compost pile and MANURE TEA. It’s exactly how it sounds. You use a bag of manure as a teabag of sorts and “steep” it. After a few days, you water the garden with the tea, and it’s really good for the plants. Smells like shit though (because that’s what it is).

Health update: I have had a cold the last two days. It sucks.

Sunday, the gang and I went to the beach! It was such a surreal feeling swimming in the Atlantic from the other side. It was so familiar yet so unfamiliar. The beaches were prettier than I expected, too. I expected garbage everywhere, but it was fine. Beautiful sand and beautiful water. This man let us hang out on his porch because it was shaded. The Senegalese people are SO welcoming. I still can’t believe he was cool with eight toubabs gossiping in English on his front porch for four hours. We gave him a mango as a thank you.

Getting to the beach was interesting. We took two cabs. Basically, in Senegal, you can hail cabs or go to a garage. Garages are like bus depots. They have big signs with places to go, and you find a cab going to that place and negotiate a price. Being one of two boys in the group, I had to sit in the front (my friend David sat in the front of the other cab). A lot of female volunteers, in the past, have been touched/groped by taxi drivers, so it’s best for a guy to sit up front. I was still freaking out though. I can’t wait until my backbone grows in. It’ll make things easier and less stressful for me here.

I have been here for three and a half weeks now, and I have found that the thing that bothers me the most is the children. I cannot get over “BONJOUR TOUBAB! BONJOUR TOUBAB!” every time I go anywhere. It’s constant. Even when they know my name, they still call me toubab. Hell, my creepy little sister still calls me toubab to my face (luckily, my family yells at her for it). It’s just very unsettling to me. I decided that, if my life were a TV show/movie/Broadway musical, it would be call “Bonjour Toubab!” It sums up my daily life more than anything.

No one expects me to speak Wolof, so they speak to me in French. “Comment t’appelle tu, toubab?” I tell them my name, and they still call me toubab, so now I just ignore them. Literally, they approach me, and they scream “Bonjour toubab!” They hold out their hand to shake. I used to shake back, but now that I’m sick and don’t know what the source is, I am no longer gonna touch the children.

The toubab thing is just something I don’t know if I’ll get used to. Harassment is never okay, even from harmless children. It just gets to me. I envision it never stopping, and I know, at some point, I will accept it. I think it will always bother me though.

I am typing this on my laptop in my cell. I will put the document on a USB thingy and upload it at a cyber café sometime this weekend. The keyboards are weird, so I wanted to type the post on my computer. We’ll see when I actually get it online.

Well, this update was sufficiently depressing and not fun. Luckily, site announcements are Wednesday (September 8th). I am SO excited! This time next week, I will know where I’ll be living the next two years. Then I can research it and see how cool it is. The following Monday (the 13th), everyone is visiting their sites to see what they’re like. We get three days. If your site is close, you may spend all three days there. If you site is far away, you may spend only a day there and spend the other two days traveling to get there. Yes, although Senegal is only the size of South Dakota, public transportation is difficult, and it can take up to two days to travel from one side of the country to the next.

Meet Joe Black…wait, that’s not right…(Part 2)

Hello, minions. My most loyal followers have already read Part 1 of the epic home stay saga (in theaters July 2011). For those few stragglers, see below to read the first part (and maybe you should re-think your priorities a little…just sayin’).

So I introduced the family. Interesting people. To clear things up (LINDSEY), Medoune Diaw #1 is the Papa, and I am Medoune Diaw #3. MD #2 is my other brother. It’s confusing.

Because it’s Ramadan, the family (minus the children) fast during the day. They still cook lunch for me (cut-up spaghetti with a weird onion sauce EVERY DAY), and they break fast at 7:30. We eat baguettes and drink Cafe Touba (coffee) with enough sugar that I usually have to eat it with a spoon (<~~ sarcasm). They slather every inch of the baguette with butter, which I dislike, so I quickly learned how to “I don’t like butter” in Wolof (“Begguma burr”). When I first said this, they thought I was just practicing Wolof, so they cheered and preceded to dunk my baguette headfirst in butter. I said, “Guys, legit, I don’t like butter.” They finally got it. Now I just eat the bread alone, which is fine by me. I like bread.

Dinner is served at the lovely hour of 10 PM, after evening prayer. I hang out with my family between break fast and dinner. Here we watch the news (in French AND Wolof), and they teach me things/laugh at my misuse of the language. Dinner is ALWAYS ceebu jen, which is the national dish of Senegal. It’s rice (ceeb…pronounced “cheb”) and fish (jen). It’s served, like in the Training Center, in a MASSIVE bowl, and we all sit around it and eat. The men in my family get spoons (myself included), and the women eat with their hands. They get rice, ball it up, and shove it in their mouths. We don’t really talk. Sometimes they point to a carrot and teach me the Wolof word for it. Ceebu jen is really, really good, but I envision myself getting sick of it quickly. I don’t know if I can eat it EVERY DAY for 2 years. We’ll see what happens.

So I am always exhausted from my long day of Wolof, so after dinner I usually stand up and say “Surr na” (“I’m full”). They freak out and scream “Lekk! Lekk!” (“Eat eat!”). They think I don’t eat enough. I slowly walk away, saying “Surr na! Surr na!”. Then I say “Souba ci souba!” (“See you tomorrow morning!”), and go in my room. After Ramadan, I will be better at hanging out with them after dinner, but we eat SO late that I usually fall asleep right after.

I have found that Senegal fits my sleeping needs perfectly. There’s not a lot to do, so I sleep ALL THE TIME. I go to bed at 11ish, then wake up at 8 (9 hours). I have Wolof from 9 until 1, then I come home and eat lunch. I eat alone in my room because it’s rude to eat in front of them while they’re fasting. I then take a 1-hour nap and go back to class at 3:30. Class ends at 7, so I go home and break fast. This has become the routine. This sort of stability is very helpful because it structures my day and makes the time go by faster.

Wolof class has been really fun. As you read this, you’re probably like “Eight hours of Wolof a day? That sounds horribly dreadful!” (apparently you’re British now, whoever you are). Wolof class is fun though, and the alternative is hanging out with your family all day, who doesn’t speak English. Plus, I crave the knowledge. When I learned French in HS/college, I thought it was interesting, but it was a requirement, so I just went along with it. Here, I have to know the language, and the more I know, the more I can speak with my family at night, so my drive to learn is heightened. The three other girls in my group feel the same way. We find ourselves asking advanced questions, and we completely throw off Sidy’s lesson plan. Every morning, the four of us get to class with a list of questions. I write down A LOT when I’m sitting with my family because they say something I don’t understand, so I make a note to ask Sidy about it the following day.

Class is held at Sidy’s house. Like us trainees, Sidy is staying with a host family as well. He is from Dakar, so he had never been to Mboro, too. Our classes are so stereotypical Peace Corps. Literally, there is a chalkboard leaned up against a tree, and Sidy teaches. Me and my group sit on a bisaan (mat) on the ground and frantically take notes. The shade from the tree makes the temperature perfect. Not too hot. Sidy’s host family likes to sit near us and laugh at us butchering Wolof. The family has a baby, who likes to walk around and mess with us. He’s adorable.

Sorry I keep jumping around subject-wise, but this is kind of how my brain functions (if you hadn’t noticed).

SO, the question that’s on everyone’s minds: the toilet. I share a bathroom with the random family that lives in my building. There are two doors. One leads to the little room with the hole in the ground, and the other leads to the little room where I take my bucket bath. I have a big bucket of water and a little cup, and every morning I just pour the water all over me, soap up, then rinse. It uses less water than a normal shower. It’s not ideal, but I can deal.

The Turkish toilet has been an adjustment. By the end of my service, I am gonna have thighs of steel from the squatting. I still use toilet paper, which the PC graciously provided. I tried the paper-free water way, but I ended up with a wet lower half that still wasn’t clean. I was also in there for about half an hour. It’s a delicate art that hopefully I will master soon (apparently TP is expensive here, and the PC isn’t always going to provide it). The whole thing is highly comical. I have found my nemesis in the whole be-your-own-bidet department. I see how convenient it is and how hygienic it is, but the actual practice is mad difficult.

So…I feel like I have nothing else to say. Today is pretty mellow. We did a home stay debriefing this morning, and we have more shots this afternoon (a second rabies shot included). Obviously, there are a million things that happened that I can’t fit into my blog, so if you ask questions, I will attempt to answer them in my next update. I am at the Center until Wednesday, so I will have internet until then.

Survival Wolof, Potty Training, & Hope for the Future

So I got to talk to my family last night. They gave us little Nokia phones (that all look identical, which isn’t confusing AT ALL with 64 of us). My number is on my FB page, if you’re interested. It’s free to receive anything, so if you’re willing to pay, text me! You can also call from Skype, and it’s free for me and only, like, 27 cents a minute for you guys. Also, Gmail has this awesome thing where, if you have a Gmail account, you can G-Chat me here in Senegal for free. We can have whole conversations if you are on a computer and I have my phone, and it’ll be free for both of us. So…get on that.

The convo with the fam went well. The call only dropped once. I thought I was gonna be sad hearing their voices, but I have been so busy/distracted these last 5 days that I have barely had time to think (no offense, guys…love ya).

Last night I slept less well. I went to bed at midnight, and my phone is my alarm clock, but it died last night, so I woke up at who knows when, checked my phone, and nothing happened. I sat up (beads of sweat flying) and freaked out b/c I thought I had missed my 8:15 seminar (haha…I actually was worried about missing breakfast). I jump down from the bunkbed, run to the foyer (aka hangout place), plugged it in, AND IT WAS 6:30 AM! I about died. I was pissed, so I grabbed HP7 and read it until breakfast, which was at 7:30ish. Funnily enough, people were awake! Crazies. Two girls were doing zumba in the Disco Hut (<~~ best sentence I have EVER said), while others were on their laptops. Some people just can’t sleep here, so they wake up every time they do the call for the morning prayer (Senegal is 90% Muslim, so they pray 5 times a day), which is at like 5 AM.

Today I had seminars all morning. The first one was about the ecosystems in Senegal, and I thought it was fascinating. Everyone was falling asleep. Cut to me, right up front, taking vigorous notes. I blame my fascination on Hippie Allyson and her Hippie Ideals. Ya live with that girl for three years, and your interests get greener and greener and greener (and Whiter and Whiter and Whiter). FYI: Not being racist. Her nickname is White.

The schedule is as follows: seminar from 8:15-1015 AM, then a 30 minute coffee/tea time (hey Lindsey!), then two more hours of seminar. Lunch is always at 12:45, and dinner is always at 7:45. Ramadan has officially begun, so the Senegalese are fasting from sunrise to sunset. I am kind of nervous about moving in with my host family now b/c I have to be careful about eating in front of them. They are still gonna feed me, which is good, but it’s gonna be awkward, and I have to do it alone (to be polite).

At noon today was SURVIVAL WOLOF. Wolof is the most popular local language in Senegal (although the national language is French). It was 40 minutes long, and there were only 5 of us in my group, and I still almost cried. The language is difficult. We learned “Asalamalekum” (sp?) which means “Peace be with you”. EVERYONE says this to you. I’m glad I finally know what it means. I forget what the response is…I am already repressing it.

After lunch we had a Cultural Fair, which had 6 stations pertaining to different things. One was all about religion, and about how to act when people are praying. One was about greetings/dress. The clothes are super cool, and we are expected to buy some local clothes. I am gonna look GOOD! Men basically wear linen pants with a drawstring waist and a long gown that goes to mid-calf. I am gonna be comfortable as f. One station was about food. The national dish is fish and rice. One station was about eating in the communal bowl. NEVER USE YOUR LEFT HAND TO EAT. You wipe yourself with your left hand, so it’s dirty. Actually, you can’t do anything with your left hand (lefties can write, but that’s it). If you use your left hand, they think you are possessed by the Devil (I can’t make this shit up). One station was about local Senegalese items unfamiliar to Americans.

The last, and finest, station was about the toilet. Yes, they had to teach us. I’m sure you guys have been wondering. Current volunteers taught us all about it. They said everyone starts off using toilet paper, then gives up and does like the locals do. Basically, to go to the bathroom, you squat (a lot of people take their pants off completely to avoid messes) and do your thing. In the bathrooms here they have a tap with water and a little cup with a handle. They basically say, to clean yourself, you pour the water down the back of you until you think it’s clean. You use your left hand to make sure everything is gone, and you’re done. They told us we will have to buy a kettle to do this in our homestays (where we will have our own bathroom). Apparently toilet paper is really expensive here, and they sewage doesn’t support all the paper, so you probably have to put the used TP in a baggie and throw it away elsewhere. The current volunteers said the water method is cleaner. They said you don’t use a dry cloth to wash your body, so why do that to wipe your ass? Not clean. I have yet to “do as the Romans do”. I will keep you posted though.

It’s weird how easy it is to get used to things here. I am always moist from sweat, and I am fine with it. I have accepted it. I always have at least 3 flies on my body at all times, and I am used to it. I am COVERED in potentially-malaria-filled mosquito bites, so I am used to being itchy. I know it’s only been 5 days, and I have no right to say I know what I’m talking about, but I seriously hope it stays this way. I got used to overall dirtiness pretty fast, and I hope it sticks (just like how my clothes stick to me all the time). UPDATE: I am trying to quit biting my nails. It was gross when I was clean. Here, it’s DEE-SCUST-ING. All sorts of D.

Okay, so I feel like I have a million things to say, yet I can’t think of anything else. The current volunteers are answering a lot of my random questions, and it makes me feel better that, after a year, they are still normal. It gives me hope.

PS: Asalamalekum!

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