Posts Tagged ‘ Wolof ’

Meet Medoune Diaw (Part 1)

I’M BAAAAAAAACK (and obnoxious now, apparently).

This past week has been a blur of ups and downs (mostly ups though!). I now live in Mboro with the Diaw family (pronounced jow). Mboro is GORGEOUS. I will post pics on FB sometime this evening (I am now back at the training center in Thies, hence the internet and excessive use of exclamation points proving my excitement). Mboro is right by the beach (30 minute walk). I haven’t been yet because my schedule has been PACKED with Wolof, Wolof, more Wolof, and other Wolofian-based languages (i.e. Wolof). Pulaar? Nope, Wolof.

Where to begin? Let’s see….how about at the beginning? There are two PC groups in Mboro. Each group consists of one LCF and four trainees. So on Monday, the eight of us piled into an SUV and drove to Mboro. Took about 30 minutes. I was the second person dropped off, which freaked me out. The first night was…interesting. The power went out (yes, I have power!), so I sat in the dark with my family, and they spoke Wolof, and I was freaking the hell out. That was my worst time in Senegal so far. I was alone, in the dark, and sad. I ended up calling my family, which helped. When I got done talking to them, the power was back on. When I came back into the “living room” (basically a porch), the family was watching a black-and-white TV that showed a French soap opera. I was like, “I’M GOOD”. Two men were fighting on the soap. My family laughed. I laughed. It was great. The soaps are just as dirty in Africa as they are in the U.S. (shout-out to my soap lovers, Megoosh and Sca-rah!)

Let’s break down my family (and I don’t know how to spell any of theirs names, so I am gonna guess):

Mama: she is my Mom (“sama yaay” in Wolof). A large woman who is not afraid to show her above-the-waist bits (apparently in Senegal, the waist to the ankles should be covered, but everything else is free to hang out…literally). She is nice, but she doesn’t help with my Wolof much. She doesn’t really talk to me a lot.

Papa (“sama baay”): he is AWESOME. He’s this older man, and he loves to teach me. It’s annoying though because he’s SUPER bad at it. The first day, he spent 30 minutes miming something to me, and when I finally figured it out, it ended up that he was trying to say “This is where we keep the cup.” NO JOKE. I was like, “Thanks, pops.” Luckily, he speaks French, so a lot of the time we speak a little French. I say, “Naka lanuy waxer _____ ci Wolof?” (How do you say ___ in Wolof?”). I use a French word, and he tells me in Wolof, then he asks me the word in English, so I tell him. I teach him English, and he teaches me Wolof, and our common language is French (which is coming out of the woodwork!).

Sadumay (sod-oo-my): she is like 6 and feisty as hell. In the beginning, she called me “toubab” over and over and over (toubab is Wolof for “white person”). Then, when she learned my name, she switched to this charming little scenario, which occurs frequently: we are watching TV, and I look over at her, and she is staring at me. When we make eye contact, she mouths the word “TOUBAB” really slowly. It’s creepy as shit. That girl knows how to get under my skin.

Mustafa!!: he is 3 and HILARIOUS. The game I play with him is, every time I see him, I go “MUSTAFA!” He ignores me. Actually, it’s less a game and more me saying his name over and over again, and him doing absolutely nothing. Him and papa are bffs. They hang out all the time. I know Mustafa and Sadumay are brother and sister, but I, for the life of me, cannot figure out who their parents are. I think they’re Mama and Papa, but I don’t know because they are both older.

Haty Gaye (hot-ee guy): she cooks the food, which is delicious (her ceebu jen is to die for). She is married to Mama and Papa’s son, who lives with his other wife (I think) in Touba, which is east of Mboro. I have never met her husband (my brother), but she lives with his family. The arrangement is odd, and because of the language barrier, I may be completely wrong (there’s a good chance). Haty Gaye is nice and helps me with Wolof.

Amy (om-ee): she is a teenager, and she doesn’t speak much. She is nice.

Medoune Diaw: yes, we have the same name. I got my Senegalese name the day after I got there. Apparently it’s normal to have the same name in one family (which makes sense because there’s only like 20 Senegalese names). My name is Medoune Diaw, his name is Medoune Diaw, and Papa’s name is Medoune Diaw. No joke, Papa calls himself #1, Medoune Diaw #2, and me #3. In Africa, I have been reduced to merely a number.

Leiy Kane (lay kaan): He is my BUDDY. He is so cool. He’s a tailor, so he always has cool fabrics, and he tries the hardest to teach me Wolof. He is super nice.

Share Kane (sp?): HIS NAME IS LIKE THE TIGER FROM THE JUNGLE BOOK. He is intense. He is mute, so he, legit, makes Darth Vader breathing noises. He is SUPER nice though! Seriously, I can’t make someone like this up. Every time I talk about him with my group, they’re like, “I keep envisioning the tiger with the flaming stick tied to his tail!” He is super cool, and he is actually better at teaching me Wolof than Papa is. He motions, and I get it. Somehow.

Yep, so that’s my family. It’s weird though, this whole other family lives in the same compound, but they don’t eat with us, and I never see them. They are gone all day. It’s strange though because I live in their half of the compound. My family all lives in these block of rooms, and I live across the courtyard and down this hallway with the other family, who I share a bathroom with. Senegalese architecture is strange. Everything is centered around a central courtyard, so basically it’s a bunch of bedrooms leading from the outside. There is no furniture, but everyone sits on either plastic outdoor chairs or on colorful, straw mats called bisaans. I want one for myself! They are super durable, and you take your shoes off before walking on it, so generally it’s pretty clean. Sometimes we eat out in the courtyard, and sometimes we eat on the covered porch area. We just drag the bisaan from one location to the next.

Okay, I don’t want to overload you, so I will update again tomorrow with the rest of my week. Part 2 Preview: Wolof Lessons with Sidy the Rapper, Jamie vs. The Toilet, and “Guess the Toubab”.

Jamie: Student of Wolof

So I already knew I was gonna learn Wolof when I updated earlier today, but I wanted to give my fans (all 3 of you…love you guys. Your fan club membership cards should be coming in the mail any day now) time to comment before I posted another. I wrote the previous post last night. This one I am writing now. Time is weird.

Anyways, so today we had our training sites announced. All of our technical training will be in Thies (technical meaning agriculture), but our lang/cultural training will be in (drum roll please) MBORO. It’s a little north of Thies and RIGHT on the ocean. Apparently it’s a good spot (but who knows, these people may be lying to me). There are 8 of us going (2 lang groups of 4). My group is all UAgs, and the other group is 3 SEDs and 1 UAg. Luckily, I really like the other 7 people I am going with.

After our sites were announced, we immediately went to Wolof classes. My LCF (language cross-cultural facilitator) is Sidy, who is Senegalese. He is awesome and a rapper. He is gonna be teaching me Wolof for the next 8 weeks and also living in Mboro. The LCFs are basically in charge of you during training. The other groups’ LCF, Regina, is also really cool, so we’re in good hands.

The classes were interesting. Learning a language is easier when there’s only 4 people per class. They’re also interesting because Sidy refuses to speak English. He teaches us Wolof, and then explains things in French. It’s annoying but good because I am learning both at the same time. We make a lot of mistakes and laugh a lot. It’s fun. Wolof is a cool language. There are sounds in it not used in the English language, so my tongue is going crazy (insert inappropriate joke [here]). It’s nasally but also guttural, like Hebrew or something. I roll my R’s, too.

After morning Wolof, we had learned a little about staying with host families. Stuff I already knew, pretty much.

Break for lunch.

More Wolof (Naka wa kerga?). Also, “yes” is “waow” (pronounced “WOW”). Awesome.

We then went out again! A bunch of current volunteers took groups out into Thies to explore. I was with Nathan, who is actually my UAg supervisor. He’s a 3rd-year. He took 8 of us around. We went to a couple boutiques (which are grocery stores, although they are tiny) and around a few markets. I bought nothing, but people bought fabric to make local clothes (tailors can make clothes for super cheap).

Walking around Thies was so weird. There is trash and mud everywhere, and taxis honk at you all the time. There are also horse and buggies that can take you around for super cheap. Little gangs of children run up to you and grab your wrist and ask for money. I basically shake them up and walk away briskly. They are scary as hell. Never carry your wallet in your back pocket. I was still freaked out about getting pickpocketed though.

We then went to a more upscale restaurant for a beer and ice cream. The national beer is La Gazelle, which is locally brewed. It was 1000 CFA (African franc…pronounced say-fuh) for this HUGE bottle, which is only like $2. The exchange rate is $1/512 CFA. I didn’t get drunk, but I was definitely feeling it. The alcohol content is higher, too. It was strange though…we were at a more expensive restaurant, and the only people in there were white. One older man sitting alone writing in a journal, and then an older couple with a younger woman (presumably their daughter). Third-world tourism is so interesting. I am SO glad I am able to learn the language and customs. Without the PC, I would be SO lost and freaking out.

We then couldn’t decide whether or not to walk home or take a taxi. I voted taxi because I wanted to learn how to do it with Nathan there. It was only 500 CFA for a 5-minute ride. Unfortunately we had to split up because there were too many of us, and I was in the taxi without Nathan. I was also in the front, where they told you never to go. I was freaking out the whole time (the alcohol wasn’t helping), but it was fine. Apparently you have to bargain a lot. Because we’re all white, they think we’re tourists and try to charge us 5 times the amount something is worth. You have to bring him down a lot. I think knowing the local language well will help in the future, then they’ll know I live here.

Tomorrow I am going to Mboro to live with my host family! I don’t know what the computer situation is going to be. I am not coming back to the Training Center until next Sunday, and I think I am gonna leave my laptop here (locked up). I want to scope out the place before I bring it. Mboro has internet cafes, so hopefully I will be able to update there. It will probably be Tuesday at the earliest though. Wish me luck!

So THAT’S Why They Call it a Farmer’s Tan: Jamie in the Field

11:45 PM (local time), Saturday night:

So I am writing this post on Microsoft Word because, currently, the internet is down. I will upload it as soon as I can get on a comp and access the internet.

Today was hella tiring. We got up and had breakfast, then went to an ag meeting. The PC likes shortening everything/acronyms (<~~ reason I am here…these are my people). UAg = urban agriculture (aka ME…there are only 10 of us). Ag = rural/sustainable agriculture. Agfo = agroforestry. SED = small enterprise development. At the meeting, we learned about composting, and we finally left the classroom to go do things. All the aggies made a meter-tall compost pile. Twas interesting. We combined dry leaves with green leaves, dirt, and manure. We built it up in a pile then stuffed a stick in it. A couple hours later, we pulled the stick up, and it was super hot. Compost is really good for plants.

We then broke for lunch. More “around the bowl”. Dessert was apples (golden delicious).

We went back and started a demo plot. I have very little agricultural experience, so this is all very interesting to me. I learned SO MUCH today. Every aggie should have a demo plot to show people. It’s necessary to prove that you know what you’re talking about, and you can actually grow. They make great examples. Ag volunteers are merely catalysts. We don’t come in as experts, expecting everyone to trust/listen to us. We come in and introduce new techniques to local farmers, teach them, and help/answer questions. The demo plot had 3 techniques (and for those of you who don’t care, skip down):

DOUBLE DIGGING: Basically, soil is super compressed, and a lot of farmer’s plant too shallow. Double digging is when you dig down, then dig down again, so that the soil is loose, which makes it easier for the plants to grow and the roots to dig.

TARP (I DON’T KNOW THE REAL NAME): You build a shallow pit and line it with tarp. You then cut holes in the tarp and fill in the hole with dirt. You plant a bed. This technique keeps the water in one place (but the holes are there so the plants don’t flood). It waters the plants slower.

SINGLE DIGGING: Double digging, but stop after the first dig.

We also planted a “nursery” bed, where we will plant some things, then transplant them to the demo plots later (idk why).

I actually liked it. It was HOT, and I got a little burned (say nothing, Lindsey/Mama). My normal Florida farmer’s tan has evolved into this epic, Senegalese, holy-shit-the-color-difference-is-ridic-/-embarrassing-for-me farmer’s tan. Tools I used: shovel, rake, hoe (the joke’s too obvious, so I’ll refrain…haha…hoe), MACHETE OMG (not kidding…I rocked the hell out of it, and all 7.2 of my toes are still intact). Number of blisters: a lot. Makes me think of rowing in HS. My calloused hands turned to butter these last 4 years, and now I have to dirty them up again.

After growin’, we broke for security training. We learned how to protect ourselves in cities and what to do when hailing a cab, etc. We then, and I am not lying, LEFT THE COMPOUND. We have been cooped up in here like British Claymation chickens for five days, and we finally left. Apparently, right outside the PC Training Center, it’s super dangerous. They call it THE RED ZONE. We aren’t allowed there. They gave us a map which tells us the safe route through it to the main road. We stayed with the security guy, Etienne, and stayed all together. The locals were nice. Here’s what went down:

They waved, and we waved back.

They called us “foreigners” in Wolof (which is “toubab”), we still waved.

One woman tried to sell Tatiana her baby. She was like “WTF”, and Etienne had to fix it.

Ya know, normal stuff.

After security training, we had BIKE TRAINING OMG. I have a bike now! It’s blue (Sca-rah, name it ASAP). I got to pick one and test drive it, and I got a sticker w/ my name on it, and it’s on the bike. It’s mine for the next 27 months (then I have to give it back). The bike comes with tools to fix it (pump, etc). I am excited about the bikin’.

Tomorrow is gonna be good. We get our training site assignments! Basically, training is here in Thiés for 9 weeks, but we are separated depending on the language we speak. We have a host family (that we move in with Monday), and then we switch to either an apartment or a different host family in our real sites. I learned today that, of the 10 assignments (there are 10 UAgs), 7 are Wolof (pronounced wall-off) and 3 are Pulaar (another local language). That means I am either gonna learn Wolof or Pulaar. I still have to learn a lot of French though because French is thrown into everyday conversation A LOT. I kinda want to learn Pulaar because apparently they speak it in 27 African countries. There’s a 30% chance I will learn it, I guess.

So, I am going to bed. It’s annoying that I can’t post this. It’s just gonna uselessly sit on my desktop, unread by the general populous, for a number of hours. These posts WANT to be read! Feed their hunger!

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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