First it rained, really really hard. It rained for what seemed like hours and with an intensity that made it sound like a marching band was playing on my roof. I hardly slept all night and when I finally dragged myself out into the courtyard I saw that the entire street in front of my house was turned into a pond. I spent all day calling it the ocean, telling the kids to try to catch fish and jumping from rock to rock to get out and do some work.
The rain is good news. I was starting to believe that “rainy season” was a misnomer, and my little corner of the Sahel was just an interpretation of “Sahara”. And the farmers. Nine months without rain don’t prepare the fields. But now it came and everyone just chilled out. The weather is cooler, but sticky and it heats up so fast in the afternoon that you could almost see steam rising off the street (or at least off my shoulders).
I had another episode in the night a few days later-- I couldn’t sleep again (I think that insomnia hits a lot of volunteers at different periods) and even though I was just minding my own business reading in bed a big fat cockroach skittered right into my bed, slinking through the gap in my mosquito net (I am lazy about closing it properly because I sleep on the floor and my windows have netting on them). Of course I screamed and jumped up, getting tangled in the net. I have never been so scared in my life. But I was standing there, searching my bed for the bug until I felt it move, on my back. I think I woke up the neighborhood, and then stripped down so fast that my clothes ended up in different corners of the room. This is war. I was excited about the rain until critters started taking refuge in my room.
So it is vacation too, for the kids in school. I am usually not at home during the day, since I go into town to work, but today, Sunday, I realized how exhausted everyone is with the kids. I decided to take a big risk and get out construction paper and crayons. I was terrified-- usually anything for the kids becomes a huge ordeal where things get destroyed, etc. But we had the best morning. Each of the kids drew something for my mom and dad-- I told them I would be going home soon to visit and that my parents wanted to know the kids. So it was a cheap ploy to get to decorate my room with their drawings for a few weeks, but it worked and I’ll try to post a photo-- it certainly brings some happiness to the room!
Monday, July 24, 2006
Saturday, July 15, 2006
The Money Story
It is sometimes very scary to think about the real situation here in Senegal. I have been here long enough to kind of get used to life and the environment and sometimes I forget just how hard and unfair it is. I lose perspective. I guess in a good way, since I stop looking at people here and thinking only about the dirt that they live in, the poor conditions of education, inadequate health care and job opportunities. Instead I see just my neighbors, my family, or the guy whose sense of humor I really enjoy, or the nice old lady on the corner that struggles to show me the teeth she has left in a big smile whenever I see her.
But today was one of those days when I sort of got my perspective back. It tends to happen when I sit down with someone and really get into the grit of my work. I spoke at length with my host mother about the problems the family currently faces. Being the first wife, she is in charge of the finances for the entire family. Her husband, an older man, has been extremely sick for years. He cannot work and requires constant care and attention as well as medicines and an occasional visit from a nurse. The other adults in the house, for the most part, do not work. They try, selling items that they make in the market or raising chickens to sell for food, but for the most part the opportunity in the market is very small and family members lack technical skills and education to attempt many other businesses. In addition, due to cultural norms and certain parts of Islam, my host mother has taken care of a good number of grandchildren, second cousins, or simply other community members. It is the true African family and after living here for more than 6 months I still don’t know where everyone comes from.
So what it comes down to is that the whole family (35 people or so) is supported by 1 son who lives in New York and sells sheets (let this open an immigration debate please), another son who lives in Dakar and sells car parts, and me, from the rent and food that I pay for from Peace Corps. Already I think we can all see where the problem lies. Food is not all that expensive here, but having electricity and running water is. And the bills are serious. (The cost of electricity here is twice what it is in the states-- try that against a struggling currency and a weak economy)
But it gets worse. My family is in trouble with the Mayor’s office. They own three little stalls in a market near our house. After selling there for a while they saw that the market does not draw any clients, it is in a very poor neighborhood and people prefer to go to the big market. So the stores were losing money and they closed them. There are no buyers for the stores. But now the mayor’s office wants its tax money on these boutiques-- for the past two years. It only amounts to about $300 overall, but in Senegal that is a hell of a lot of money.
So now it is my job to work with my family to start a business that they can do with the skills that they have, that they can make money with, and that is sustainable. And how do you do that when you have 35 mouths to feed and are already in a hell of a lot of debt?
Yes, I came here for development. Yes, I came here to get to know the real issues. Yes, I came here to make an impact. But sometimes the problem seems bigger than all of us and our good intentions combined.
But today was one of those days when I sort of got my perspective back. It tends to happen when I sit down with someone and really get into the grit of my work. I spoke at length with my host mother about the problems the family currently faces. Being the first wife, she is in charge of the finances for the entire family. Her husband, an older man, has been extremely sick for years. He cannot work and requires constant care and attention as well as medicines and an occasional visit from a nurse. The other adults in the house, for the most part, do not work. They try, selling items that they make in the market or raising chickens to sell for food, but for the most part the opportunity in the market is very small and family members lack technical skills and education to attempt many other businesses. In addition, due to cultural norms and certain parts of Islam, my host mother has taken care of a good number of grandchildren, second cousins, or simply other community members. It is the true African family and after living here for more than 6 months I still don’t know where everyone comes from.
So what it comes down to is that the whole family (35 people or so) is supported by 1 son who lives in New York and sells sheets (let this open an immigration debate please), another son who lives in Dakar and sells car parts, and me, from the rent and food that I pay for from Peace Corps. Already I think we can all see where the problem lies. Food is not all that expensive here, but having electricity and running water is. And the bills are serious. (The cost of electricity here is twice what it is in the states-- try that against a struggling currency and a weak economy)
But it gets worse. My family is in trouble with the Mayor’s office. They own three little stalls in a market near our house. After selling there for a while they saw that the market does not draw any clients, it is in a very poor neighborhood and people prefer to go to the big market. So the stores were losing money and they closed them. There are no buyers for the stores. But now the mayor’s office wants its tax money on these boutiques-- for the past two years. It only amounts to about $300 overall, but in Senegal that is a hell of a lot of money.
So now it is my job to work with my family to start a business that they can do with the skills that they have, that they can make money with, and that is sustainable. And how do you do that when you have 35 mouths to feed and are already in a hell of a lot of debt?
Yes, I came here for development. Yes, I came here to get to know the real issues. Yes, I came here to make an impact. But sometimes the problem seems bigger than all of us and our good intentions combined.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
my black cat
I have to make some comments on my recent return to Louga after a two-week vacation with my wonderful friends, Bridget and Leah.
Coming home is almost a game now, where I get to guess what kind of a state my room, my fridge and now even my cat might be in, This one was particularly entertaining. The room was great, no problems there… the fridge… well minus the infant suppositories and a freezer packed full of candy my family hopes to sell we are still doing great. Now my cat. The Senegalese really don’t like cats, and for good reason. Cats here are outdoor animals, scavengers and mongrels—interestingly enough this is how I saw cats in America (no offense to cat owners, I just never thought I would be in the position to have one of my very own). But my family here in Louga has slowly warmed to my cat. The girls still scream and jump and run away when he gets out, but they also regularly feed him and shoo him lovingly from their bedrooms when he surprises them.
That being said I was surprised when I came home and heard that my family was trying to wash my cat-- this seemed to me to be a complete oxymoronic Amelia Badelia kind of thing to do, like ironing a bathing suit (which believe me has happened here), especially strange because to this day no one likes to actually touch the cat, they can only observe him. But then I saw him I understood; my once white cat had turned a stingy gray. I examined his fur and decided, no he isn’t dirty, he’s just getting older and at a small seven months the gray hair is finally starting to come out. So I assured my family in broken Wolof that nothing was wrong. How silly for them to think that his fur was dirty and not just changing color!
Then I started to pet him and slowly my hand started turning gray, and then black. Here I am again, the crazy tubab who doesn’t even know how to take care of her own tubab cat and not even another tubab in town to call and ask (everyone seems to be on vacation these days). So I finally decided I would just have to dunk my cat and get this stuff off of it. He really started getting feisty after I dipped him by the tail a few times but finally got most of the dirt off of him. I later sheepishly admitted to my family that they were right—then I got the real story. Apparently he got out of my room a few days ago when they went to feed him and decided to go rolling in the charcoal. Ha!
The other funny part of this is the “seriche.” It is a Senegalese custom to bring a gift when you come home after a trip or some time away from your family. I stopped doing it for a while for myriad reasons, first and foremost that a gift from a tubab carries too much tension with it. But this time I really was gone for a long time and I had some bubble gun I had been meaning to give them. So I gave my host mom a pack of 8 smaller packs of gum, each containing 5 pieces. I promptly disappeared in order to avoid the chaos that would ensue. Thirty minutes later I had ten kids tapping at my door saying they didn’t get any seriche. How is this possible? My mom didn’t realize she needed to open each pack to get at the actual gum and instead 8 kids were wandering around with a whole pack of gum in their mouths rather than each person getting one piece. Perfect. Those 8 kids were damn proud though, which I guess brings a smile to my face.
So in other news the girls visited, yay! And made it safely home without a hitch. I really want to start by thanking them. As soon as I got back to louga I realized how impressed everyone was with them here. And of course here is where it matters most to me. It isn’t easy for a visitor to come and spend time sitting and talking with people-- dealing with all the specificities of a culture that they don’t know. I am also appreciative of the fact that they really shared in the way I live here with my family and my friends. They even shared in some of the stresses that I deal with, and I again, grateful. Here is how some of these encounters went.
Random Senegalese dude: hello, are you fine?
Leah: yes I am fine
(intermittent awkwardness, language issues, leah clearly wanting to read her book on the beach, RSD clearly wanting a tubab girlfriend and thinking Leah is a good candidate, RSD striking a magazine centerfold pose on the beach)
RSD: will you teach me to swim?
Leah: My friends speak French, they are in the water, go ask them.
Me and Bridge in the water: Looks like you’re doing just fine Leah!
RSD: Okay, I go.
(Bridget and I promptly start swimming to shore as he starts swimming out toward us)
On arrival to shore we strategize about how best to be left in peace while I listen to RSD’s friend calls out to him in Wolof “hey, where did you get that tubab?”
Not more than 5 minutes pass before RSD and his buddy decide again to grace us with their presence.
RSD: why do you not teach me to swim?
Meryl: Oh, you wanted us to teach you to swim? We didn’t know.
(all three of us are buried in our books, dying to be left alone, but this guy lounging and flexing his muscles at us just does not get body language)
RSD: (still talking at us, I tuned him out long ago)
Meryl: I’m sorry but we really just want to relax right now
RSD: Oh am I bothering you?
Meryl: No comment
RSD: Okay then (to Leah) I will leave you my address
Leah; No thanks, that’s okay
RSD: (still kneeling to give leah his address) what is that?
Leah: Meryl, tell him
Meryl: (cracking up) (in Wolof) she said, no thanks
RSD: she no want it?
Leah: no
It was a beautiful thing, and after only one hour we had peace again.
Coming home is almost a game now, where I get to guess what kind of a state my room, my fridge and now even my cat might be in, This one was particularly entertaining. The room was great, no problems there… the fridge… well minus the infant suppositories and a freezer packed full of candy my family hopes to sell we are still doing great. Now my cat. The Senegalese really don’t like cats, and for good reason. Cats here are outdoor animals, scavengers and mongrels—interestingly enough this is how I saw cats in America (no offense to cat owners, I just never thought I would be in the position to have one of my very own). But my family here in Louga has slowly warmed to my cat. The girls still scream and jump and run away when he gets out, but they also regularly feed him and shoo him lovingly from their bedrooms when he surprises them.
That being said I was surprised when I came home and heard that my family was trying to wash my cat-- this seemed to me to be a complete oxymoronic Amelia Badelia kind of thing to do, like ironing a bathing suit (which believe me has happened here), especially strange because to this day no one likes to actually touch the cat, they can only observe him. But then I saw him I understood; my once white cat had turned a stingy gray. I examined his fur and decided, no he isn’t dirty, he’s just getting older and at a small seven months the gray hair is finally starting to come out. So I assured my family in broken Wolof that nothing was wrong. How silly for them to think that his fur was dirty and not just changing color!
Then I started to pet him and slowly my hand started turning gray, and then black. Here I am again, the crazy tubab who doesn’t even know how to take care of her own tubab cat and not even another tubab in town to call and ask (everyone seems to be on vacation these days). So I finally decided I would just have to dunk my cat and get this stuff off of it. He really started getting feisty after I dipped him by the tail a few times but finally got most of the dirt off of him. I later sheepishly admitted to my family that they were right—then I got the real story. Apparently he got out of my room a few days ago when they went to feed him and decided to go rolling in the charcoal. Ha!
The other funny part of this is the “seriche.” It is a Senegalese custom to bring a gift when you come home after a trip or some time away from your family. I stopped doing it for a while for myriad reasons, first and foremost that a gift from a tubab carries too much tension with it. But this time I really was gone for a long time and I had some bubble gun I had been meaning to give them. So I gave my host mom a pack of 8 smaller packs of gum, each containing 5 pieces. I promptly disappeared in order to avoid the chaos that would ensue. Thirty minutes later I had ten kids tapping at my door saying they didn’t get any seriche. How is this possible? My mom didn’t realize she needed to open each pack to get at the actual gum and instead 8 kids were wandering around with a whole pack of gum in their mouths rather than each person getting one piece. Perfect. Those 8 kids were damn proud though, which I guess brings a smile to my face.
So in other news the girls visited, yay! And made it safely home without a hitch. I really want to start by thanking them. As soon as I got back to louga I realized how impressed everyone was with them here. And of course here is where it matters most to me. It isn’t easy for a visitor to come and spend time sitting and talking with people-- dealing with all the specificities of a culture that they don’t know. I am also appreciative of the fact that they really shared in the way I live here with my family and my friends. They even shared in some of the stresses that I deal with, and I again, grateful. Here is how some of these encounters went.
Random Senegalese dude: hello, are you fine?
Leah: yes I am fine
(intermittent awkwardness, language issues, leah clearly wanting to read her book on the beach, RSD clearly wanting a tubab girlfriend and thinking Leah is a good candidate, RSD striking a magazine centerfold pose on the beach)
RSD: will you teach me to swim?
Leah: My friends speak French, they are in the water, go ask them.
Me and Bridge in the water: Looks like you’re doing just fine Leah!
RSD: Okay, I go.
(Bridget and I promptly start swimming to shore as he starts swimming out toward us)
On arrival to shore we strategize about how best to be left in peace while I listen to RSD’s friend calls out to him in Wolof “hey, where did you get that tubab?”
Not more than 5 minutes pass before RSD and his buddy decide again to grace us with their presence.
RSD: why do you not teach me to swim?
Meryl: Oh, you wanted us to teach you to swim? We didn’t know.
(all three of us are buried in our books, dying to be left alone, but this guy lounging and flexing his muscles at us just does not get body language)
RSD: (still talking at us, I tuned him out long ago)
Meryl: I’m sorry but we really just want to relax right now
RSD: Oh am I bothering you?
Meryl: No comment
RSD: Okay then (to Leah) I will leave you my address
Leah; No thanks, that’s okay
RSD: (still kneeling to give leah his address) what is that?
Leah: Meryl, tell him
Meryl: (cracking up) (in Wolof) she said, no thanks
RSD: she no want it?
Leah: no
It was a beautiful thing, and after only one hour we had peace again.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
a visit back to thies
I have to take a moment to talk about how impressed I am with my first host family here in senegal. Last night i visited them in their home in Thies and I was so happy and comfortable with the visit. It is hard to express why things went so well, but there was not a single problem-- they didn't treat me like some strange ghost coming to visit. We immediately settled in and started talking. They honestly care about me, my adjustment to Louga, my family at home, and likewise I really care about them. Little Fallou is in a session of serious exams so that he can continue school, Dior my sister just started a new job, Seynabou is finishing her first year of teaching in a school-- I am just so impressed with all of them. They are really model people as well, the mother divorced several years ago and now supports their entire family which is actually more than 8 people. SHe has instilled in all of the kids the importance of studying, of marrying the person of your choice, to keep in mind your financial status when planning a family, and most importantly to work hard. Being with them was so refreshing and inspiring, I can only hope that someday my family in Louga will all have such lofty goals and accomplished students.
So then I learned that Dior is about to get married! This is going to be a big day. I wish I could tell the whole story here but it just won't fit-- the basics are that I got introduced to the fiance before I knew what was going on. Then my mom, Nogaye, started to tease mesaying he's ugly, Dior made a bad choice, she couldn't get anyone better-- this naturally made me so uncomfortable, I didn't know what to say, but it is a typical Wolof joke-- Seynabou finally saved me saying a Wolof proverb "a man cannot be ugly if his pockets are deep" Perfect.
The story ends that the girls asked me to be in the ceremony as a "bridesmaid" an honor reserved for sisters and close friends. This will be quite an experience-- Wolof parties are crazy enough without a random toubab crashing it. and it means that I get a new dress to match all the other girls and we'll have to dance in front of everyone to really loud music. kind of like in the states but much more embarrassing when you are all white and awkward. There is something about Wolofs that makes them naturally very cool and sexy that just leaves us tubabs looking weird.
probably good to end with that philosophical statement :)
So then I learned that Dior is about to get married! This is going to be a big day. I wish I could tell the whole story here but it just won't fit-- the basics are that I got introduced to the fiance before I knew what was going on. Then my mom, Nogaye, started to tease mesaying he's ugly, Dior made a bad choice, she couldn't get anyone better-- this naturally made me so uncomfortable, I didn't know what to say, but it is a typical Wolof joke-- Seynabou finally saved me saying a Wolof proverb "a man cannot be ugly if his pockets are deep" Perfect.
The story ends that the girls asked me to be in the ceremony as a "bridesmaid" an honor reserved for sisters and close friends. This will be quite an experience-- Wolof parties are crazy enough without a random toubab crashing it. and it means that I get a new dress to match all the other girls and we'll have to dance in front of everyone to really loud music. kind of like in the states but much more embarrassing when you are all white and awkward. There is something about Wolofs that makes them naturally very cool and sexy that just leaves us tubabs looking weird.
probably good to end with that philosophical statement :)
Saturday, May 20, 2006
photos are up!
okay; the good news is that I think enough photos are up that I'm willing to unveil them,
please take a look
www.snapfish.com
go to login in the upper right corner
email is meryl.guyer@gmail.com
password is senegal
enjoy!
please take a look
www.snapfish.com
go to login in the upper right corner
email is meryl.guyer@gmail.com
password is senegal
enjoy!
10 reasons why my grandma would have loved senegal
As much as my relationship with senegal has its ups and downs I really have to acknowledge that it is a great country with a lot of true paradise within its borders and also some truly incredible people. I found myself walking through town the other day thinking how much my grandmother might have appreciated its sandy beaches and warm afternoons, which led to a much funnier moment imagining my grandmother actually arriving in Senegal... thus this week's theme.
10 There is no arguing with the thermostat, it is the perfect temperature, 110 degrees at any moment of the day.
9 There are so many helpful people around! Even just now a nice young gentleman helped me into my taxi, too bad I seem to have misplaced my wallet and that gold necklace I was wearing...
8 Whether it is fish and rice or meat and rice, all the food seems to take on an even oatmeal consistency
7 There is always a team of young girls around to manage the housework.
6 There is not a single Detroit Lion's football game to be found on any station. Only the Senegal Lions soccer games
5 In fact there is only 1 station, and more often than not it is dominated by religious programming
4 Lettuce in the market it always on sale, only 20 cents. Beats the pants off the price at the base.
3 Plastic shopping bags and baskets and even wearing hair nets is really in style
2 They even have a golf course! and it's the perfect size, just 12 holes...
1 All the music is played loud enough that it doesn't matter how good your hearing is; it will come in loud and clear.
10 There is no arguing with the thermostat, it is the perfect temperature, 110 degrees at any moment of the day.
9 There are so many helpful people around! Even just now a nice young gentleman helped me into my taxi, too bad I seem to have misplaced my wallet and that gold necklace I was wearing...
8 Whether it is fish and rice or meat and rice, all the food seems to take on an even oatmeal consistency
7 There is always a team of young girls around to manage the housework.
6 There is not a single Detroit Lion's football game to be found on any station. Only the Senegal Lions soccer games
5 In fact there is only 1 station, and more often than not it is dominated by religious programming
4 Lettuce in the market it always on sale, only 20 cents. Beats the pants off the price at the base.
3 Plastic shopping bags and baskets and even wearing hair nets is really in style
2 They even have a golf course! and it's the perfect size, just 12 holes...
1 All the music is played loud enough that it doesn't matter how good your hearing is; it will come in loud and clear.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
what is weird about this?
Lots of big news recently and still I can think to write about is work stuff-- maybe the biggest rollercoaster I've been on in my life. First things first. Jonathan arrives in less than one week, and I think pretty much everyone within 11 miles of me has been alerted. The women are all trying to get me ready for this mysterious male guest, telling me what kind of incense to burn in my room, the best kind of plastic beads to wear around my waist (the bine-bine is a classic Wolof trick-- every girl from 2 days to 52 years is wearing them), how I should do my makeup, my hair, etc. Anyway, the excitement when (and if) jonathan actually makes it to Louga should be worth the wait. My Louga host family has been debating for months whether they should kill a lamb, a camel or a goat for the occasion. can't wait
In other news I got a cat. a little kitten, a boy. and I named him Scout, pronounced "Scoot" in Senegalese fashion. At first he was great... we played, we cuddled, he scratched the hell out of my hands in a sweet loving way... but then i started to realize, scoot has a real mean streak which is primarily played out in his peeing on my bed several times a day and throughout the night. even when I finally get peace (although sleeping in a bed that stinks of kitten urine) I am awoken at 5:30 am. why? while I have learned to sleep through the call to prayer, Scoot has not, and Scoot is a morning cat, who likes to play, leap and pounce as soon as he wakes up, a pattern which often brings his path right across my face.
Work stuff too is amusing. I had a meeting the other day with a representative of the mayor of Louga, who also happens to somehow work with a branch of an NGO out of Dakar. he came to my office and we discussed his plan, which while constructive and ambitious, is also nebulous, undefined and unrealistic. When I began to inquire as to the detailed functioning of the project, or even of his knowledge of the different themes he was quite taken aback. Keep in mind that this is our third meeting... It was now that he chose to ask me who I was, where I was from, what kind of education I had, etc. Already he is seriously doubting my ability to assess his project validilty... but here is the real kicker,... his questions had been going on for a while and I knew something was weird and then there it was "when you were in the united states did you know anyone with black skin? did you ever work with anyone with black skin?" wow. the part that is even scarier.... is that he was not talking about racism-- that whole concept wasn't even part of his thinking. Instead, the point he was trying to get at was that in his opinion no person with black skin would worry about financial details or business plans. It was not the culture of planning that separated us, but just simply the color of our skin. Blown away, I didn't even know how to respond. Anyway, he was soon out of my office, blank business plan guide forms tucked under his arm, probably never to be seen again.
In other news I got a cat. a little kitten, a boy. and I named him Scout, pronounced "Scoot" in Senegalese fashion. At first he was great... we played, we cuddled, he scratched the hell out of my hands in a sweet loving way... but then i started to realize, scoot has a real mean streak which is primarily played out in his peeing on my bed several times a day and throughout the night. even when I finally get peace (although sleeping in a bed that stinks of kitten urine) I am awoken at 5:30 am. why? while I have learned to sleep through the call to prayer, Scoot has not, and Scoot is a morning cat, who likes to play, leap and pounce as soon as he wakes up, a pattern which often brings his path right across my face.
Work stuff too is amusing. I had a meeting the other day with a representative of the mayor of Louga, who also happens to somehow work with a branch of an NGO out of Dakar. he came to my office and we discussed his plan, which while constructive and ambitious, is also nebulous, undefined and unrealistic. When I began to inquire as to the detailed functioning of the project, or even of his knowledge of the different themes he was quite taken aback. Keep in mind that this is our third meeting... It was now that he chose to ask me who I was, where I was from, what kind of education I had, etc. Already he is seriously doubting my ability to assess his project validilty... but here is the real kicker,... his questions had been going on for a while and I knew something was weird and then there it was "when you were in the united states did you know anyone with black skin? did you ever work with anyone with black skin?" wow. the part that is even scarier.... is that he was not talking about racism-- that whole concept wasn't even part of his thinking. Instead, the point he was trying to get at was that in his opinion no person with black skin would worry about financial details or business plans. It was not the culture of planning that separated us, but just simply the color of our skin. Blown away, I didn't even know how to respond. Anyway, he was soon out of my office, blank business plan guide forms tucked under his arm, probably never to be seen again.
Bifall Gamou April 16
so we killed a cow two nights ago. It was pretty gory and also kind of cool since when it was done there was an enormous dismembered bull head and horns sitting in our courtyard area for hours. They started late at night so that by the end the old man charged with directing the operation was crouched under a flickering spotlight using his machete to chop the last parts into manageable pieces. It is a distinct image in my mind still and its too bad that I couldn't photo it to share with you-- or maybe that would be worse, since then the image in my mind would clash with the reality. Anyway-- the gentleman, Aliou Gueye is a wiry, thin man with bits of white in a scraggly beard and even at night under the spotlight he wore his sunglasses, a second-hand pair of gold-rimmed aviators. the sheath for his machete pushed aside and the dulled blade covered in blood, his crouch brought him close to the middle of the animal skin spread in the packed sand of our kitchen courtyard. Each leg of the animal retained its distinct shape, even skinned down to the bone, they stacked one on another behind Gueye while he worked down to the end, finally hacking the hooves and tail loose from the skin and dropping them into the pit of water and refuse my brothers had dug into the ground before the slaughter.
anyone who is as familiar with large mammal anatomy as I now am knows a cow is a hell of a lot of meat. and considering the practice here of eating everything that is edible, I was sure we'd have a lot of food ahead of us. And we ate the whole thing (I think) yesterday. It was the Bifall Gamou in Tivaouane. Which I know doesn't mean anything-- but what is important is that it is a religious pilgrimage to a town called tivaouane, made by members of the Bifall sect (a sub-sect of a Senegalese Muslim brotherhood called Mouride). I think that most people would agree that Bifalls tend to be somewhat more radical (in a religious sense, not a crazy militant sense) of the senegalese sects. they have their own marabouts (or religious leaders) just like the rest of the sects, but they worship them with a fanaticism that is not as fanatic in some of the other groups. In any case, I certainly felt that when I was in Tivaouane.
Which brings me to broach a topic that I would rather just avoid, but I think it is kind of necessary-- and that is racism and intolerance. I can't even pretend to know what it feels like to experience it every day for one's entire life, but I also never thought I would experience it to the extent that I have here. even at this religious event, for Islam, which invokes peace and tolerance in every aspect, I experienced it even more deeply than I do on a normal day in my life in Louga. Of course, it isn't everyone, it is not even a majority, but there is no denying that it exists here and that it is a very strong sentiment. it would seem unthinkable, unimaginable that racism like this still exists, particularly considering the fact that I live with Wolofs, speak their language, and have come here to help-- but to be honest, i can hardly blame them. For many reasons, the first being that many have never met a white person who doesn't treat them with disrespect and anger, or one that bothered to learn their language. Second is the harboring of this jealousy of the wealth that white people have and does not reach this country or its people. Third is the fact that popular belief leads many to blame the west for the "continuing evils" of slavery. No matter what the real story is, the over-arching image of slavery has endured and doesn't leave a pleasant trail behind. Fourth is that the white person embodies a western culture that many do not want to see pollute their traditions-- and sometimes tradition is everything. I was recently speaking with an American family living nearby, and as reluctant as we were to acknowledge it, we were all feeling frustrated with the same trend-- most things that are different here are immediately seen as "bad" okay, we all know this old paradigm, but imagine how this affects a culture when it isn't just people being afraid of change, but it is in ev-ery-thing... there is no innovation, no individualism, excrutiatingly slow social change, virtually no leadership and certainly no one who is willing to stand up and disagree--- such disaccord simply does not exist. When people want to say no, they won't even say that-- it is too harsh. Instead they will find a roundabout way of averting your eyes or changing the subject so that you might get the message without having to hazard a confrontation. I better stop myself there, but you get the idea?
anyone who is as familiar with large mammal anatomy as I now am knows a cow is a hell of a lot of meat. and considering the practice here of eating everything that is edible, I was sure we'd have a lot of food ahead of us. And we ate the whole thing (I think) yesterday. It was the Bifall Gamou in Tivaouane. Which I know doesn't mean anything-- but what is important is that it is a religious pilgrimage to a town called tivaouane, made by members of the Bifall sect (a sub-sect of a Senegalese Muslim brotherhood called Mouride). I think that most people would agree that Bifalls tend to be somewhat more radical (in a religious sense, not a crazy militant sense) of the senegalese sects. they have their own marabouts (or religious leaders) just like the rest of the sects, but they worship them with a fanaticism that is not as fanatic in some of the other groups. In any case, I certainly felt that when I was in Tivaouane.
Which brings me to broach a topic that I would rather just avoid, but I think it is kind of necessary-- and that is racism and intolerance. I can't even pretend to know what it feels like to experience it every day for one's entire life, but I also never thought I would experience it to the extent that I have here. even at this religious event, for Islam, which invokes peace and tolerance in every aspect, I experienced it even more deeply than I do on a normal day in my life in Louga. Of course, it isn't everyone, it is not even a majority, but there is no denying that it exists here and that it is a very strong sentiment. it would seem unthinkable, unimaginable that racism like this still exists, particularly considering the fact that I live with Wolofs, speak their language, and have come here to help-- but to be honest, i can hardly blame them. For many reasons, the first being that many have never met a white person who doesn't treat them with disrespect and anger, or one that bothered to learn their language. Second is the harboring of this jealousy of the wealth that white people have and does not reach this country or its people. Third is the fact that popular belief leads many to blame the west for the "continuing evils" of slavery. No matter what the real story is, the over-arching image of slavery has endured and doesn't leave a pleasant trail behind. Fourth is that the white person embodies a western culture that many do not want to see pollute their traditions-- and sometimes tradition is everything. I was recently speaking with an American family living nearby, and as reluctant as we were to acknowledge it, we were all feeling frustrated with the same trend-- most things that are different here are immediately seen as "bad" okay, we all know this old paradigm, but imagine how this affects a culture when it isn't just people being afraid of change, but it is in ev-ery-thing... there is no innovation, no individualism, excrutiatingly slow social change, virtually no leadership and certainly no one who is willing to stand up and disagree--- such disaccord simply does not exist. When people want to say no, they won't even say that-- it is too harsh. Instead they will find a roundabout way of averting your eyes or changing the subject so that you might get the message without having to hazard a confrontation. I better stop myself there, but you get the idea?
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
The Routine
Yay! Laura, I can't believe you saw an exhibit on Tabaski at the Snite! How exciting! What you described sounds really accurate-- I just participated in our Tabaski celebration in January and as soon as I get my computer back I will post photos with more detail for you-- but you are completely right-- Tabaski is the major holiday in the Muslim calendar here in Senegal and it celebrates the story (very similar to the Bible story) of Ibrahima and Ismaillah. I am not terribly good with the story (all that I understood in the Wolof communication was spotty) but Ismaillah was supposed to sacrifice his son, Ibrahima and just as he was about to bring the knife to his throat Allah replaced him with a sheep so that a sheep was sacrificed instead. Again, I am foggy on all this but you get the idea. So now, every single family kills a sheep on Tabaski and then visits family and friends asking their forgiveness and friendship for the year to come. My experience with this was interesting--- my Wolof still had a long way to go and I ended up just standing in awe as my family slaughtered 5 sheep; drained their blood into a pit next to my room and promptly cooked up the liver to serve to me. Then I put on my fancy Wolof traditional outfit and paraded around the neighborhood -- clearly I felt a little silly, but being their most important holiday I was happy to do it-- and more than that, I was honored to take such a special part in their celebration. Here in my town you can really see how important it is-- family members from all over the country and even abroad come home just for this holiday.
SO, hopefully I will get those sweet photos up for you soon.
The routine I want to talk about today is the questioning... normally this routine ensues every time I enter a boutique or a business or a vehicle. I greet in Wolof, everyone responds. An older man says "oh, the tubab speaks Wolof!" I say yes. Everyone laughs. The man begins the onslaught. DO you have a husband (known as the borom ker "house manager", which is culturally a lie, the women rule the house) Where is he? I don't believe you. Where do you live? How long have you been here? How did you get that name? Can you cook? Why not? How much water do you put in the rice to cook for your borom ker? Can you dance? Why not? Come over to my house and I will show you how to dance. You don't want a black boyfriend? Why not? You don't want him to bring you to paradise? What's better a black boyfriend or an American? ( people know that there are african americans, but don't really believe that they exist-- say that a black person could not live with snow). And thus the questioning continues. I've gotten so adept at responding-- telling people that I have 4 husbands so I can't have another or that I only want to be the 4th wife, so they should come find me again after they already have 3-- but until just a few days ago I had never seen it happen to anyone but me; the token tubab.
So there I was; in the car coming back from Thies with 7 other passengers, all male except for one 18 year old, air'headed girl. I couldnt believe it, she got all the questions (except for the ones about a black boyfriend of course) so that's when it really really clicked. The problem here is just a lack of creativity. every senegalese man has the same routine tucked away in his memory, to be showed off for everyone to see at the earliest opportunity.
A couple quick work stories now... For the most part work is actually going extremely well-- the Embassy has agreed to finance the work on and English corner here in Louga so they are coming through next week, and I am preparing a couple classes to start within the next couple weeks, as well as consulting individually for a few entrepreneurs and community organizations and schools. but still, there are some things that are just laughable.
First business plan I took home to review-- very well done, just needs to be updated, a few holes to fill in, then it is all ready to go. I met with the entrepreneur; we went over the sections to fix up, meeting was going great-- when we finished he handed it back to me and said, "so when you"re done with it we can take it to the bank?" wow, was the idea of "entrepreneurship" lost on him. It took me 40 minutes to convince him that I couldn't possibly know his business well enough to write his plan for him.
Then, in the neighborhood I met with some men who said they have a community organization that disbanded but now they are getting back together and they want to work with me. Great, so what's your project? Well, we need you to find an NGO with a project and money and then we will write the project and send it to them.
lordy lordy
thanks!
SO, hopefully I will get those sweet photos up for you soon.
The routine I want to talk about today is the questioning... normally this routine ensues every time I enter a boutique or a business or a vehicle. I greet in Wolof, everyone responds. An older man says "oh, the tubab speaks Wolof!" I say yes. Everyone laughs. The man begins the onslaught. DO you have a husband (known as the borom ker "house manager", which is culturally a lie, the women rule the house) Where is he? I don't believe you. Where do you live? How long have you been here? How did you get that name? Can you cook? Why not? How much water do you put in the rice to cook for your borom ker? Can you dance? Why not? Come over to my house and I will show you how to dance. You don't want a black boyfriend? Why not? You don't want him to bring you to paradise? What's better a black boyfriend or an American? ( people know that there are african americans, but don't really believe that they exist-- say that a black person could not live with snow). And thus the questioning continues. I've gotten so adept at responding-- telling people that I have 4 husbands so I can't have another or that I only want to be the 4th wife, so they should come find me again after they already have 3-- but until just a few days ago I had never seen it happen to anyone but me; the token tubab.
So there I was; in the car coming back from Thies with 7 other passengers, all male except for one 18 year old, air'headed girl. I couldnt believe it, she got all the questions (except for the ones about a black boyfriend of course) so that's when it really really clicked. The problem here is just a lack of creativity. every senegalese man has the same routine tucked away in his memory, to be showed off for everyone to see at the earliest opportunity.
A couple quick work stories now... For the most part work is actually going extremely well-- the Embassy has agreed to finance the work on and English corner here in Louga so they are coming through next week, and I am preparing a couple classes to start within the next couple weeks, as well as consulting individually for a few entrepreneurs and community organizations and schools. but still, there are some things that are just laughable.
First business plan I took home to review-- very well done, just needs to be updated, a few holes to fill in, then it is all ready to go. I met with the entrepreneur; we went over the sections to fix up, meeting was going great-- when we finished he handed it back to me and said, "so when you"re done with it we can take it to the bank?" wow, was the idea of "entrepreneurship" lost on him. It took me 40 minutes to convince him that I couldn't possibly know his business well enough to write his plan for him.
Then, in the neighborhood I met with some men who said they have a community organization that disbanded but now they are getting back together and they want to work with me. Great, so what's your project? Well, we need you to find an NGO with a project and money and then we will write the project and send it to them.
lordy lordy
thanks!
Saturday, March 04, 2006
by the way
one of my side work projects, the establishment of an English Library in Louga, with the support of the American Embassy in Dakar has gotten favorable reviews from the embassy and we will have an official visit next month :) Cheers for teaching English and the love of reading!
Senegal is all about sitting in plastic chairs feeling awkward
I need to thank Maren Johnstone, a former PCV from Senegal for this skillfully crafted quip-- it really sums up a lot of things about living here and now as we are completing our 3-week training and preparing to head back to site I find myself thinking more and more about this.
We just completed the development of a 6-month work plan for our return to site and I realized that I am going to go back to where I am the only white person around (and even more alienated by the fact that I actually do understand the local language) and I will once again be the center of everyone's attention. I have enjoyed so much peaceful anonymity among other Americans that I think I need to start bracing myself for the worst. So this may include going to several baptisms, marriages, ceremonies for pilgrims retunring from Mecca, sitting in a plastic chair for hours on end while wearing a stiff damask curtain and a scarf shaped into a fruit bowl on my head.
The scary part is that I am not nearly as afraid of it all as I once was.
I've learned a lot at this training and I am anxious to get out and start working (which will hopefully help distract me from other, more negative sentiments like "Senegal Breaks Things!"--such as my ipod, my computer, my solar battery, my flashlight and all of my clothing) but first I just need to eat one more hamburger in civilization. And the real kicker is that I am about to experience real real civilization when I meet my family in Italy next week (I am such a lucky brat!) I have sent a list of "necessities" t be brought to me that is as long as your tax documents. not to mention the full wheel of parmesan I plan to buy upon arrival in Rome.
so this leads me to the next question-- what really qualifies as civilization? I'm so numb to everything here now that it doesn't at all seem strange that I eat with my hands, I share public transportation with livestock and occasionally see the driver take the key out of the ignition while still driving in order to clean his ears with it, that there is trash everywhere and little talibe begging on every corner. But here's the deal, people are not necessarily starving, there is a system of education (though it is far from acceptable) and every other basic need has at least some provision-- and to be honest, compared to a lot of African nations; you might think that Senegal is on the up andup; and then you have the discussion about female genital mutilation, or about the negotiation of dowries for marriages, or about the concours that elementary students must participate in just to have the chance to go on to middle school! there is a long long way to go. am I being clear on this? When we say "development" I think it has so little to do with what people have-- it relates more to the way people think--
One example; my closest female friends in this country are our language trainers. They are far from Louga and I see them rarely, but they are the first individuals with whom I can carry a conversation that does not include hair extensions or cooking ceeb u jen. on the other hand, these particular women are so educated (meaning university degrees) that they can rarely find a senegalese boyfriend who is not terrified/intimidated/who knows what by their intelligence. Until we can see educated people who can succeed, hold a job and still fit easily into the traditional family structure we are not seeing development.
this is a bad example but I am feeling scatterbrained and will have to come back to revise it later-- someone help me by asking some questions, then I will know what direction to go in next time. Thanks, miss you all , love you to pieces!
Meryl
We just completed the development of a 6-month work plan for our return to site and I realized that I am going to go back to where I am the only white person around (and even more alienated by the fact that I actually do understand the local language) and I will once again be the center of everyone's attention. I have enjoyed so much peaceful anonymity among other Americans that I think I need to start bracing myself for the worst. So this may include going to several baptisms, marriages, ceremonies for pilgrims retunring from Mecca, sitting in a plastic chair for hours on end while wearing a stiff damask curtain and a scarf shaped into a fruit bowl on my head.
The scary part is that I am not nearly as afraid of it all as I once was.
I've learned a lot at this training and I am anxious to get out and start working (which will hopefully help distract me from other, more negative sentiments like "Senegal Breaks Things!"--such as my ipod, my computer, my solar battery, my flashlight and all of my clothing) but first I just need to eat one more hamburger in civilization. And the real kicker is that I am about to experience real real civilization when I meet my family in Italy next week (I am such a lucky brat!) I have sent a list of "necessities" t be brought to me that is as long as your tax documents. not to mention the full wheel of parmesan I plan to buy upon arrival in Rome.
so this leads me to the next question-- what really qualifies as civilization? I'm so numb to everything here now that it doesn't at all seem strange that I eat with my hands, I share public transportation with livestock and occasionally see the driver take the key out of the ignition while still driving in order to clean his ears with it, that there is trash everywhere and little talibe begging on every corner. But here's the deal, people are not necessarily starving, there is a system of education (though it is far from acceptable) and every other basic need has at least some provision-- and to be honest, compared to a lot of African nations; you might think that Senegal is on the up andup; and then you have the discussion about female genital mutilation, or about the negotiation of dowries for marriages, or about the concours that elementary students must participate in just to have the chance to go on to middle school! there is a long long way to go. am I being clear on this? When we say "development" I think it has so little to do with what people have-- it relates more to the way people think--
One example; my closest female friends in this country are our language trainers. They are far from Louga and I see them rarely, but they are the first individuals with whom I can carry a conversation that does not include hair extensions or cooking ceeb u jen. on the other hand, these particular women are so educated (meaning university degrees) that they can rarely find a senegalese boyfriend who is not terrified/intimidated/who knows what by their intelligence. Until we can see educated people who can succeed, hold a job and still fit easily into the traditional family structure we are not seeing development.
this is a bad example but I am feeling scatterbrained and will have to come back to revise it later-- someone help me by asking some questions, then I will know what direction to go in next time. Thanks, miss you all , love you to pieces!
Meryl
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