Tomorrow is the first day of Ramadan.  So, that means everyone in my village will be up before sunrise to eat a small breakfast, then will not eat or drink anything until the sun sets. For a month.  Except women who are menstruating, and theoretically nursing or pregnant mothers. Though sometimes women in these categories still fast. Several women in my village were fasting when I left for IST to make up for the days they would be menstruating (and therefore eating) during Ramadan. I certainly will NOT be giving up my water. That sounds like death, given how much I sweat lately.  But I am going to try fasting.  At least, getting up, eating breakfast (probably not before sunrise) and then not eating anything until break-fast.  I have no religious motivation for this plan, but since I’m all about ethnographic participant observation and cultural immersion and all that, I’ll give it a go.  Maybe I’ll even do a couple days full out (except the water part. Sorry. Can’t do it.)

Fortunately, my Wonderful parents are coming in just over two weeks!! So for the week they’re here, I will definitely be eating. And for a couple nights at least, sleeping in air conditioning!! Hooooray!! Also, oh my gosh, I get to spend some time with my parents! And ascend with them, and laugh with them, and talk about stuff like ascending and god and science and life and probably some mundane stuff too.  SOOO excited!!!

Meanwhile, its back to village for two weeks. Which I’m really glad about. Two weeks away is a long time and I miss pretty much everything about my life in village. Also, now that IST has happened, I have a much better idea of some of the work I can actually be doing. I’m thinking well improvements (adding covers to keep feces from blowing in when the wells aren’t in use), possibly starting a CARE group (getting a core group of women in the village to get together to practice better health or environmental practices and then teaching their neighborhoods what they’ve learned), tree planting, rocket stoves (hugely more fuel efficient with less smoke to damage womens lungs as the cook, made of locally available materials), some kind of school club for life skills and self empowerment, and next year building a school wall. It’s a start. Since it’s Ramadan, I’ll spent this month doing my baseline survey—which is so much more possible now that I know what work is possible here, and have spent two months getting an idea of what my community considers valuable and how they work together.  So, this first week I’ll get all my stuff together from IST and review the ideas I had there and what questions I need to ask specific friends in village. Then I’ll have a week to start the survey, then a week with my parents, then the rest of Ramadan to finish the survey. Sometime in September, my bosses will be coming to my village to see my two-year action plan. For this meeting, I need a committee of village members who have to sign off the plan. Unfortunately, it was explicitly put forth as the responsibility of my community counterpart to create this committee, and that has not happened. In fact… [censored]. Not sure how I’m gonna deal with that one, but I trust that it will work out perfectly. Whatever that means J

Also in September, we have our first ever Walo girls camp (the Walo is the eastern Saint-Louis region and the Louga region just beneath us). I didn’t get here in time to go through the process of getting girls from my village in on the fun, but next year I will, and I’m excited to help with the camp anyway. I mean, it’s a camp. And I love the chance to do something to encourage girls to stay in school and choose their own life-path, to emphasize that they don’t have to get married and have babies and do house work for the rest of their lives if that isn’t what they want. If it is, that’s okay with me to. I just think its important that they know they have the right to self determine.

On that note, here’s an interesting fact about the Peace Corps: a large number of projects here are funded by YOU GUYS! That is to say, we don’t get funds from the Peace Corps, we write up a grant, and through official Peace Corps channels, post it on the internet and ask for donations from anyone and everyone we know. There’s a chance that somewhere down the line I will ask for funding for a personal project, and I’m slightly hesitant to play that card so early in my service. Still, a little money goes a long way here. So, I’m going to ask.  This girls camp will cost us $5,000. That includes the space we’re renting from the University of Saint-Louis, food for everyone and cooks to make it, all materials for the sessions, and a small per-diem for our Senegalese counterparts who will be working as presenters and counselors. If you support the work we’re doing with these girls, please consider donating. Even a $5 contribution will help. You can donate at pcsenegal.org by clicking on the Camp Gem Sa Bopp link (the name of the camp means “believe in yourself!” There’s a picture of me on there too! Yay! Also, there’s a lot of other cool information about the work we do here on the site. Check it out!

That’s all I’ve got for now. I have spent way too much money these last two weeks, but had a great time with my friends from PST and am now completely ready to get back to normal village life. I miss pulling water from the well! What is that? So, onward!

Random

It seems like I should blog, and there’s a lot to say (there always is, really), but I’m not sure where to start. This will probably be pretty all over the place.

I’ll start with the most insane thing that’s happened lately. The other day I was on my way home, crossing the village, when I passed through the main family house at the same time my host sister-in-law was there saying something to my host mom. Her tone of voice was just slightly off, but it left me ill at ease. They walked pretty quickly towards my house, and I stayed just behind them.  Just as I was thinking something bad must have happened, but what, I saw Modou, my friend and host-cousin, literally running toward the house. Which of course, left me a bit freaked. Turns out, the horse bit one of the two sheep. The one who’s eyes I had stared into, just a cute lovely creature. The horse is ill-tempered. So, I wasn’t sure if I should go in to the animal area, but a bunch of the family had gathered so I went in. Modou was checking the sheep, trying to see what could be done. The other Modou, my host-second-cousin, showed up, and carried the sheep to a new location, away from the horse. It had been bitten in the back of the neck and was unable to stand. I’m guessing there was some spinal damage there… Anyway, the only thing they could do was kill it. One Modou gently held the poor thing in place while the other Modou slit its throat. Part of me wanted to be nowhere near what was happening, but I couldn’t leave, and felt like I should see. Like I should let myself reconnect to the “harsh” reality of the meat I eat. I’m glad I did, but it left me shaken and surging with strange emotions. I went for a small walk, literally just around the outside of the compound, but that didn’t do it. So, I got my pulley, my rope and bucket, my beignoir and scarf, and headed to the well.  Carrying one pan of water didn’t use up all that energy either. So, I helped my cousin Seynabou get a couple more pans. I tried pouring water from my head into a clay pot that holds water (the women here are masters at this) and only succeeded in pouring water all over myself. Then I went back to pull and bring back some more water. Somehow working ‘til my muscles were tired and my clothes were soaked and covered with sand felt perfect. Surely this is pretty simple psychology. Anyway in keeping with my desire to meet my meat, I went back into the livestock area. The two Modou’s had finished skinning the body, and were working on cleaning and cutting up the meat. After watching for awhile, I took a shower. And then ate my fill of delicious mutton in onion sauce for dinner. Talk about fresh meat, man, the taste is notably More.

On a more pleasant note, I’m discovered the game of Kumpp. It’s a female-only afternoon in Nawet sport played in the penc, or community gathering area, with a tennis ball. To start, one girl drops the ball at one end and starts running. Others scramble to get the ball and hit the runner with it, as hard as possible. If you can’t realistically get anywhere without being hit, like if you’re the runner and the ball in the hands of someone between you and the goal, you put your hands  in front of your forehead as a target, hoping to catch the ball. Because once you’re hit, the woman who threw the ball at you starts running in the opposite direction. If you can catch the ball, you basically get to throw it right back at whoever threw at you, and hope to continue on your way. Sounds basic, but its major fun. Barefoot in the sand is a good place to start, and it’s hilarious to see who gets pegged, how trips on the sand and then gets pegged, who fumbles the ball, all the usual stuff that makes team sports worth playing. It’s also obviously a good way to show the community that I want to hang out with them and do what they do.  So, yeah. Kumpp. Although, I do Not understand why Kumpp season and soccer season are during the hottest part of the year. Does this make sense? There must be some cultural reason for this that I’m unaware of. I mean, it’s not like it Ever gets so cold here you can’t comfortably play outside.

What else… OH GRASS!!!  So, we’ve still just had the one good rain. We had a short sprinkling a couple mornings ago… Still, the little green things in the sand continue to grow. I rode a charette through the countryside this morning and again this evening, and saw REAL GRASS!! I mean, the little tree-lings growing here are lovely and wonderful, but I saw a full shade tree with a carpet of real grass beneath it, and my heart about stopped. I can’t wait to take a pagne out to one of these spots and just lounge! (There’s a lot of just lounging on pagne’s or mats here, especially from about noon-four (the hottest part of the day), but it’s always on sand.) GRASS, man!!

“Slowly, slowly you will catch the monkey in the forest.” This is a Wolof proverb. So, slowly, slowly, I’m getting to really know people here. Getting to know how to deal with every-day here. Getting a comfortable routine. But I’m still somewhat unsure of how I’m going to WORK here, and what exactly I’m going to do. Fortunately, we’re about to have our IST, where we’re supposed to be learning a bit more about that kind of thing. Plus, 2/3 of the goals of Peace Corps are cultural exchange only, which I’m definitely participating actively in. Another reason I’m excited about IST is that I get to see my friends from my stage! Almost all of whom I haven’t seen for two months. Time for an Hamburger Royale, and a Gazelle or two with my first friends in this country. Though I know that in two weeks away from here, I’m going to miss this place something awful.

Miin naa bu baaxa baax! Fi, dafa neeeeeex torop!

Today I looked into baby Aida’s eyes, and a freight train hit me.  I saw this perfect, ageless, endlessly wise, endless love staring from me into me… This momentary dropping of everything. We stared, we smiled… it was pure bliss.  So, I guess that’s what people talk about when they say they see perfect innocence in the eyes of children. We all have our moments (of perfect innocence, that is).

So, mmmm… sweet deepness. Bubbling ebullient life-force. Joy and the big empty.

How to blog with this experience…??

I want to talk some about my life here. About my experience, because it’s wonderful. I’m living this deliciously social life, with plenty of perfect time for myself as well. Time to ascend, time to sew and journal and crochet and shave my legs. Something I didn’t think I’d do here, but which I probably do more often than I did in the states. Why? Because when flies land on hairless legs, it tickles a lot less. And the flies here are majorly annoying. A horsefly landed on the wall right next to me a moment ago. It was just chilling, and so was I, and I had this conflict of feeling. Part of me was completely at peace, and happy to be in the presence of another perfect being. Part of me was like, this is a horsefly. They bite. That is bad. Make it go away. So, I did…. What would a perfectly enlightened being do? This question is kind of a joke….

I keep experiencing this beautiful synchronicity in my life. The perfect books have been finding me. Mating, by Norman Rush was first. Then Big Bang, then the collection of Rumi, then “Size 12 is Not Fat” (I know, but there were a few silly little things in it I needed to hear), and most recently “Holy Cow” by Sarah Macdonald. It’s one woman’s experience living and traveling in India, opening herself to the possibility of spiritual awakening in all the different religions found there, and concurrently living a “normal life.” I highly recommend all of these, except maybe Size 12, unless you want some fluff dancing with a touch of truth. The perfection of the world seeming to respond to my needs, presenting itself as a gift to be enjoyed and loved, with the (nearly) constant focus of GOD (is in charge, is the only true, truly important, real—ness, is my true love, is my-self, all that), with the (nearly) constant letting go of what I think my needs or desires might be, it’s pretty mind-blowing and definitely heart expanding.

I want to make these generalizations, to explain that my life here is peaceful and full of love and that I’m happy, cause that’s true. Right now, I have a cold, the flies are pestering my ankles (why do they love my ankles?) I’m sweating. Right now, there is an ocean washing through me. There is endless still peace. There are fears and desires dancing around, then they go. And there’s nothing. Beautiful, sparkling, deep blue, dark, bright, lovely stillness.  Thank God for this moment.

But I really do want to tell you all about my life here! I love the women of Niangeen (my “neighborhood,” where everyone is either a Niang by birth or marriage), I love all the children of this village. I love their temper tantrums and their joyful lolling in their mothers laps. I love the way Ndeye Sisse has treated my like family from day one, and the way Ami Sila always has something to say about everything, but when she’s done holds absolutely no grudge about anything. Life is back to “jamm rekk” as soon as the moment passes. I love the way they take care of, tease lovingly, and dote upon the children with mental disabilities. I love the way the men and even boys, love to coddle babies and play with children. I love that when kids get upset they get this look like “Fear my wrath!” then pick up a shoe, hold it in the air, and try to figure out what to do next. I love the way Busa, my new little friend, buries herself in my legs when I walk by, and the other kids tell her to let me keep going, and I tell them that she’s fine, to leave her alone. I love the way everyone looks out for everyone, and the way this system keeps everyone in line: if someone hits their kid hard enough to make a noise, its immediate public censure. All the women stare, scoff disapprovingly, and if necessary, Ami Sila can always get up in somebody’s face. I love the light dusting of tiny growing things that has sprung up where there was just sand and goat poo, all from one good rain a week ago. I love that I got one of the coolest sites in Senegal, and I have electricity! I love that Modou and Ngagne fixed the cracks in my concrete floor for free, because I don’t like the bugs here. I love onion sauce!!  

Okay, enough of that. You guys probably get the picture. All is well, I already feel like I’ve changed in ways I can’t explain any better than whatever you can get out of this. Currently getting a big lesson in innocence, for which I am Majorly grateful.  Jamm rekk, man.

Meanwhile: Nawet has come.  In other words, we’ve had our first big storm. I was actually in Saint-Louis for the event, but it moved in from across the desert and hit here after it blew through there. What an experience, first of all.  First there was a blast of violent wind carrying so much sand I thought the world might be ending. Also, it hit at night and knocked out the power, and I was all alone in the apartment. And it blew everything around in the kitchen and on the balconies, so I locked up and crawled into bed with a book and flashlight. The cocoon effect of a mosquito net is no joke.  When the rains did hit, it was glorious.  Buckets of rain, great rolling thunder and beautiful lighting, the kind that, frankly, is best appreciated without the lights on anyway.  So, that means nawet is upon us, even though it’s been a week and it hasn’t rained again yet. Every day I’m hopeful. Because already, my village is changing. The people here are all at work in the fields most of the day getting their peanuts, bissap and beans planted. And everywhere that was sand, is suddenly dusted green with tiny sprouting things. The live fences actually look alive, with new leaves growing from their funny leathery branches. It’s beautiful.   Unfortunately, that also means it’s bug season. There are still warawara a-plenty, but now I also fall asleep to the sound of a million mosquitoes trying to get to my blood. It’s like this terrible scream that sometimes makes me feel like I’m losing it. Also, there are now scorpions, beetles with giant pincers that can apparently survive with half of their back-section missing, giant dragon-fly-looking-things that bite, pretty, creepy gecko guys that apparently pee poison, and giant beetles as large as mice that, fortunately, do not bite. Lucked out on that one… Oh and I forgot to mention horse spiders. They’re great. About two inches long, have pincers that look like two scorpion stingers put together, and they’re hella fast. Oh, and they have ten legs.  What has ten legs!??!!?  Fortunately, being terrifying is all they do. They don’t hurt you (I’ve been told…)

Some stuff I want to share

Some keep the Sabbath going to Church--
I keep it, staying at Home--
Within a Bobolink for a Chorister--
And an Orchard, for a Dome.

Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice--
I, just wear my Wings--
And instead of tolling the bell, for Church,
Our little Sexton--sings.
God preaches, a noted Clergyman--

And the sermon is never long,
So instead of getting to Heaven, at last--
I'm going, all along.
                  --Emily Dickinson

"Prayer"
Whatever happens. Whatever
what is is is what
I want. Only that. But that.
                  --Galway Kinnell

"An Invisible Bee"
Look how desire has changed in you,
how light and colorless it is,
with the world growing new marvels
because of your changing.

Your soul has become an invisible bee.
We don't see it working,
but there's the full honeycomb.

Your body's height, six feet or so,
but your soul rises through nine levels of sky.

A barrel corked with earth
and a raw wooden spile
keeps the oldest vinyard's wine inside.

When I see you,
it is not so much your physical form,
but the company of two riders,
your pure-fire devotion and your love
for the one who teaches you.

Then the sun and moon on foot behind those.
                              --Rumi

     "For this open-air sanctuary that a lot of us live in, without buildings, or doctrine, or clergy, without silsila (lineage), or heirarchy, in an experiment to live not so much without religion as in friendship with all three hundred of them, and all literatures too. It is a brave try for openness and fresh inspiration.
     It is what sent Whitman out walking around Brooklyn. His mother said, He goes out and he comes back in: that's all he does. It is what prompted Thoreau's rambling retreat to Walden Pond. It is Huck floating on the river at night. Melville looks out his study window in the Berkshires and writes the ocean of Moby Dick. Jake Barnes in Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises slips into an old Spanish church to listen to his thoughts. Wallace Stevens speaks from inside the intensest redezvous, where God and the imagination are one. Joseph Campbell follows his bliss, researching myth and symbol in the New York Public Library. Gary Snyder works on an axe handle in the high Sierra. Annie Dillard stares down into Tinker Creek. REM's Michael Stipe stands on stage, Losing my religion. Iris DeMent suggests that we Let the mystery be. All are participating in this global amateur production. We are lucky to have so many luminous figures in this country, but this lineage is not American. It comes down through such varied innumerable strands that it cannot be called a lineage at all.
     The records of wandering kept by Basho, Cervantes, Homer, and Allan Ginsberg. Mary Oliver's faithful early morning walks with a rainproof surveyors notebook in her hip pocket. John Muir and Audubon. Anyone who heads out to see what happens, just to enjoy the trip. Needn't go far, needn't leave town. Rumi says that merely being in a body and sentient is a state of pure rapture. Form is ecstatic. Those who know that are the ones I'm talking about, and to. Those photographers who love wilderness and the depths of a human facde. The radiant noticing of animals that shows in the cave drawings. It comes through Van Gogh and Cezanne, the way they saw splendor transpiring through what appears. Dutch light. Through Blake. All religions are one, saith Willy, and energy is eternal delight. Hopkins. It comes through south India and the Sufis. Indigenous rock art. Tibet. Hieronymous Bosch and Brueghel, Lao Tzu and Chuang Tzu. Bodhidarma, Rinzai, and that homely flower Mahakashyap was handed by his friend Gautama. That theology flower of suchness might be a logo for it. No, no names. No flag. Dreamtime drawings. Chekhov's holy chuckle, Dostoyevsky's vivid seekers. The great Greeks and their love of impossible human conversation. Socrates and Plato are saints in this tradition. Saint Francis and my grandson Tuck, too, he will be suprised to know. All children. Gurdjieff. Ramakrishna. Camus and Beckett. Plotinus. Neitzsche prancing naked."
                                           --Coleman Barks, introduction to A Year with Rumi: Daily Readings.

So, I hope you guys enjoy the above. I'm stuck in a building with internet (oh no!) waiting out a wave of back pain, and I found this book.  Normally I don't go in for intro's. Usually I decide I'm only interested in the subject of the book, not some editor's discussion thereof. At best, they're often boring, and at worst, they color your ability to innocently approach the real content.  However, I decided to look at this intro, and MAN!! The poems are from the intro (except the Rumi, which is today's reading), and the excerpt... that was a hard choice. Frankly I thought about putting the whole intro on here. It's exstatic poetry in itself, in my opinion.  Anyway, I highly suggest, if you see a copy of this collection of Rumi, that you read the intro for yourself.  Lovely. :)

Nothing new to report here. It's hot. Thinking about splurging for a hotel and the end of this trip just to spend a day on ice (aaaaaair conditioniiiiiiiing......) Generally, all is well here. Grateful for a wonderful morning ascension and then finding this book. Grateful for the grace given to allow me to see this world through unveiled innocent eyes. Grateful for the mystery and the intimacy of "being in a body and sentient." Somehow grateful for pain and fear, as gifts... but I can't figure out how to explain what I mean by that.  Grateful for faith and the immaculate Presence of God. Grateful for the big oneness, of these trees and sunbeams and all the people mentioned above. "Sticks and stones are both made of energy, like love and language. Eddington says the universe is less like a thing than it is like a thought." (Again, Barks) Eddington isn't the only one to say this... what a thing!! That all this is but a though of the One Great Mind, and that there is no such thing as "me" and "that"...  Yummmmmmmmm....

Two-fer

Don’t look at the bones

We had goat for dinner!! It was sooo good.  Mind you, there wasn’t much of it, but it was de-licious.  My body was pretty excited.  By the way, I actually eat pretty well here.  We have ceeb u jen every day for lunch, which means I get my fill of eggplant, carrot, cabbage, sweet-potatoes (there’s are much tastier than ours, but white, so probably not as good for you), turnips, and fish. I just have to try not to eat too much rice with it, because dinner is almost always almost all rice.  Usually this mash of rice called mbaxkal, or something close to that.  So, the reason for the title is because of the last time we had mbaxkal. There was meat in it, which is not usually the case, so like tonight, I jumped on it.  Unfortunately the meat isn’t cut the same here and you never know if what you’re putting in your mouth is actually meat, or a strange conglomeration of fat and bone with unidentifiable chewy stuff… So, last time we apparently ate something’s head.  Most bites of meat I got were mostly fat and weird stuff, but I persevered hoping for some protein.  One bite had a large piece of bone in it.  Everyone here sucks the marrow out of bones (this is actually not a good idea for me, I mean, I think it’s mostly fat), still, when in Rome and all that. So I sucked on this big chunk of bone for a minute before spitting it out into my left hand. It was a piece of jaw. I wasn’t sucking on marrow; I was basically sucking on cow plaque. Forcing my churning stomach to settle I ate a bit more rice and called it a night. Frankly I’m sure even that meal was pretty patron. A lot of my friends in other villages claim to mostly eat plain rice or millet, so I seem to have hugely lucked out. 

And I still seem to be losing a bit of weight. Just a little. Probably just related to the daily walking, fetching water, cleaning stuff in my room, general living stuff.  I’m good with that though.  Of course people here think it’s a good thing to “am yerem” (literally to have a body), and seem confused that I do yoga not to “dolli sama yerem” (add to my body), but to do the opposite (oversimplification, but my simple language skills cause me to do a lot of that.)

I’ve gotten down to actually doing a little work, finally.  I’ve been here a month tomorrow, so I’m really right on track as far as Peace Corps are concerned.  I’m painting a map of the world on the wall in my counterpart’s classroom (something like 5^th grade). They have maps of Senegal in every classroom, but not of the world. To me, it’s obvious why this is a good idea. And to him too. But there are people in my village who don’t seem to get it. In fact one woman seemed actually opposed to it. … I’ll stop there with that train of though.  Anyway, I’ll finish it Sunday, Inshallah (God willing). Coming up on the 24^th I’ll be helping transplant some trees the students planted with my ancien (the volunteer before me) into the school yard. I am the lorax, I speak for the trees! No. Maybe a little. What else… I’ve spent the last week getting ready to start my base-line survey. I used my ancien’s close-of-service report to get a feel for what’s happening here and learn the demographics, and then I used the Peace Corps guidelines and what I do know to brainstorm the questions for the survey.  I’ll be going house to house talking about water, sanitation, health-care, environmental stuff (what is this? It’s so amorphous…), trying to figure out how I can best help in the two years I have here.

Two years, yeah. Sometimes when I think about that it’s still overwhelming and I get a tiny urge to cut and run. But really, I can totally see living here for two years. No problem. It’s become completely comfortable, and I’m so excited to continue building relationships with the people here. And to keep learning Wolof! It’s so Fun for me, learning this language. Speaking in Wolof, thinking in Wolof, and it’s still super exciting when I make a joke in Wolof that actually works.

Hmm… all for now, I guess.  Oh! Just a quick note about kids. I love my brothers two year old Djibi. He’s taken to mobbing me. As in, he smiles, starts running his little wobbly bow-legged two-year old run, straight for me, and then hurls himself on me laughing. It’s nice getting these wild hugs occasionally. However, yesterday as I was walking to the other family house, I found him out in the clearing crying.  I didn’t know why, and he wouldn’t walk with me back to where his mom was. So, I picked him up to carry him.  Bad idea. He was crying because he pooped his pants. Which meant I had poop on my shirt… Not my favorite Djibi moment, but, hey, what are you gonna do. He’s two. Today he actually pooped on the floor in my room… His mom cleaned it up with bleach, so, … yeah. Yummy. If he wasn’t so flipping cute… 

Okay, theres a good reason for this:

I’m really bothered by the fact that science consistently ignores the fact that all the “laws” of reality are based on our observations of this reality.  We’re constantly projecting this reality on theoretical other realities.  I just finished “the Big Bang” by Simon Singh.  Really good. Really interesting. But in the epilogue, after acknowledging that we’re constantly revising our understanding of reality because of previously assumed to be impossible or just never thought of data, and after acknowledging that the Big Bang Was the Start of space and time, this very reality did not exist before it, and in fact the phrase “before the big bang” has no meaning for the same reason, … so, after all that, he says that if we’re just one universe within a multi-verse, then the other universes therein would be non-viable or even rapidly self destructing if they varied even slightly on the six criteria on which we can measure our universe (including gravitational constants, the way molecules form, etc.) Now, I’m no physicist, but how can we assume that atoms form the same way in a different universe that we have No data for? We literally cannot conceive of something so foreign.  How do we even know that in these theoretical multiverses atoms are the building blocks of matter? Or that matter is even a thing there? Why the obsession with formulas that we can plug things into to figure them out?  There is a different kind of understanding that is possible, and in my experience more meaningful, but impossible to describe. Like this thing I’m saying right now. It could be easily written off for any number of reasons. I mean, it’s entirely theoretical and I have no formal education in the subject matter. But I know this to be true.

Similarly, what’s with the dichotomizing? Like the claim that science and religion can “live side by side.” That you can Either look at the universe as random and view our existence thereby as a happy coincidence, OR look at the universe as divinely created to support our existence.  Or at best that you can believe a mélange of the two?  Why are these things viewed as paradoxical? Maybe the universe was constructed scientifically with the joyous consequence of our existence, full in every molecule, every sub-atomic particle of GOD, just joyously dancing through this wild energy-matter?

Hopefully that’s not too rambly. I won’t blame anyone for not getting through this, but as you can imagine, this is far beyond my grasp to discuss in Wolof. Though I very much want to try and just might later tonight.  That said, PLEASE comment on this for me!! I desperately miss conversations like this.

Is this worth blogging?

I’m in Saint-Louis, and there are all kinds of food options here.  But today I made my own lunch. What is it? Cheesy peas!! Aka, a can of peas cooked with two pieces of laughing cow cheese mixed in. A classic! This was sometimes dinner in Springfield and even once or twice back in Eureka.  So, why did I turn down an outing to get hamburgers or pizza?  Because last night I literally dreamed about eating vegetables.  It was a giant bowl of soup with large chunks of eggplant, carrot, broccoli, cauliflower, there was even blue broccoli. Definitely my body trying to tell me something. 

So, Cheesy Peas!!!!  And Fanta, which I’ve developed a love for.

Should I say something slightly more substantive? So, I’m here in the city for two and a half days, approximately.  Right now it’s the start of the second day. And I just already miss my village. It’s nice here, and there are great creature comforts, but on the island (the seriously touristy part of town), it’s all Africans selling touristy things to toubabs, or serving them their food and drinks for God knows how little money. And at night, it’s just one big part for the toubabs, and frankly, that scene largely just makes me tired anymore.  Nothing wrong with it, just I can’t seem to muster up any interest. I guess this is a good thing, but it just adds to the sense of isolation of being here. Which, don’t worry, is not a problem. It’s wonderful to truly experience the calm of just being okay inside yourself in new situation, and letting all the changing forms of emotion pass through. Feeling them, letting them go, all that.  So last night we were sitting at a bar called the Sputnik, this awkward Russian themed bar with a painting of Jimi Hendrix on the wall that almost looked like Michael Jackson, and more and more toubabs kept coming in, passing the Senegalese bouncers to do so. Strangely, there were several times where a Senegalese man would walk a girl in only to turn around and leave. It was tripping me out a little, wondering, “what’s going on here?” Then I saw a man walk up to the two guards with a tray of attaya glasses.  Such a lovely gesture! They must do that every night. Everyone here drinks attaya several times a day, including at about 10:00 PM. That’s Senegal. That’s where I want to be, not in a weird tourist bar. 

So, I’m here ‘til tomorrow, and I am excited to go to the Jazz Fest tonight and hopefully hear some lovely music.  But I’ll be glad to get back to the simple life of the village. Back to speaking Wolof and greeting everyone I pass. Back to the sheep and the chickens and the children who call me “Lama” (classic L-R phoneme jumble.) Back to my friends there. How lovely is it that this is already happening?  It’s lovely J

Settling in...

Returning to my village was like showing up at a camp site. You realize how quiet it is, how much better the air is, how pretty it is, and you’re legitimately happy that there’s a bit of work ahead of you related, simply, to the business of living.  I like getting my water from the well.  I like doing my laundry by hand sitting in the shade of a tree. I love how peaceful it is here.  Definitely glad they put me in a little village now that I’m over the initial shock and trepidation. 

Nothing new really to report.  Jazz fest is coming up in a few days. This is an international music festival held here in Saint-Louis, Senegal, and I’m super psyched to spend a night there. I will also try to upload my newest photos while I’m at the regional apartment for that.

Today. Not much to say. I actually spent the better part of the day in my room resting to get over a strange combination of biir bun daw (stomach that runs) and dizziness.  Which may or may not have been related. I tend to get dizzy spells associated with spiritual movement, so maybe that’s all that was. I think it’s over…? I was super glad I left my room when I did. The women were having their Sunday gathering, and it was lovely to see some friends there.  Even if I still mostly sit and listen. Also, the kids here are a saving grace.  I think I’m far more amused by them that the other women simply because I don’t have any, so I’m not constantly dealing with their shenanigans.  I can always use more playing with kids in my day.  Their innocent goofiness is so lovely! When I came home, my brothers two-year old son was crazy.  He was interested in the keys attached to the strap of my backpack, and would chase them as I turned in circles where I stood. For some reason, this was hilarious to me, and we both just laughed and spun until he fell over from the dizziness. Adorable.  THEN I saw KITTENS!!! There are four baby baby kittens living in my family’s shed that my host sister-in-law takes care of.  ADORABLE!! The people here don’t play with their animals. They don’t hold them or pet them. They throw things at them when they get too close.  So the animals don’t exactly trust people. But these kittens are sooo young, I have hope that we can be friends J Pictures to follow.  Adorable!!

Dinner time!