you can probably skim the first half...

And now for something completely different.

Well, I’m at WAIST now. That’s West African Invitational Softball Tournament. It’s held in Dakar once per year, usually in February, but it was moved this year because the Senegalese Presidential election is next month. So, all Peace Corps volunteers from West Africa are invited, as well as all expats of all ages (expatriates, aka, all American’s living over here.) You just put a team together and come play softball, and take in all the glory that is Dakar. That’s the pitch for the thing. And yeah, it’s a lot of fun, but to me Dakar is still a bit more trouble than it’s worth, and Saint-Louis is the place to be. This place is just expensive! And when you don’t know what you’re supposed to pay for a cab because you don’t really ever know how far it is to where you’re going, it’s easy to let yourself overpay. And then food is a bit priceyer. BUT we have expat home-stays. Which is Amazing. Expat’s with their own houses here in Dakar offer to let some of us crash, and treat us to varying levels of American style Taranga (hospitality). I’m staying with a lovely woman who works for USAID. It’s kind of amazing in a slightly traumatic way. I mean, this house, man. This would be a lovely home in America, the kind of home any of my friends might have grown up in. Except for the landscaping, 24/7 guard, and electrical issues. There are PEONIES here. I thought I might drown in one last night. SO lovely. As for the electrical issues, I have shocked the CRAP out of myself this morning. Reheating pizza on tin foil in the oven, I reached in to see how hot the cheese was and the foil shocked me. Plugging in my computer, SOMEHOW I blasted myself. Then of course I grabbed the spot on my cord that one of my little rat babies chewed the insulating rubber off of and got a good zing. Anyway, I just don’t really know how to express how amazing and jarring this homestay is. Like, so many little comforts that are SO … comforting. Like being able to walk around barefoot without covering my feet in dirt from sand blown in by the wind. Like padded couches and chairs, American style. A kitchen with a Real coffee brewer. A hot shower with Amazing water pressure. Patio furniture a lot like what my parents had. A “Kathy” magnet on the fridge. A toaster! The quiet. I mean, village is fairly quiet at night, save some insects making music and the wind blowing the sand around my douche, and the daily howls at 6 AM when Djibi starts crying (he’s terribly two). But my first night I could hardly sleep because it was so quiet. I was in a room with the doors and windows closed and there was just NOTHING. … So insulated… Which was almost unsettling, but, I slept like a baby.

Also, the first night here, we showed up to a full dinner prepared for us. Spaghetti with vegetarian sauce (featuring carrots and tomatoes and nutmeg), baked fish with a vinegary onion marinade, French fries, green beans, and a hearty brown bread. Yum. And we sat at a wooden dining room table, on wooden padded chairs, and ate off of individual plates on a table cloth. Beautiful.

Thought: am I being over the top in detailing my experience with this? Well, see that’s the kicker. I imagine that if I had read this in America I’d feel a little “so what?” But, having lived in this country for **** near a full year, this level of detail is achieved by actually holding myself back. FYI.

It’s a beautiful thing. Clearly. But, in this city as with many in America, poverty is waiting just around the corner to smack you back into reality. Yeah, I’m still in Dakar. In Senegal. In Africa. And while I’m spending up to 2,500 CFA  for a cab to go see my friends (and spend more money on food or drinks), I’m passing talibe on the street in their dirty clothes with no shoes, asking for money for food. Dear American friends, if you aren’t aware of talibe, please google it. They are perhaps the most vulnerable population in Senegal and perhaps the most difficult to reach. Just for your own global awareness, do a quick search. There may come a time soon that I ask you to make a small donation to help with another volunteer’s project with these adorable little humans.

Meanwhile, just a check in on what this WHOLE experience is for me. In a word, oh my God, I can’t put it in a word. Let me try a few words: Amazing, overwhelming, befuddling, earth-shattering, boring, frustrating, beautiful, priceless. There’s a reason the Peace Corps calls this “the toughest job you’ll ever love.” It’s not that I “work” long hours in any traditional sense, or that I go to sleep exhausted every night, it’s just that it is a 24/7 commitment to being in this completely immersive differentness (of physical surroundings and internal activity (from digestive issues and weird skin things to strange thought processes and unprecedented emotional states)) and trying to accomplish something beneficial when it often seems like the whole script has been flipped on you. My perspective on development work has already changed so completely I can’t begin to explain. I can’t actually see how much my personal cultural expression has been changed by living in a Wolof village for this long. My heart is involved in some stuff that is completely unprecedented. It’s all just so… fricking AMAZING!! I mean, I’m sorry I can’t more clearly and eloquently explain this, because the purpose of this blog is to share the truly BIG stuff with you guys as much as possible. Suffice it to say, this is the toughest job I’ve ever loved, and even on the hardest days, or at least the morning after, I know that I would never trade this experience for ANYTHING, despite the outcomes. I know that I am unquantifiably blessed to be Here. Now. (Oh man, saying that phrase always jars me straight back, and flatlines my thought processes.)

Hah! Okay, so I’m done for now J

Much love as always.

Christmas shoutout

It feels like ages since I’ve done this. I guess it’s only been a couple weeks. But I’ve got some stuff to say now.

First and foremost, I must give a SERIOUS shout-out to my friends and family who have sent me Christmas cards and packages. Among the amazingness: Lovely cards with lovely letters, Hershey’s dark chocolate, Hershey’s milk chocolate, Hershey’s kisses, four Ghirardelli chocolate bars, one box of Trader Joe’s Holiday Jo-Jo’s (Ginger, AMAZING), almond cashew chocolate trail mix, pecan granola, hand crocheted bracelets, origami Christmas decorations, gravy mix, cheese sauce mix (CHEDDAR!), a cute shirt, two pairs of jeans (not yet received, but I think they’re waiting for me in Saint-Louis), three bags of cheetos (and then there was one…), two boxes of Russel-Stover’s chocolates, Gardetto’s, a giant beautiful sketch-pad (used once so far. Glorious), should I stop? Is this as incredible to read as it was to receive? I’ve been swimming in deliciousness for a month now, and lots of amazing non-food goodies. Winner for best Christmas card goes to Josie for the AMAZING photo-shopped animal family around the back-yard Christmas tree! LOVED that. So, everyone, Grandma and Grandpa, Uncle Chuck, Aunt Marylin and Chloe, Mom and Dad, Janice and Steve, Josie, Diana, Dorcas, Uncle Steve and Aunt Becky (still waiting excitedly!), THANK YOU and MERRY CHRISTMAS!! I hope all of you and everyone else reading had a lovely holiday season and are enjoying the beginnings of the new-year.

For the rest, I'm sorry but you'll have to wait for tomorrow because my battery is dying.
With love-

This just in...

I just spent 18,000F CFA (almost $40) and an hour and a half getting the perfect dress for new-year’s eve. Do I regret any of this? Only a tiiiiny bit. It would be good if I were better at saving my money and not spending it. But, hey, I’m stimulating the economy. And I was assured that a tourist who Doesn’t come back to the same boutique after an hour and half and laugh and chat with the same salesman in his native language would have been charged 28,000F CFA. Plus, it’s a great dress and I’ve had my eye on it for over awhile actually. But here’s the great part of the story:

While looking I went to a boutique I’ve only been in once before, with my parents when they were here. It was a one room place with just a few racks. They’ve expanded to over twice the size, with a fabulous collection of women’s, men’s and kids clothes and home furnishings. Here’s the problem with all these boutiques: great fabric, great clean lines and stylish design, but there’s Very limited sizing, and the clothes are all meant to be baggy! I know, there’s a place for that, but it’s not new years eve. And every store? Come on. Okay, back to the point. It’s owned by a French woman, but the salesman was a lovely Sereer guy who speaks perfect Wolof. And we conversed. Like, naturally, fluidly, talked and laughed. Come to find out, it’s a fair-trade operation that works with ten villages in the Diourbel region. The local proceeds go to building forages (think clean water from running taps) and heath posts (basic doctor’s offices in the bush). I was already a touch high from just running around “shopping” and chatting with a bunch of shopkeepers (a good Wolof day get’s me a bit high), and when he told me all that, I kind of lost it. Like, almost started crying, but laughed long and loud instead. I told him, “you don’t understand that’s my dream!” Well, it’s definitely one of them. “And you guys already did it! What should I do now?” He very rationally pointed out that it’s only ten villages. So I continued looking, but like I said, it was all baggy, not what I need for tomorrow. And when I left I realized I wasn’t really sold on that idea.

Here’s the thing. Yeah, it’s doing good things. But is it encouraging local culture? Did the local artisans say, "hey let's build a forage with this money!" Is it teaching any of the local artisans anything about taking development or even business management into their OWN hands? Maybe it is, and that would be great, but in theory not a smart “business” move as it would eventually make the French woman unnecessary (she wasn’t particularly kind about my inability to get my mouth to make words in her language. But hey, it’s not her country, right?) Also, maybe it’s doing good things for the source communities, but it’s doing so within the context of the “consumerism is good” mentality. I think I’ve heard something in economic theory about increased consuming being good to increase the middle class, and thereby increase economic stability for the whole country. But, this just seems so old-hat to me. “Lord knows, there’s got to be a better way.” What song is that from? Sure within a business model, if you look at national economies like different businesses, it’s good to get the little guys to play the big guys’ game and get some redistribution of wealth the process. I’m all for that, in theory. But can’t we be working for something better? I think we need a gamechanger. But I don’t know what it is. 2012, any suggestions?

This literally JUST happened. So, I’m sure I’ll be milling it over for the next while. Plus, if I did a boutique like that we’d have cuter clothes in a wider variety of sizes. And we’d be super nice to people who only speak Wolof. Or even only speak Dutch, though we’d have a hard time talking to them…

First let me say: cold season, WTF?? Sorry to use that language. My skin is PARCHED, I’m starting to wake up chilled under my SLEEPING BAG, it’s almost impossible to shower, and people are going to bed early to escape the cold. Just when I adjust… Anyway, there are some serious positives to this. Like, mostly it’s positive. Curling up in bed under a sleeping bag is like… o******c (awesome). Hot coffee, wonderful. Sweater and scarf (THANKS JOSIE!!!!), yes please. Doing yoga again makes sweating feel like a gift. Lower electricity bill. MUCH fewer bugs. Gardening has become a possibility in my mind, because being in the sunshine doesn’t feel like death anymore. So, yeah, yay for cold season! But, just for a point of reference, last time I went to Saint-Louis I showed up in the AM in a sweater and scarf. By noon I pulled the sweater off, checked the temp online, and saw that it was 86 degrees…

Here’s something I know you guys want to know about: WORK! Things are starting to move. At least one of you (thanks Zach) wants to hear more about the library opening. Well, it was an amazing event. Have I mentioned how much I adore kids? Here’s a cultural difference for you: In school here, when the teacher calls out for an answer from the class, everyone responds. Even if they don’t know the answer, it’s better to appear ready to participate than to not respond. So, when trying to do anything with the kids, everything is like a bum-rush. Which is … overwhelming… but awesome. Thankfully Madame Fadima Fall is not only an awesome work partner for this project, but has become a good friend. The teachers are authority figures. Me, not so much, though they get a kick out of it when I put on my “I’m serious!” face. Well, so the opening day was two weeks ago now. I read a book to the kids, Madame Fall laid out a whole plan for management of the library, featuring one representative per class to keep records of the lending, and then it was a free-for-all. Everyone wanted a book, and everyone scrambled to get one. I ended up on sentry duty making sure no one took a book out without having their name written in the notebook, and standing on the front porch pulling one after another of the small kids up from the ground to the 2.5 foot high step. Over and over and over. Bonding. Sweet, fun, exhausting.

So, we’re still going on the library. I made a set of library cards for the kids that will hopefully be an effective record-keeping system. We’re encouraging the kids to write a simple book report for each book they read, and encouraging them to do so with the promise of gifts. Amazingly, Madame Fall has a partner school in the states who sent her a whole big Rubbermaid Tupperware full of American notebooks, ruler, scissors, crayola markers and crayons, Elmer’s glue. So, perfect gifts there. Hopeful that this will encourage literacy in the younger generations and nurture a passion to read.

I’ve also just gotten started working with the women’s group to re-start their garden (I was repeatedly told to wait until the work in the rainy-season fields was over.) So, we all gathered there the other night to clear the land, get rid of all the dried tall grasses. It was amazing fun watching the women work, tease each other, laugh, and work along-side them playing in the dirt-I mean sand. After we got about half-way across the field digging and raking, someone was like, “Hey, let’s just set it on fire!” Well, I wasn’t so into the idea… not sure environmentally friendly… but it was one against about 40. So, we cleared a three foot path on all sides of what was left, and then lit it up. So, imagine a rectangle of dry brush, enclosed on three sides by a wire fence. Now, the leader of the women’s group grabbed some burning brush and started walking down one side, into the fenced in area. So, by the time she got to the first back corner, the fire had spread half way across the front end. There was a lot of shouting and laughing as her face turned to amused shock and she broke into a run to get out the other side before getting trapped in there. We slowly exited the fenced area and stood downwind of the fire to watch it burn. Oh my, my, my. Here’s a chance for a sensibilization waaxtaan (an educational conversation).

Good stuff. Buying seeds today before heading home, hopefully getting it all planted in the immediate future. Then just watering and watching it grow.

In personal matters, I’ve been here for nine and half months. Which just… is unbelievable to me. But I’m already having trouble distinguishing between stuff that I’m long-term habituated to (like, before I got here), and what’s really uniquely Senegalese and would be new to any of you who haven’t lived here. Yesterday I told my family about making Fattaya in village and was genuinely shocked for a second that they didn’t know what I was talking about. (It’s a fish-filled fried dumpling with onion sauce. Yum). But, frankly I now recall my first glimpse of fattaya in Mboro… Even names here, I can’t distinguish between which ones are new to my life here and which ones I knew in the states. Did I really never know a Seynabou or a Fatou before I got here? Really? And my sense of style… well, I’ve always been willing to be a little off-beat on that one, but the color here was once kind of “WOW” almost overwhelming to me, in an enchanting way. And now it’s all just the norm. So, hmm. ::shrug:: not much to say there, just interesting. I still love blue-jeans like nothing else, and frankly thing the young men here look better in them than traditional Senegalese pants. So, that’s not new.

Yesterday was Christmas. Had a lovely pizza dinner with friends, skyped for a long time with my family in the states, mostly my dad, but otherwise it was just another day in Saint-Louis. I almost wanted to grab people on the streets and be like, “Why aren’t you celebrating? It’s Jesus’ birthday!!” But, that’s irrational…

Everything is lovely. I kinda like it here… If only there were free teleporters so I could be here AND be close to my family and other loved ones in the states…

Best cake ever, best day ever (Forgive the superlatives. I'm just in love with my life.)

I guess I’ll start with Thanksgiving, since it was the first major holiday I’ve celebrated away from family. Frankly, the weather is largely so non-American-November-ish it doesn’t feel like it could possibly be the date it claims to be (tomorrow is December!!) Also, without cardboard turkeys in pilgrim hats and shiny shoes with buckles posted in the boutique windows, … I just never got super geared up for it. Also, right before Thanksgiving I spent nearly a month in village. So rather than going to Ndiom for the big Peace Corps volunteer celebration, I opted to stay in the then vacant Saint-Louis apartment for some mostly solitary noppalu. I ascended and slept ‘til I could stop falling asleep every time, then did some more. I crocheted and ate yummy breakfast bean sandwiches. For the day of Thanksgiving I cooked scrambled eggs with Lots of zucchini, green pepper, onion, tomato, and Edam cheese (a break from Ementhal…) which I ate with a friend Senegalese style—tear off bits of bread to grab some yummies. The next day, four of us tried to make a real miniature version of Thanksgiving dinner. I cooked an incredibly yummy (and unhealthy) Tropical dump cake:

1 20 oz can of pineapple in syrup
4 large bananas
1 6(ish) oz can of coconut milk
1 cup of almonds (hey, lots is good, and pecans are probably better)
2 sticks of butter, and…

Cake Mix:
1.5 cups flour
1 cup sugar
½ tsp baking soda
½ tsp salt

Put the fruit and coco milk in the bottom of a pan. Put all the cake mix on top, spread as evenly as possible. Cover with the butter all cut up into slices. Add nuts. Lots and lots of nuts.

Bake at 350 degrees for one hour. YUM!

We were each in charge of one dish, essentially, so there was squash-roll dough rising while patas (a white sweet potato) was cooking on the stove to go in a delicious looking casserole involving apples, raisins, honey and cinnamon, and then the gas ran out. At this point me and another volunteer were on a run to the fast-food restaurant to get a chicken, so we searched for boutiques with gas (not easy to find, especially at 7 PM). We found some, but it (of course, thank you Senegal) did not fit the attachment we had at the apartment. BUT, when we opened the chicken bag, there was bread, and a small mixed salad, and the chicken itself was wrapped up with French fries and onion sauce (of COURSE! THANK you Senegal!) And we ate the casserole anyway. Then we all said what we were thankful for, closing our laptops temporarily to really honor each other’s presences. J

I’ve been back in village for … (why is this always so hard for me to figure out anymore??)… Four days. Three of those (consecutively) have been without electricity. Or, I promise, I would have done this sooner. Just found out this morning, that the reason may or may not be that some guys wanted to watch more international football games by splitting the cable line. Well, they got the wrong line, fried and power station and fried themselves. Or maybe just one guy. I don’t know if this is true… its tragic, if so, and also somehow… nearly Darwin award worthy, right? … Ugg…

In other news, I’m doing the World Wise Schools program through the Peace Corps, which partners me with an American classroom to write letters back and forth. I really wanted to get the kids at my local school involved, especially because my correspondents are in a French class. Yesterday was truly one of the best days of my life. Why? Kids. Crazy, ridiculous, beautiful, silly kids. I spent four hours going from class to class to ask what questions they wanted to ask their new American friends. It always always started with “Is America cool?” Other questions were “Do you have to sweep your classrooms and clean the bathrooms?” “What are your names? Your mom’s names? Your dad’s names? Your brothers’ names? (you see the pattern here…)” “Do you try really hard in school?” My very favorite question was about our President “Does Barak Obama do good work for the people?” but that was kind of tied with “Do you have cows at your houses? Chickens? Sheep? Goats? Donkeys?” P.S. my correspondence class is in Chicago…

Why exactly was this experience so magical? I mean, beyond these beautiful glowing smiling faces (I know I’m crazy in love with the kids here) that just really wanted to participate in this conversation with me. Well, the youngest class conversation ended with a dance party. And, it is just NOT possible to explain the adorable-ness of these little 5 and 6 year olds getting their groove on. For one of the older classes, I was demanded to sing before I left. I have a really miserable cold right now, which I tried to play as a cop out, but they weren’t having it. So, I had a thought. “You guys sing me your national anthem, and then I’ll sing mine.” When it came my turn, I dove into “Ooooh say can you seeeeee” and then forgot the words!!!!! Oh, the SHAME! It kinda came back to me, and after I stumbled over the first verse (and later realized I left out a stanza), I ended with great patriotism and feeling! Oh man. I’m a little afraid of what the teachers think of me now. Every class I entered was sitting quietly doing their work, and was a raucous party scene by the time I left… It was Glorious! I’m grateful for THAT!

Tabaski in four parts

Day one of Tabaski; 1:00 PM. Yesterday was all preparation. I got my hair did a couple days ago. Yes, I’m rockin’ corn rows. It looks surprisingly good on me, I think. I did some fuddan on my hands, painted my nails, shaved my legs, ready to party! I got up late today because last night the whole neighborhood was up ‘til two to welcome a new bride next door (we ate “dinner” at 1:00 AM). Did my morning stuff, put on a fancy outfit and did my makeup only to walk outside and be chastised for not getting out earlier to cut up potatoes and onions. Also, there was a goat hanging from the tree, being skinned. Well, so I changed out of my fancy clothes and jumped in to help.

I think I just consumed about 1,000 calories. First lunch was served. Apparently there’s a second. First lunch was rough cuts of meat without the fat trimmed off and surprisingly delicious liver, swimming in oil and caramelized onions. Sooooooo good. My standards for meat have changed. The meat is freaking delicious; I mean, this sheep was killed a few hours ago and immediately cleaned, butchered and cooked. I helped. With the butchering part. And it was in the midst of that activity, sitting surprisingly like an amazed child while I looked at the surprising texture and color of the lungs, felt the hardness of the heart muscle and stuck my finger in the aorta, that I was called to eat. So, I washed my hands. With water. With water only. See, I really, really wanted to use soap, but I was offered freshly poured water, and beyond that I would have had to contaminate a clean water source to get water to rinse the soap off with… What to do when faced with this dilemma? I’m sure my dad and brother, and probably everyone else are squirming while reading this, but… As it is I was sitting next to my brother as he chopped through leg bones. I just saw the seven-month-old Aida grab and bite a chunk of raw meat. Oh, God, I hope I don’t get sick. Part of me is screaming to bathe in and clean everything I own with straight bleach, but… I won’t.

Day 2: Sheep Head Soup, it’s what’s for dinner. Literally. You know that whole bit about no matter what the waitress brings? Well, I tried, man. I really did. I ate brain. I ATE BRAIN! And I’m pretty sure some tongue, and at least one gland-looking thing… I did not vomit. But I did not eat until full. Tropical trail mix chaser, thank you Very much Grandma and Grandpa Striley. Otherwise, food has been gooood good. Macaroni, potatoes and meat, actually enough to go around, cooked in onion sauce for lunch.

In other news, Tabaski seems to be the fete of doing nothing all day other than cooking, eating, and dressing up at night. Which is fun, for sure. But for me it’s been a sort-of bi-polar experience, slinging me between being a star and an outsider. When I wear Wolof clothes, they love it. When I carry the lunch Seynabou cooked to the neighborhood lunch spot on my head, they love it. But for most of the day, it’s just nothing to do, not sure where to go, not sure who it’s appropriate to go spend time with. And now, the big event for the day is a Jang. The word means to learn and also to read. So, it’s some guys with a microphone singing religious songs, or reading the Koran. I’m not sure which. But it’s so loud it literally hurts my ears, and it’s actually pretty cold to just be sitting outside until midnight. Hence, here I am. I’m about to go back, just needed a break. So Tabaski. Hmm. I can definitely see why they love it. Its great food and no working (except for the women who still have to cook, get water, clean the house, etc.) Again. Hmm. No seriously, I had a lot of fun yesterday. And today my emotional state is definitely questionable. So, this is NOT a scientific account of the experience. Just me… talking…

Day 3: (actually written on day 4) Spent the day in Mpal at my turrando’s house. Her daughter got married yesterday, and a good part of my neighborhood was there. It was a tedious, boring, and emotionally chaotic day for me. So, sorry, but I’m gonna just leave that alone. After the event, we rode home, a 25 minute charette ride through the dark, which was actually lovely. And I saw that there was a tent set up in the village clearing with a DJ playing music. The young people were having a party. After eating dinner I decided to find some friends. I needed the comfort. It’s been a surprisingly lonely couple of days for being a holiday. I found them, and they immediately cheered me up with a slap on the butt, and grappling moment of dancing that almost landed two of us on the floor. These were my grown-up women friends. Not invited to the party. See, here, I don’t really have peers. I’m not a “xalee” (young) or a “mag” (old). I’m not a man (duh), but I’m not quite a woman here. When attaya is served, there’s a hierarchy and it’s always interesting to see where I fall. After the older men, before the younger men, always before the other women. Which bothers me. It’s also because they still consider me a guest (after six months, right?). I get invited to the tours which are only for the married or older-than-me single women, and I don’t get invited to the tours of the xalee, except once when I really just accidentally showed up at the one my good friend was hosting. And the young people claim me sometimes, like for this party, or to go to the final football match (soccer), but not always, obviously. So, yeah… usually this doesn’t bother me, but I was told on the first day of tabaski that the entire afternoon was for going to drink attaya with whoever invites you. Well, no one invited me. I know. Start the sad violin music. It’s kind of exhausting being excluded and not knowing what to do with yourself. I want to participate fully in this community, in this event, but I can’t be an attaya crasher, right? Mmmm… Anyway, back to the story. I went to the dance party, and my young friends claimed me (thank GOD. I needed it.) Dancing felt amazing for about 2 minutes at which point it was just too akward to have all the young people stop dancing to watch how the American dances. So, I went and lingered outside where a good number of my friends were milling around. It was 11:20 by this point, but they all assured me the party had yet to begin. So, I stood and talked with them.

Day 4: This is a false break in my stream of consciousness. We just finished lunch which I helped cook. The tabaski stable here: macaroni, potatoes and sheep cooked in onion sauce. Yum. I’ll eat anything with onion sauce. And, apparently when I help cook, they want me to eat more. It’s kind of a beautiful thing, because I haven’t (surprisingly) eaten much the last couple of days. Yesterday lunch was waaay late, and due to my really weird emotional state, I didn’t have much of an appetite. Going to buy bread for breakfast hasn’t been possible (it doesn’t come during tabaski) and I’m out of oatmeal, so I’m going on a handful of trail mix for breakfast. And then dinner, well, the brain stew thing happened, then last night was a small cup of ceere (millet). So, man, I just at the **** out of some tabaski yumminess, despite the meat being cut three days ago, hung on a line to dry, then cooked for a long time in lots of water today. Is that safe? We’ll see!

Note: I know I keep hinting at this emotional weirdness, and it provides me the opportunity to add what I consider to be an interesting footnote to my blogging experience. It is necessary (right?) to somewhat censor what I write. Why? Well, that’s the thing that interests me. The whole point is to share my experience, but due to some arbitrary cultural boundries (American culture, Senegalese culture, Peace Corps culture, my personal self-viewing-windows), what I write is censored. I haven’t told you that [some content removed] or that […] is great, but it’s super […]. So, I will say this about this current emotional stuff. I did a stupid thing that started as an accident and then sunk it’s hooks into me. I watched a horror movie in village, at night, alone at my house. STUPID!! I didn’t know it was a horror movie until it was too late. So, yeah, I’ll never do that again. But, it strangely has given me a gift. It raised a lot of fear issues in other areas of my brain to be looked at and let go of. Associatively, the idea of having a large, winged guardian at my beck and call to keep me safe came up, and I had this strange realization that I AM that large winged guardian, that energy is a part of me, and there is nothing at all to be afraid of ever. Just a twist on an old meme, still a thought, I know, but the point is, I’ve been having a lot of movement, and no one to talk to about it. So, a lot of that came to a head yesterday and due to my lack of invitations to attaya, I intend to ascend a lot today. Wanna hear the coolest part? Yesterday I was sitting with people but totally isolated in my head crochet to pass the time, just really wanting the day to end, when I started beating myself up for that desire. I was irritated with myself for not making the most of those moments. But, I thought, how can I possibly be happy and chatty and dancey right now, like I should be to make the most of a wedding party? Well, that’s when I was hit with this beautiful re-understanding of surrender. To make the most of the moment, you just dive in to whatever that moment carries. So, if it carries depressive, lonely, heart-breaking confusion, so be it. And it continued to do so, but the word carries is perfect. Because under or around that emotional energy was just still peace tinged with a hint of the strangest bliss. And I began to ENJOY exactly what was happening. On that note, I’m gonna go close my eyes for an hour.

P.S. My dear ascenders, I miss your company terribly, your presence, your direct words, everything, but it’s a huge comfort to remember that the thing we experience when we dive in is INSEPARABLE, and to know that what I’m doing here, what I’m keeping as my first goal in life (sorry Peace Corps, but even you are secondary), that you are doing that too over there across the water. And all you other spiritual seekers, dreamers, creators, lovers, everyone. Nothing is separable from THAT. OOOoooooh what a tingly gift that is to re-realize over and over and over.

Impromptu Astronomy

                Last night was one of the greatest nights of my time in Africa thus far. I did what I consider to be important work, teaching a valuable subject, in a way that inspires further discussion and hopefully a nice dose of awe, in a completely casual and spontaneous context. I truly think some of my most valuable contributions occur in this exact way. So, what happened? At about 10:30 I decided to go find people to sit with. As the nights are getting “cold” (what? It’s like, cool enough that my skin is cool to the touch, but only occasionally light-sweater-cold), fewer and fewer people are out this late. But I found a group of young men from my neighborhood and sat with them. They’re lovely boys, and this may be pushing a cultural boundary, but, well, ::shrug::. For whatever reason, my friend Pape Gaye asked me “do they have the moon in America?” This led me to explain that the earth is a ball that the moon spins around, so yes, they have the moon everywhere. Rather than simply “ahh”-ing and shrugging it off, it peaked their interest. Which got me all excited. So I explained how the moon reflects the light of the  sun, and sometimes the earth gets in the way and casts a shadow, which accounts for the phases of the moon, approximately once per month. They talked amongst themselves, and I picked up “So, the earth doesn’t move, but the moon goes around it.” Oh, but wait! I thought. So, We got into the whole solar system. The sun is the only one that doesn’t move. I needed another friend to give me his hand to be the sun while I used my two hands as the earth and the moon to explain. Having taken all this knowledge for granted for so long it was amazing to realize how complicated it was to explain. The earth has two kinds of rotation: around the sun, and once every day around its axis, which is why we have day and night. For this my hand was the earth, my thumb Senegal to indicate day (facing the sun) and night (facing away.) Lovely! Oh my gosh, I was having such fun, and they were so into it!! They asked about the stars, I explained they were all like the sun, some bigger, some smaller. So, why are some brighter than others they asked? Well, ‘cause they’re all much much further away than the sun, but some are closer and bigger than others. And SOME, I continued, are NOT like the sun, and are much closer than other stars, and these are other planets. Try explaining that in a language you aren’t yet fluent in… But I think they got the jist. They even started their own conversation about it, like, oh, I think there’s one you can see just after the morning prayer call (5 am) in the eastern sky.  So, they must have heard something like this before, or just be making somewhat educated guesses? I dunno, I’m never up that early, and frankly can rarely tell the difference myself.

Again, for whatever reason, Pape then asked me, what’s with the water than falls on the grass at night when it gets cold? So I got explain the different states of water! That when it’s hot, it has more energy and is lighter, and when it gets cold it loses that energy and gets heavier (waaaay oversimplification, I know, but my Wolof vocab does not include particle bonding and such.) I used boiling water as an example, that it bubble because of that extra energy, and wonder of wonders, another of the young men (my sun-hand-helper) took over and added his own so awesome bit: you know when you boil water and it rises up and then when it cools it gathers on the lid and falls back down. YES! That. Exactly that.

Next question? Y’all ready for this? Why doesn’t the sky all just fall down on us? WAAAAHH!! Gravity. My cell phone took a beating on this one as I explained that smaller, less heavy things are drawn to bigger, heavier ones. That’s why my phone falls to the earth, and why the earth circles the sun and the moon circles us. Even our air, here on earth, is full of stuff like oxygen and nitrogen (didn’t get into the atmosphere that keeps it here…), but way out there, all that black and dark blue space out there, has NOTHING. It’s completely empty. So there’s nothing to fall. Gravity and mass. Oh man, we should do a basic astrophysics course here! They’re so into it!!

Okay, so, obviously, it was really really fun to explain all this stuff, to challenge my Wolof, challenge my own ability to teach about things I take for granted as known. However, the greatest joy of this experience was their interest! They listened so intently to everything I said, helped explain it to each other, asked each other questions related to what I had said to further understand and relate it to their everyday experience. Oh man, oh man, it was frickin’ delicious.

So, why do I think these are some of the best contributions I can make in my time here? Because I’m realizing something about this work. And it’s something that I think get’s a lot of volunteers down, because it’s somewhat disillusioning. Here it is (it’s kind-of a duh): I am not going to stop the Sahara from spreading or this land from drying up. I am not going to be able to mitigate the interaction of modernization in the cities and traditional country life. I can’t solve their water problems. There are a lot of things I cannot do. BUT maybe I can broaden their horizons a little. Inspire a little awe for the environment here and the world at large that will encourage a greater persistence in pursuing education. Because, frankly, the world is changing, and it seems that the people who are able to interact with the forces that shape that change are educated. And in my opinion the most important change that could be made in the whole development scheme would be for the people affected by “development” to have some say in what it looks like.

PS, because I’ve talked so much about it over the last few months, it’s 8:40 AM, I’m wearing a sweater and wrap skirt over my pajamas and am still comfortably cool. I woke up cold in the night, wrapped tightly in my sheet and curled in the fetal position. This, my friends, happened without a fan. Lovely things are happening to the climate here J