4.14.2009

The past few weeks, I've been seeing the start of mango season all around me. It started with the flowers. Any time I passed a mango tree, my eyes were immediately drawn to the sprinkling of flowers that frosted the entire canopy. I remember feeling a tinge of excitement at the thought of eating mangos everyday. Then as the flowers fell away, little green buds the size of grocery store gum balls became visible. The pregnancy of the trees becoming known to all. Those little green babies have been growing bigger and bigger and some have even begun to change color to the light orange and deep red that I love so much. As I walk through the markets, I even see the first fruits being sold from atop old wooden tables. Though I have been eagerly awaiting my first mango of the season, I vowed to start the season off with the perfect mango. This means passing up several opportunities to eat mangos. But for good reason, they aren't perfect yet. Today my waiting ended and the mango WASN'T perfect. But again, for good reason.....

I'm not sure why, but today I awoke in a muddied mood. I haven't had much motivation to get work done lately. I think it's because I can't stop thinking about my June vacation. I've been here over a year and I'm hitting a wall. I really feel the need to get out of here. To remember America. To look into the eyes of my family. To laugh with my friends. It doesn't help that work has been frustrating me lately. All of these things added up made it quite difficult to wake up. Regardless, I pulled myself out of bed and actually made it out of the house by 7am. I walked to where I catch an old, beat up car to the hospital and I didn't even have to throw elbows for a spot. I walked through the Psych ward and muttered half-hearted greetings before finally entering in the garden. I really was happy to see Mboop watering and we exchanged greetings. We talked about the garden and decided to spray some pesticide to deal with a recent insect attack. I filled the pump and started in a corner next to a carasol tree. Not five minutes into the spraying, the damn pump broke. The worse part is, it didn't completely break, no, it broke so that it could still be used.....painfully slow. Knowing how crucial it was to spray, I continued using the broken pump. Then about every minute or so it would stop working for a bit....then start again. Frustration began boiling inside until finally it spilled out in a fit of laughter. Laughter like a mad scientist. I don't know why. I gripped the pump tightly with every intention of smashing it against the wall. I restrained myself. Maybe because Mboop was looking at me like I was really crazy.

"The pump keeps breaking." I explained, wiping the frustration from my eyes. Perhaps Mboop could sense that something other than the pump was bother me, because shortly after I heard him call my name. He was standing there with a bucket of small mangoes he had just pulled from the tree.

"Come eat breakfast." he said. I gladly set the pump down and joined him for a mango feast. As I said, the mangoes weren't perfect, but they were needed. My muddied mood felt the heaviness of frustration lift and contentment settled into its place. As I sat squatted on the ground with a mango in hand, I realized I had it all wrong. You don't wait for the perfect mango to start the season off, you wait for the perfect moment; and I found my perfect moment. 

3.21.09

As each day passes, I replay the events in my mind with every intention of placing them on paper. While those intentions are quite strong, they seem to give in to the power of distraction so quickly. Man, I really do have ADD…..oh look a bug!!

For the past week my room seems to have been converted into a youth hostel. Thanks to the really cool website www.couchsurfing.com, I have had a new friend, Sergio Alvarez from Venezuela, staying with me. “surfing my couch” if you will. On top of that, Alice and Ian (from England) returned from Mali and needed a place to stay as well. So, for the past two days there have been 4 of us staying in my small room. It’s been a lot of fun.

One of the nice things about having guests is that you get to experience Senegal through fresh eyes. What has become completely normal to me sparks excitement in the eyes of a traveler. Busy market streets packed with peddlers pushing brightly colored wares. Shoeless children chasing rolling tires, their laughter being carried away by the wind. Another passenger managing to squeeze into a bus that should have reached capacity 15 people ago. The clacking of horse drawn carts followed by impatient cab horns. And then I remember the romance of Senegal. I remember her beauty. I remember how she wooed me over one year ago.

One of the first days Sergio was here, we decided to go downtown and spend the day walking around. We took the bus, got out at Sandaga Market and immediately walked towards the Place d’Independence. I wanted to go check out my “secret cove” past the palace, which was one of the first places I discovered when I moved here. After passing the palace guards in their fluffy black hats, we turned and began walking down towards the ocean. We stopped to admire the mammoth Baobab tree in the middle of the road, upon which someone had painted “Africa Unite”. Then we made our way to the small fisherman’s cove. The place still feels like a secret to me. Something you hide from the world between the pages of an old book.

After watching some fisherman push their pirogue out to sea, we continued walking along the water then hiked up a small mountain where we were met with an incredible view of the whole city cradled by the sea. I kept wondering why I don’t explore my city more often. It’s beautiful.

From atop the mountain, we could see a stone pier that jetted out into the ocean towards Isle de Goree. We made our way down to discover what excitement the pier had to offer. When we finally found it, I was quite amazed to see how far it stretched out to sea. About halfway across the thing, we had to stop and climb around an old rusted cannon. I wondered if it had ever been fired or if it just stood watch like a gargoyle perched atop a cathedral. At the end of the pier sat several fisherman with hooked strings wrapped around their fingers. Very Huck Finn-ish. I sat next to one and watched as he tugged on his string rhythmically, causing the bait on the end to dance. Perhaps 20 minutes passed as I sat and watched little fish after little fish be pulled from their world. Finally a call of excitement from another fisherman pulled me from my thoughts. He had caught a BIG one. This caused everyone to come to his aid, offering little snippets of advice: let him get tired, just yank the line hard, don’t break the string. Maybe I had been lucky enough to experience the highest excitement of their day as the fisherman successfully pulled the large fish from the water and placed it in his bucket.

We walked back into the city as the sun set and concluded the day with friends and beer in honor of St. Patty’s day.

I feel so lucky to call Dakar my home. Its days like this, when I get to explore her many undiscovered secrets tucked away in small alleys or tiny coves, that I realize my good fortune. Dakar’s beauty is in its people. In its ceeb shacks. On its beaches. In its art. Sailing on its seas. In its markets. 

From Blogger Pictures

From Blogger Pictures

2.25.09

Dear Amadou,

I understand that you have an awful addiction to attaya, but seriously, you DON'T need to drink it every night! And you don't need ME to buy it for you every night! It's really starting to bug me when you ask me to buy you Warga and Sucre, and THEN, use my gas, cups, and kettle. You always manage to fill my room with your awful music when I just want quiet. Also, if you ask to cut my mint and I say "No, leave it alone" - LEAVE IT ALONE! You cut it every night! It needs time to grow back! I can't tell you how frustrated I was when you did that RIGHT AFTER I said to leave it. That's why I planted you your own mint outside. Learn to take care of it! Also, if you ask me one more time if you can use my phone, I might kick you in the throat.

peace&love,

Matar

p.s. close the door, it's cold!

*note - the names in this letter have not been changed. That's how frustrated I am.

2.20.09
I'm an Uncle........ again! The difference this time is that it didn't happen in Senegal. My sister Mackenzie had her first baby and that makes me an Uncle for reals.  Everyone, meet Adam Joseph Garcia, perhaps the cutest newborn EVER!

 

I can't wait to go home in June and finally meet him. 

2.4.2009

This past weekend I took a trip out to Thieneba to visit my family and FINALLY meet my new nephew who was born shortly after Tabaski. I can't tell you how much I enjoy being with my family in Thieneba. Life takes on a whole different kind of pace. I awake in the morning to the sounds of animals and children playing. I step out and enjoy some cafe touba with bread and butter while squatting on the ground. I help my little brother take the sheep out to graze checking on the baby sheep just born the previous night. I sit with a giant calabash in my lap sorting rice for lunch. I visit the neighbors and offer advice on their garden. I lay on a mat in the courtyard drinking attaya and talking to my family for hours. It's a culmination of the little things that makes life so wonderful. 

All the small things aside, getting to finally see my new nephew was quite exciting. I've been here for the whole pregnancy which has actually helped a lot when I realize how sad I am that I have been missing Mackenzie's pregnancy. Being all the way across the world when my first nephew/niece is going to be born has been a little difficult. I've wanted to see what Mackenzie looks like pregnant. I want to be there to see the baby right when it's born! Having a sister here who has been close to the same stage of pregnancy as Mackenzie, in a way, makes me feel like I'm not missing anything. I guess I can consider it practice at being an uncle. 

Seeing Fatou so happy with her new baby was beautiful. They named him Seydina Aliou Diop, Aliou being the name of my host-father who passed away several months ago. The name couldn't be more perfect. Seydina entered the world at the perfect time because it was so nice to see a smile on my host-mother's face again. She has been in mourning for months. 

Here are a few pics from the weekend:

Fatou, Seydina and Me

From My new nephew

Fatou and Seydina

From My new nephew

Sorting Rice

From My new nephew

Binta and I with her "Doll" she made

From My new nephew

1.22.09

I made a hat. yea.

1.22.2009

Don't judge me, but, I cried my first tears in Senegal several nights ago. They were not tears of physical pain. They were not tears of cultural frustration. They were not tears of 'why can't you speak english!?' They were not tears of 'please don't make me eat rice and fish again'. They were tears of longing; Longing to be with those I love at home. Don't get me wrong, I love living here. But there are times when all I can do is think back to my family and friends in America. Sometimes it's even thoughts of food in America that get to me. 

Anyway, the other night I met my sister, Ashley, online to have a video chat. (Technology has definitely helped me with missing home. When you can see the person you are talking to live, it makes all the difference.) We were talking when she told me that she had just received an email from our sister Corey. I checked my email and had also received one. The email was an autobiographical narrative that she had to write for her english class. I opened the document and began reading aloud to Ashley via Skype. The story was about our last Christmas with all the family together. It told of a hilarious experience that had occurred late one night in the kitchen. As I read, I couldn't stop laughing out loud. The laughter eventually blurred my vision with tears and I had to stop reading. When I tried to start again, I realized that my tears of laughter had taken on a different form. I was crying because I missed my family. It was a startling realization because I was unaware of the transition between the two. Ashley was able to finish reading the story for me and we both talked about how much we missed home. Though the tears lasted for a short time, it was nice to have experienced them with Ashley rather than alone. 

Corey, thank you for sending me the story. It was beautifully written and I felt like I was re-living the hilarity. 

Random fact: As I sat writing this blog, three street kids sat on my floor looking at my magazines playing some sort of game they invented. They would throw a magazine in the air, catch it, and open to a random page. Then they would count how many people were in the photos on that page. The number of people quickly turned into how many times they were allowed to slap each others arms. Random. Funny. 

1.14.09

Again, shame on me for not updating in awhile. Especially since I have my computer back. Well, there is tons to talk about and many stories to share, but as promised, I've decided to post an entry from my journal about the passing of my host father. It is an old journal entry but it was a significant experience that I still want to share. The Journal entry also talks a bit about the holidays of Ramadan and Korite.

journal entry 10.10.08

I’ve been wanting to put words down on these pages for the past week, but I think I might have been avoiding it. My thoughts have been painfully lodged in my brain and I’ve been trying as hard as I can to ignore them. The events of the past two weeks have left my heart in the strangest of states; An emotional juxtaposition of sorts. The whole month of September I have been busy preparing for this training I’m in charge of. The month has also been Ramadan, which makes getting things done even more difficult. The days of the training came and though I was nervous, they went really well. The day following the training was Korite and while I really wanted to spend it in Thieneba, I stayed in Dakar. I received several phone calls from my siblings in Thieneba telling me I needed to be there with them celebrating the holiday. I explained that I needed to stay in Dakar with my family since it was my first holiday with them. My Korite was pretty low key and chill with lots of good food and sitting around. People came to the house and greeted with a:
“Balma ak” (forgive me)
to which we respond:
“Balnaa la. Balma!” (I forgive you, forgive me!)
I understood that fasting for the month of Ramadan brings forgiveness of our sins, but it wasn’t until I began hearing these greetings that I saw the true beauty of the holiday. Every person you greet, whether stranger or not, you plead for forgiveness. I think our world needs more days like this; A forgiveness jubilee. No matter what we might have done to each other in the past, we can both understand the weight of our own sin and wickedness and both acknowledge how much we need each other’s forgiveness. Beautiful.

Kids also ran from house to house asking for money. This got old real fast because the moment I let one kid in my room, he brought ALL the friends he could find to see the Toubab’s room and to taste the weird candy he was handing out (I didn’t have any money to give so I figured I would turn it into Halloween!).

Later, I went and hung out with my great friend Aliou. We enjoyed walking around his neighborhood and hanging out with his family.

TWO DAYS LATER, I woke up early to go work in the garden. While I was gardening, I was thinking about how happy I was that my training was done and successful when I received a phone call. It was my sister Rokhoya (in Thieneba). I was excited to hear her so I kept talking about how much I missed her but something didn’t seem right in her voice and I couldn’t understand what she was trying to say. Then the voice of my brother, Matar, came on the line and he said four words that hit me hard, taking the air from my lungs:
“Our father is dead”
I lost all ability to communicate in wolof and I yelled “WHAT?!” Nothing was said for a moment and I had to gather my thoughts.
“I’m coming right now” I said and I hung up. I went immediately home and threw some things into a bag. I walked to the Patte d’oie garage and jumped in a Sept Place for Thies. When I got to the garage there, I jumped in an Alhum headed for Thieneba. When I got off, I began walking to the house and ran into my sister Ida who was walking with Ami Diouf. I didn’t know what to expect and my greeting was slightly solemn. They could tell I was pained and walked with me to the house. When I arrived, there were hundreds of people all around and in the house. I greeted the people I knew and then saw Rokhoya. She immediately walked me into mom’s room where woman sat all around her. She looked up at me with these horribly saddened eyes. I kneeled in front of her and said,
“Yalla na ko yalla yerum” (May God take pity on him)
She muttered an “amen” then began to explain that Dad was sick but had been feeling better. Then at 3am he passed. She repeated that he was feeling better and began to cry. I had no words for her so I just sat holding her hand. I left a bit later with a very heavy heart.
I spent the next 3 days there merely being with the family. I helped take care of all the mourners and even had some amazing conversations with Babacar. I think he might have been taking it the hardest. After sitting with him the 1st night, he asked if I was ok. I said it was difficult to explain but that my heart was heavy. He said he didn’t want to see me suffering, to which I responded that I didn’t want to see him suffer either. We took a few night walks where he talked about what a great man our father was. He even talked about being there right as his father passed away.
The time there was hard but at the same time so good. I think it was in those days that I felt the most like I was part of the family.

12.21.2008

I've been trying to get my thanksgiving pics up for sometime but to no avail. However, my friend maggie was able to get all of my pics up on her picture site. So, if you want to see my thanksgiving pics, go here:

http://peacecorpspav.shutterfly.com/423?startIndex=50

12.5.2008

Well folks. It finally happened. I got ARRESTED!

What should have been a quick and easy trip to the gas station turned into police curruption and imprisonment.....here's how it went down:

The power was out in my neighborhood (big surprise) and my mother asked me and my friend Cheikh to run to the gas station across the street to pick up some gas for a generator. You see, it's almost time for the HUGE holiday of Tabaski and my mom has a tailor shop that has been nothing but busy making new clothes for the holiday. Without electricity she can't run the sewing machines and can't finish all the orders. I digress. Cheikh and I went across the street and purchased the gas. While we were walking back we were stopped by some guy who clamied to be the police after quickly flashing this tiny "ID card" at me. He asked for my ID which of course I didn't have. He immediatly grabbed me by the back of my pants and started dragging me to this van. If you are thinking this sounds shady and that he's probably not a cop, I was thinking the same thing. Being the smart American I am, I asked to see his ID again which he flashed in front of my face while still dragging me. The brief seconds I had to look at it showed that it had no photo and looked like a 3rd grader made it on microsoft paint. It had water stains that made the text virtually unreadable; minus the big rainbow colored "POLICE" at the top. When he shoved it back in his pocked I told him I needed to read it and he started yelling at me that no, I do not need to see his ID. My poor friend Cheikh had no idea what to do and just followed behind us worried. The "cop" literally threw me into the back of the van with about 15 other handcuffed "bad guys" and refused to answer my questions. I began talking to my fellow "inmates" and learned that we were being taken to the station down the street if we didn't pay them off. I had no money on me and even if I had, I wouldn't have even considered giving it to these corrupt cops. I tried mimeing to Cheikh to run home and get my ID but I guess my mimeing skills have gone down hill since I took that class way back in college because he didn't get the message. I secretly pull out my phone (thank God I had credit) and called our country director and our security guy who kept telling me to try and get ahold of someone at the house to get my ID. I called my mom (senegalese mom) who couldn't hear her phone over the sewing machines. I called Adji (she lives with us) and tried to explain what was happening. Her response was "Who is this?! Matar? Matar who?". After calling her three more times she finally realized what was going on. "Go in my room and get my ID, I'm having problems with the police" She is shocked but instead of getting my ID she just says, "ok, I'll tell mama". Real helpful, thanks. I hang up my phone and realize that Cheikh is gone. As I'm sitting in the van the police start arguing with a woman they just threw in the van. She is holding tightly to her baby and trying to explain something to the cops when they hit her. Everyone in the van quickly tells her to sit down and be quiet; for her own sake. I find out she had just bought a phone that was stolen, so the cops handcuff her to the guy who sold it to her and threw them both in the van. I realize that I'm sweating and turn to the guy sitting next to me and say, "it's hot in here," to which he laughs. I tell him this is stupid and that I just live across the street. He realizes that he has seen me and I have come into his bakery before. Next thing I know there is a loud woman towering over one of the officers, her voice booming with authority. It's my mom and Cheikh is standing next to her smiling. No one messes with my mom. NO ONE. Next thing I know, the officer walks up to the van and calls out, "Matar?" I respond and he waves for me to get out. I say good bye to my locked up friends and exit the scorchingly hot van. My mom let's out a loud, "MY SON!" as she embraces me. She grabs my arm and we begin walking through the crowd back home. I turn back facing the officers and let out a quite "assholes!". I know it's not mature but it made me feel a little better at the time. Plus, they don't speak english, so what's the harm?

I put my arm around Cheikh and say thank you. He must have ran home to get my mom. As we are walking back my mom explains that around this time of year the police are especially corrupt. Everyone is preparing for Tabaski and part of the preparation requires every muslim family to buy a Ram to kill. Apparently the police just go around in civilian clothes and round up as many people as they can for stupid things like not having ID on them. If the prisoners can pay them money they will let them go. If they can't, they spend the night in a crowded cell and release them the next day. I asked my mom if she had to pay the bribe. "Of course not!" she replied with a huge smile.

This is not the first time I have had shady dealings with the police. Seeing them beat the crap out of innocent people at a soccer game is right up there on the list. The corruption is enraging. What's even more difficult to deal with is the helplessness that comes with not trusting the police. I guess you just learn to trust your friends and family because in the end, they are the ones who you can really depend on to get you out of a tight spot.

*sidenote* Though i don't mention the peace corps response in detail, they were EXTREMELY helpful in the situation as well. My mom just happened to be in closer proximity. So don't be thinking I'm not taken care of by the PC. Those guys got my back and I trust them with my life.

I'm told all electronics come to Senegal to die.....

my computer is dead. This means that posts will few and far between. Balmaa! (sorry) I miss you all and hope my computer will be repaired soon.

11.7.08

Ok, ok, ok, I know I still haven't updated in awhile. I suck. I found this video on youtube that I wanted to share with anyone who wonders what my city is like. There is SO MUCH MORE to my city, but it's still a nice video. Enjoy.

p.s. YEA OBAMA!!!!!!!!!!

I have sat down to write a blog countless times in the past month. Each time I tried to quiet my mind and grasp the things I've been experiencing here, but the shear juxtaposition of emotions involved became a bit overwhelming. I've had several "in the cloud" moments as well as a few rock bottom ones. I promise I'll try and get some thoughts down soon, but until then a quick list will have to suffice:

• Training I put together was successful
• Host father passed away suddenly (this was very difficult)
• Intense riots in my neighborhood (destroyed buildings, tire burnings, fires, tear gas, beatings, rock throwing, theft, car running over people)
• Staying busy with work and loving it

That's the gist of it. I promise that once I can comprehensibly order my thoughts on paper you all will get details. I miss and love you all.

.:Peace:.

9.17.08

...excerpt from my journal...

I just finished reading Steinbeck’s “Travels with Charley”. The book nourished my desire to be out on the road again. It also had a part where Steinbeck visited where he had grown up and he talked about the incongruence of memory and reality. His writing told of a fear that I know I harbor. It’s hard to give that fear a name, but perhaps I could call it change; I mean the change that father time slowly brings. So subtle you can’t see it but when you look back it’s almost unrecognizable and you become a ghost in what you thought would be recognizable reality.

“My town had grown and changed and my friend along with it. Now returning, as changed to my friend as my town was to me, I distorted his picture, muddied his memory. When I went away I had died, and so became fixed and unchangeable. My return caused only confusion and uneasiness. Although they could not say it, my old friends wanted me gone so that I could take my proper place in the pattern of remembrance—and I wanted to go for the same reason. Tom Wolfe was right ‘you can’t go home again because home has ceased to exist except in the mothballs of memory.’”

Sometimes it’s the slow change that is the most painful. A married couple who once shared such passion now go to sleep like two brothers on a hotel bed. A best friend who gradually becomes a stranger, and not because of any falling out but simply because time has slowly eroded the friendship into something unrecognizable. If Steinbeck and Wolfe are right, I fear my homecoming after two years in Africa. My idea of what home is brings me comfort while I’m away. But my idea of home is frozen in time, unchanging while the reality of home changes with each passing day. I’m being written out of its history. 

NEW BACKDATED POSTS ADDED: BILL BLINTON, AND FARMING....check 'em out!

Hello world! Alas it is I back from a internetless existence and I must say life without internet is hard (but possible). I still don't have regular access but I want to let you know that I'm trying hard to start getting posts up. I'll be back dating posts that I've pulled from my journal so you can have an idea of things that have been going on since my last post about the 4th of july. Also I promise I'm going to try harder to start getting pictures back up. SO....keep checking in and once in awhile you will find new entries INSHALLAH! (God willing)

9.4.08

excerpt from a letter

I spent the whole day in the office behind a desk preparing for a training that I’m doing at the end of the month. I loath working at a desk. To give you a little more background, Ramadan has started which means we are fasting. No food or drink at any point while the sun is in the sky. For the whole month. We are also in rainy season and its been pouring rain for days. My neighborhood of Patte d’oih is completely underwater. Luckily my house is on a hill in Patte d’oih, but the rest of my neighborhood is a swimming pool of yuck water. Cars are completely submerged and bus routes (that I use daily) have been altered. Needless to say transport is a mess. So, a whole day stir crazy behind a desk, hungry like no ones business and dreading figuring out transport home when it starts to POUR down rain yet again. I grab my stuff and run out of the office determined to get home before the streets flood. I’m soaked by the time I reach the corner to catch a bus. I make a mental note that my phone is in my pocket and I need to move it to my bag. After some elbow swinging, pushing, and yelling in wolof, I manage to get on. A nice old woman offers me the seat next to her and I smile and sit. How nice of her. I quickly learn she offered it to me because a river of water is rushing in from my window and I will make a great barrier so she can stay dry. Yep, how nice of her. The bus begins to drive leaving a mob of angry and unlucky people in the rain. They need to learn how to swing elbows. I look out the window and see the road already flooded in about a foot of water. The bus stops and the driver exchanges words with another driver outside his window. Up ahead the road is impassable. Up ahead is the road to my house. The bus turns around and informs us, the passengers, he has changed his plan and now he’s going the opposite direction to downtown. After tracing a few maps in my mind, I realize though it’s extremely out of the way, it is my only option. The “nice” old lady stands and gets off the bus while a river of water falls onto my lap from the window. Some other guy sits next to me and we begin our perilous journey downtown. Parts of the trip felt like I was at Disneyland riding on the jungle river cruise ride, only in a crappy old bus, not a boat, and our driver wasn’t cracking any cheesy jokes about the backside of a waterfall. Quite sometime later the driver decides he doesn’t want to keep going so he pulls over and makes us all get out. Tired, soaked, starving and still far from home, I begin walking only to realize I never heeded my own mental note to move my phone and also my pocket felt lighter. Upon reaching down, I discover my portable gone. The guy I sat next to stole my phone! AHH! Extremely frustrated I stomped through puddles to another bus stop and began waiting. I continued to mull over my stupidity for forgetting to put my cell in my bag and realized I just wanted to get home so I could break the fast and read my book. Since I obviously had no need to buy more credit for my cell phone, I quickly justified spending the extra money on a cab home. I got home, broke the fast with my family, and went to my room to escape into my book. 

8.11.08

You are no officially allowed to call me a “Baykat”. Yes, that’s right, I’m a farmer. I woke up early and went with my brothers to go work in the fields. We hooked the Charét to our donkey and rode out to our millet field. The ride took 20 minutes or so and it was beautiful. The rainy season has transformed Thieneba into a lush, green African plain. The Boabab trees are even covered in leafy greenness. It’s amazing that just a few months ago this was all sand. It’s also a wonder that this open expanse of sand can be a thriving field of beans, millet or peanuts when you add a daily storm or two. When we arrived at the Dugub (millet) field, we unhitched the donkey and then exchanged the charét for a plow-like mechanism. My brothers told me we were weeding the dugub using “the machine”. I watched for a bit as my brothers worked. Moustapha led the donkey as Balla controlled the plow. Matar followed along the side ready to hit the donkey with a stick if a loud “Allez!” wasn’t sufficient. The plow did pull most of the weeds up, but we left them there. I’m sure most will die but I also wonder how many will just reroot. We worked for several hours and by the end I was even manning the plow. The whole experience was so awesome and I kept imagining myself living in Thieneba and farming with my brothers forever. Being out there surrounded by the beautiful fields with an overwhelming calm was refreshing to the soul. 

Here are some pictures and a video to enjoy:

From Back in Thieneba

From Back in Thieneba

From Back in Thieneba

From Back in Thieneba

8.3.08

I MET BILL BLINTON!

Well, at least that’s what my invitation said. I went to the garden (Fann) to work one day and a flurry of activity was around the DIG garden. I asked Lope what was going on and he told me that Laura Bush was visiting! Then a few moments later he amended his statement by saying George Bush was visiting! Not knowing what to believe, I just went to work weeding and watering the garden when I got a phone call from my APCD Massaly. He told me that a “high profile” guest would be visiting the garden (the DIG garden). I obviously asked right away if it was George Bush and Massaly began laughing. His laughter made me assume it wouldn’t be anyone quite THAT high profile, but then he said, “No, Bill Clinton is coming”. Even cooler! I found out that it was scheduled for Aug 3^rd, the Sunday I was supposed to leave for IST in Thies! I also found out it was an invitation only event. I spent the rest of my gardening time devising schemes that would get me into the event. Perhaps dressing as a caterer? Maybe a custodian? My mind began playing all the spy movies I had ever seen looking for an answer. Just as my creativity began to wane, I received another phone call. This time it was my country director Chris Hedrick. He called to tell me that he put my name on the list and that I had an invitation! So much for posing as a caterer! I received my invitation the Sunday of the event and thought it quite amusing when I realized they spelled Bill Clinton’s name wrong. Bill Blinton. Real smooth Senegal. The event itself was pretty low key though there was a lot of press invited. Basically the purpose of the visit was so Clinton could see how the garden looked and promote its good work. The garden (like mine) grows veggies for the HIV/AIDS patients to supplement their nutrition. Studies have shown that patients with better nutrition absorb their medications better. The garden also has one meal a week where patients, friends, and family come together to eat with the hopes of addressing the major stigma around AIDS that Senegal has. The Clinton Foundation has done amazing work lowering the prices of those medications making them more readily available for low income families who need them. Several people gave speeches and then Clinton spoke about his foundation and the great work the garden was doing.

 Random side note: One thing I have had fun learning is Senegalese phone etiquette. Basically you can answer your phone whenever it rings and it’s not considered rude. Even in movies or important meetings. While Clinton was giving his speech this woman’s phone rang loudly and I was shocked when she answered it and had a very loud conversation while Clinton was trying to speak!

 At the end, he shook some hands and YES, I DID meet him! Not only did I meet him, I was privileged enough to have a conversation with him. I told him I was a PC volunteer and worked in the garden every now and then. He thanked me for my work and we began talking about how Senegal will be a catalyst for other African countries to have similar projects. Inshallah!

 Other people of interest who were there: Chelsea Clinton (who stared daggers at me the whole time “daddy” and I talked), Ted Danson and his wife. Random. By the time it was over, it was late and raining so I decided to leave for Thies early the next morning.

From Bill Clinton Visit

7.9.08

excerpt from journal. check out my pictures of the fourth too. 

Darkness falls heavily around me, but I sit in a safety bubble of light. The current is out again and as I write a large shadow mimics my movements to the tee. I’m back in my own house after spending 3 days at the Liberte 6 house. After coming back from Kedegou, I fell quite ill. Running stomach, fever at 103, headache, body pains. I decided I would be a little more comfortable staying in Liberte 6 where I knew there would be water and power. I mostly watched movies and slept. It was needed but I admit I felt like a complete slob.

 As for the 4^th of July, all I can say is INCREDIBLE! Kay and I took a sept place down to Mbour the Tuesday before and spent the night at Jenn’s with Chris and Alexis. That night we hung out on her roof watching a quickly arriving storm front over the ocean. She put on quite the electrical show with only a few thunder intermissions.

 The next day we all took the painful trip to Tamba Counda via spet place. It was a 12 or so hour trip on a road that could have been used to grate cheese. Luckily we were sharing the car with three other really cool Senegalese guys who were so excited that between us, we could speak English, French, wolof, Pulaar, and Sereer. We stopped for lunch who knows where and Jen and I quickly found a woman selling ceeb u jen. For a cool off desert, we bought some frozen bissap in old brake fluid bottles. At least we were recycling! The drive to Tamba was long but it was nice to see lots of green sprouting up all over from the recent rainfall. We arrived in Tamba late in the evening but were happy to find many people at the house and in transit to Kedegou. We had a mini dance party and enjoyed some hookah which of course made me think of some great friends I miss.

 The drive from Tamba to “the gou” was breathtaking. The landscape slowly melted into green mountains and beautiful hut villages in open areas. We crossed the Gambia River and saw a large group of women washing clothes and babies. Their brightly colored fabrics a dazzling contrast to the dark brown waters around their feet. As we drove, families of warthogs grazed alongside the road with a few babies running wildly, tails held high. Baboons often darted across the road baring their teeth.

 Upon arriving at “the gou” regional house, I was struck by the huge differences between it and Liberte 6. The gou house isn’t really a house at all. It is a big piece of property with lots of huts and hammocks. Trees were sprinkled throughout and grass had begun breaking through the dirt for a glimpse of the bright blue sky.

 After a small noppaloo (rest) in a hammock, a group of us decided to ride bikes down to the river for a swim. The ride was incredible. It felt so freeing riding bikes off road, over small hills, down mountains, through trees and along the river. The sky had huge clouds hanging slowly turning grey. The massive mountains in the background marked the start of Guinea. I can’t describe how happy those mountains made me feel. They made me think of backpacking and Yosemite. We arrived at the river with no one else around and had a quick conversation about getting shisto by swimming in the dirty water. We all decided it was a risk worth taking and quickly jumped in for a refreshing swim.

 The fourth ended up being a pretty amazing day. Upon awakening in the hut I was staying in, the sun was bearing down on me with stinging ferocity. I remember thinking it was going to be a hot day. I visited Mariama’s shack to get one of her amazing ndambe sandwiches then walked to the regional house. There was already a bustle of activity as people set up tents, butchered a pig, set up the bar, and carted in HUGE Senegalese speakers. The set up seemed to blur into the actual party creating the perfect merge. Great All-American music began pumping out of the speakers as people began pouring in. The day was filled with great home made food, BBQ, horseshoes, music, beer and dancing. Someone even managed to purchase some fireworks. It was the most American I’ve felt in months (and I mean that in a good way). By the afternoon clouds had rolled in helping greatly with the stinging heat. The humidity was a bit heavy but the shedding of the shirt seemed to help. After dark, the party raged on with dancing bu baax. At one point around 11pm or so, I decided to go get a fanta at the boutique down the road. The moment I stepped out of the gate an epic battle with strong winds ensued. The street was immediately filled with energy as villagers went running back to their huts pagnes flying. I closed my eyes and lifted my face towards the sky. The cold wind swirled around me and I could still see the bright flashes of lightening through my eyelids. When I returned to the party, I found a chair and carried it to a dark, quiet corner where I sat to watch the sky’s lightshow. With head reclined I stared in wonder as massive clouds were illuminated from behind. I think the trees enjoy dancing as much as Senegalese because they swayed and dipped dramatically with the wind. The flashings of light slowly intensified beginning to look less like a storm and more like a rave. I have never encountered lightening that narcissistic! It didn’t even allow the thunder or rain to take center stage. In fact, the clouds kept a pretty tight grip on the rain because not one drop escaped to the ground. As the party began to wind down, my eyes became heavy and I found myself walking to my hut. I laid down and watched the flickering shadows on the wall as reality melted into dream. A very memorable 4^th.

6.28.08

Went downtown with Kay today hoping to get to the seed store. Lunch ended up being a bit late so by the time we made it there it was closed. Casino (a real live super market) was however OPEN! Our eyes were tortured beyond all imagining as we walked through a shelf maze filled with any food your heart could desire. Of course it pales next to any mediocre American grocery store, but it’s the best selection in all of Senegal. I looked through package after package of cheese imagining having some on a cracker. Maybe even with a piece of salami. Then I walked over to the ice-cream section just to look at the mint chip. Later I found myself hugging a bag of potato chips. Finally at breaking point, we forced ourselves to leave settling on some yogurt and a soda. Amuma xalis!! (I don’t have money) We made our way to this hotel by the place d’independence for coffee on the roof. It was my first time taking in the sites of my city from above. It was beautiful to see the ocean on three sides and look down on all the other buildings downtown. The roof had an old, nasty pool that even had an underwater window looking into the bar downstairs. I couldn’t decide if it was awesome or tacky. I imagine at one point many a great party was had atop that roof. Being the only two people up there, Kay and I began belting out musicals and trying not to choke on the strawberry yogurt we had bought. The fun ended in the creation of the world’s best handshake…..the “slit it”. I’ll have to show you sometime.