It’s been a little over a week since I official arrived in Koumpentoum as an official PCV. I’ve heard from other PCVs that the first couple weeks is supposed to be the most difficult: you begin the process of adjusting to a new area, language, dialect, climate and suddenly the 40+ other Americans you’ve been surrounded by day in and day out for the past 9 weeks are all gone. During the first three months, we are instructed to not to start any projects, but to take the time to get to know the community and learn the language. With these being basically the only two vague goals, that leaves a lot of room for innovative ways to occupy one’s time. Typically, I start each day with a list of goals that I would like to accomplish that usually involves greeting people that my ancienne worked with or people that I might actually end up working with, reading my book, and working in my garden. Other than that, I pretty much just let the day unravel on its own and I’ve been pretty busy.
I spend a decent amount of time with my new family, which consists of my mother, aunt, mostly high-school aged kids and two other men that live in the compound – one is my counterpart, Balla, and he works in the Mayor’s office and the other man works for a NGO in the Health Sector of Koumpentoum. The family is Bambara (an ethnic group that descends from Mali), but speaks Wolof and French as well. So far, the family has been really patient with my Wolof and incredibly caring over all. The boys usually help me in the garden and sometimes just drop by my room to look through photos, chat, and listen to music. The girls also like to frequently visit my room (when I’ve been spending too much time on my own) also to chat and look through photos. My mother and my aunt (who is also my namesake) are very involved in the women’s group. I’ve tagged along a few times to the women’s group meeting and am starting to get to know some of the women in my community.
As an Environmental Education volunteer, part of my work involves encouraging individuals to become self-sufficient and environmentally conscious through gardening. Within my first week at site, I managed to meet the leader of a local GIE called Les Ami des Tous which already laid the groundwork for a community garden in town. Unfortunately, the garden had a few problems with the fencing, so a couple weeks ago, animals managed to penetrate the garden and eat everything. We are basically starting from scratch. I’ve been spending my afternoons working with the women on composting and getting the soil ready for the rainy season.
As an attempt to avoid the mid-day heat, I’ve been keeping myself busy with little projects. So far, these projects include: painting one of the walls black in my room in order to use it as a massive chalk board, putting up photos in my hut, studying up on composting and gardening techniques, and configuring a map for my personal backyard garden. Slowly but surely, I’m laying the groundwork for a successful next two year of service.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Welcome to Tambacounda
As I stated earlier, I’m living in the Tambacounda region of Senegal. The region of Tambacounda borders the countries of Mauritania to the north and northeast, Mali to the east, Kedougou to the south and southeast and The Gambia to the southwest. Tamba is the largest geographic region in all of Senegal. Niokolo Koba National Park is located within the region and as of a few years ago, Kedougou was a department of the Tamba region.
Ethnically, the area is predominately Pulaar and Mandinka though there are many other ethnic groups represented in this area (Bambara, Bassari, Jaxanke, and Wolof). The majority of volunteers assigned to this area speak Mandinka or Pulaar, but in the bigger towns French and Wolof is very helpful.
Tamba is known as one of the hottest inhabited places on the earth, a fact in which many of the area volunteers take great pride. The months of April, May, and June tend to be the hottest. Approximately, 700-1500 mm of rain falls between the months of May and October each year. After the first couple of rains, the temperature decreases and it is noticeably more comfortable though slightly more humid. Temperatures range from 60°F to a maximum of about 140°F.
The region is primarily wooded savannah, but vegetation can vary from shrub savannah to the more forested areas in the south. Koumpentoum is primarily savannah though.
Ethnically, the area is predominately Pulaar and Mandinka though there are many other ethnic groups represented in this area (Bambara, Bassari, Jaxanke, and Wolof). The majority of volunteers assigned to this area speak Mandinka or Pulaar, but in the bigger towns French and Wolof is very helpful.
Tamba is known as one of the hottest inhabited places on the earth, a fact in which many of the area volunteers take great pride. The months of April, May, and June tend to be the hottest. Approximately, 700-1500 mm of rain falls between the months of May and October each year. After the first couple of rains, the temperature decreases and it is noticeably more comfortable though slightly more humid. Temperatures range from 60°F to a maximum of about 140°F.
The region is primarily wooded savannah, but vegetation can vary from shrub savannah to the more forested areas in the south. Koumpentoum is primarily savannah though.
The newest members of the Tamba Nation
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Swearing In
It’s official! I am a Peace Corps Volunteer. After about 8 months spent on filling out an application, six months to wait for a PC nomination, another three months to get medically cleared to serve, two more months of waiting for an invitation, six weeks of preparation for departure, two days of staging in Washington, D.C., and nine weeks of training in Senegal, I am officially inducted as a Peace Corps Volunteer. My stage’s induction ceremony was at the U.S. Embassy in Dakar on May 14th, 2010. We were all dressed in our finest Senegalese attire. The U.S. Ambassador to Senegal spoke to our group as well as the Peace Corps Country Director, Chris Hedrick, and the Training Coordinator, Demba. Each of the language groups selected an individual to deliver a brief speech in their local language. The ceremony was apparently broadcasted on one of the Senegalese television networks.
Afterwards, we enjoyed a verity refreshments and hors-d’oeuvres (including tasty mini pizzas) in the Embassy courtyard. Then we spent the rest of our afternoon swimming and relaxing at the American Club in Dakar. Most of us had a day to pack up our things arrange transportation to our regional capitals where we spent a day or two purchasing the essentials before we installed in our villages/sites. And so it begins.
Afterwards, we enjoyed a verity refreshments and hors-d’oeuvres (including tasty mini pizzas) in the Embassy courtyard. Then we spent the rest of our afternoon swimming and relaxing at the American Club in Dakar. Most of us had a day to pack up our things arrange transportation to our regional capitals where we spent a day or two purchasing the essentials before we installed in our villages/sites. And so it begins.
The Wolof speakers are nothing but style
Tending the ailing
Falling ill in any country is never considered a light matter. Whenever I would become ill in the States, it meant a day spend at home sleeping excessively, drinking tea or sprite, and hoping someone will feel sorry enough for me to help me feel comfortable. I would spend my time trying to figure out exactly why my body is not agreeing with me and how to alleviate my suffering as quickly as possible. Being sick in Senegal is a slightly different routine. Whereas, I’ve been fortunate enough to not have to experience true illness in Senegal, I was exposed to a situation as a sidelines spectator. Feeling helpless that I could do little to abate the condition, I had to sit back and learn that even issues such as illnesses are dealt with in another ways in different cultures.
During my last week in Tassette (my training site), my host mother fell ill. She spent a day lying in bed and the next morning my uncles took her into Thiès to admit her to the regional hospital, about a 30-40 minute trip. The regional hospital (Hôpital Régionale) is the largest facility in the area until Dakar. I expected whatever illness my host mother had must have been serious. I tried asking my family what was the matter with her, but I could never get a direct response out of anyone. The most information I could gather was very vague like “she is not feeling well” or “she is ill with malaria”. In the Senegalese culture, people do not talk about one’s illnesses in detail, not even the family. In fact, 95% of the time, people (who are not doctors) will say that anyone who is sick has sibiru (malaria). Every conclusion falls immediately to sibiru, whether or not you know the true diagnosis. I experienced this first hand when I spent a day ill off of some bad ceeb u gen or something. When people had found out that I was ill, they would ask me Naka sibiru bi? (how is the malaria?). It was clear that I did not have anything remotely close to malaria, but that’s always the diagnosis. This is so contrary to how Americans deal with illness of a loved one. In the States, you try to gather as much as information as possible about ailment. You talk to any of your friends that are nurses or doctors. You jump online and do your research. Doctors are expected to be as detailed as possible in their analysis. There is an inherit responsibility to be informed and to inform others if you can. As I still hold that cultural trait, you can imagine my frustration with these very indirect responses to my questions.
My host mother did not have sibiru. She did spent ten days at the Hôpital Régionale in Thiès due to high blood pressure and hypertension. I had to learn this information through the grapevine via my language instructor. While I was in Tassette, I did not have the opportunity to visit my host mother in the hospital. However, once I was back in Thiès, I visited her everyday she remained in the hospital. My host mother was in the salle d’urgence (Urgent Care Room) during her entire stay in the hospital. Each time I visited my mother, the room was filled with other patients and their families. There were about eight hospital beds in the Urgent Care Room. There were not any curtains dividing the patients. There was no air conditioning. There were no convenient buttons to push to call for help. There were no nurses, only a couple doctors that rotated in and out every couple hours. Patients that occupied the salle d’urgence were admitted for various reasons: broken limbs, burns, skin infections, internal problems. Patients going into surgery waited and recovered in the salle d’urgence along with a number of other patients.
The first day I visited my host mother in the hospital, I was happy to see the familiar face of one of my uncles and an older woman from our village. The second day I visited, the same uncle was still at the hospital. He was sitting outside of the hospital on a large mat with a small stove and a blanket. Over the course of 4-5 visits, I came to the conclusion that my uncle was not going home every evening after he visited his sister. He stayed the nights at the hospital, camping outside the hospital doors along with other patients’ families. As there are no nurses, the family is expected to care for their family member in the hospital for the day to day activities such as going to the bathroom, bathing, supplying food and clothing, etc. Tending to your ill family member becomes a full-time job.
I am happy to report that my host mother is no longer in the hospital and is recovering quite well back at home. The fact that I was helpless to directly assist my host mother even on the level of competence of her ailment was mind-numbing for me, but it revealed another invaluable lesson about Senegalese culture. Don’t even take the simplest assumptions for granted.
During my last week in Tassette (my training site), my host mother fell ill. She spent a day lying in bed and the next morning my uncles took her into Thiès to admit her to the regional hospital, about a 30-40 minute trip. The regional hospital (Hôpital Régionale) is the largest facility in the area until Dakar. I expected whatever illness my host mother had must have been serious. I tried asking my family what was the matter with her, but I could never get a direct response out of anyone. The most information I could gather was very vague like “she is not feeling well” or “she is ill with malaria”. In the Senegalese culture, people do not talk about one’s illnesses in detail, not even the family. In fact, 95% of the time, people (who are not doctors) will say that anyone who is sick has sibiru (malaria). Every conclusion falls immediately to sibiru, whether or not you know the true diagnosis. I experienced this first hand when I spent a day ill off of some bad ceeb u gen or something. When people had found out that I was ill, they would ask me Naka sibiru bi? (how is the malaria?). It was clear that I did not have anything remotely close to malaria, but that’s always the diagnosis. This is so contrary to how Americans deal with illness of a loved one. In the States, you try to gather as much as information as possible about ailment. You talk to any of your friends that are nurses or doctors. You jump online and do your research. Doctors are expected to be as detailed as possible in their analysis. There is an inherit responsibility to be informed and to inform others if you can. As I still hold that cultural trait, you can imagine my frustration with these very indirect responses to my questions.
My host mother did not have sibiru. She did spent ten days at the Hôpital Régionale in Thiès due to high blood pressure and hypertension. I had to learn this information through the grapevine via my language instructor. While I was in Tassette, I did not have the opportunity to visit my host mother in the hospital. However, once I was back in Thiès, I visited her everyday she remained in the hospital. My host mother was in the salle d’urgence (Urgent Care Room) during her entire stay in the hospital. Each time I visited my mother, the room was filled with other patients and their families. There were about eight hospital beds in the Urgent Care Room. There were not any curtains dividing the patients. There was no air conditioning. There were no convenient buttons to push to call for help. There were no nurses, only a couple doctors that rotated in and out every couple hours. Patients that occupied the salle d’urgence were admitted for various reasons: broken limbs, burns, skin infections, internal problems. Patients going into surgery waited and recovered in the salle d’urgence along with a number of other patients.
The first day I visited my host mother in the hospital, I was happy to see the familiar face of one of my uncles and an older woman from our village. The second day I visited, the same uncle was still at the hospital. He was sitting outside of the hospital on a large mat with a small stove and a blanket. Over the course of 4-5 visits, I came to the conclusion that my uncle was not going home every evening after he visited his sister. He stayed the nights at the hospital, camping outside the hospital doors along with other patients’ families. As there are no nurses, the family is expected to care for their family member in the hospital for the day to day activities such as going to the bathroom, bathing, supplying food and clothing, etc. Tending to your ill family member becomes a full-time job.
I am happy to report that my host mother is no longer in the hospital and is recovering quite well back at home. The fact that I was helpless to directly assist my host mother even on the level of competence of her ailment was mind-numbing for me, but it revealed another invaluable lesson about Senegalese culture. Don’t even take the simplest assumptions for granted.
Senegalese Prom
Remember your first middle school dance where the boys all stood on one side of the gymnasium and the girls stood on the opposite side, both groups too afraid to make the first move? Well, that’s basically how adolescent social functions operate in Senegal. All week in Tassette, everyone was talking about the end of the year party at the CM2 (middle school / high school). Girls spent hours putting braids in their hair and guys scrubbed their shoes as clean as humanly possible. It was all the hype in the village. Naturally, Ann Marie, Justin, and I had to make our appearance at a social function with so much buildup.
We made a fashionably late entrance at the school’s “courtyard” (dirt field). After greeting all the teachers, we made our way over to the students. Everyone was looking smart. The girls wore their special complètes and the guys wore their pants lower than usual with the nicest shirt they owned. And what was everyone doing? Sitting. Girls on one side and boys on the other. A few of the “talented” guys monopolized the microphone with their mad lip-syncing skills and pseudo ability to rap. For once, I actually felt like the most popular kid at school. Apparently, associating with toubabs makes you slightly cooler or more exotic in the Senegalese adolescent world. So, not only did we steal the lime light when we entered the “party”, but suddenly everyone knew our names and wanted us to sit with them. We got a nice cushy spot in plain sight of the “entertainment”. And it was very entertaining… for us. Who would have thought that bad rapping in Wolof about ceeb u gen (the popular Senegalese rice and fish dish) and even worse lip-syncing would be so entertaining?
We made a fashionably late entrance at the school’s “courtyard” (dirt field). After greeting all the teachers, we made our way over to the students. Everyone was looking smart. The girls wore their special complètes and the guys wore their pants lower than usual with the nicest shirt they owned. And what was everyone doing? Sitting. Girls on one side and boys on the other. A few of the “talented” guys monopolized the microphone with their mad lip-syncing skills and pseudo ability to rap. For once, I actually felt like the most popular kid at school. Apparently, associating with toubabs makes you slightly cooler or more exotic in the Senegalese adolescent world. So, not only did we steal the lime light when we entered the “party”, but suddenly everyone knew our names and wanted us to sit with them. We got a nice cushy spot in plain sight of the “entertainment”. And it was very entertaining… for us. Who would have thought that bad rapping in Wolof about ceeb u gen (the popular Senegalese rice and fish dish) and even worse lip-syncing would be so entertaining?
The ladies looking their finest
Crashing Baptisms
Similar to States, ceremonies hold great importance in Senegalese culture. Weddings, funerals, and baptisms serve as a reason for people to get together and either celebrate for grieve. Depending on the event, a special dish is prepared and the tam-tams are broken out. Since birthdays are not celebrated in Senegal as they are in the State, any excuse to get together for a party is a good one. Throughout training, my fellow trainees at my village site, Ann Marie and Justin, and myself had listened to other trainees’ accounts of these cultural festivities. We waited patiently for our chance to partake in some sort of celebration. However, since our training had wind down to our last week and then last day in our host sites and we still had not witnessed any of these cultural accounts, we decided to take matters in our hands.
Earlier in the week, we had heard rumors of a potential baptism taking place in our village. A baptism is an important event in Senegalese culture because it is the naming ceremony of a new-born baby. Anytime from a week to a month after a baby is born, the father of the child organized a ceremony to celebrate the baby’s birth and to official give the baby a name. The father usually decides the name or discusses the name with his wife. The imam of the village, the prayer leader of the local mosque, makes the name official by whispering it into the baby’s ear and then announcing the name aloud. A few prayers are spoken and then the festivities begin. Usually, a goat or a sheep is slaughtered for the celebration and the family and guests indulge in the delicious dish called lax (in Wolof) or bouillie (in French). Lax is a porridge that is served with “milk”. Imagine a huge bowl of very dense tapioca pudding with a pool of runny yogurt served on top. And then, imagine ten people gathered around the bowl with their spoons slurping up the tasty goodness. You think it might not be your cup of tea? Give it a shot and you’ll crave it for the rest of your life.
Anyway, as my fellow trainees and I were determined to attend one of these events, we (not so discreetly) asked one of our families if they were attending the baptism and if we could tag along. Of course, we didn’t know the family at all and had no idea what we should bring or wear to a baptism, but nonetheless, we invited ourselves. Our accompanists told us they were going around 4:30 p.m. – calculate that into Senegalese time and that means at 6:00, the women were still braiding their hair and not even dressed. We decided to go ahead anyway with the plans to crash another party at the college (middle school) taking place at the same time. One our way to the college, we happened to stumble upon the baptism and continued to check it out unaccompanied. Everyone was dressed in their finest traditional attires (we looked like sloppy Americans, as usual) and the women had their hair elaborately braided with hair extensions or sported a classy wig. The women of the family of the new-born had done their make-up, which at first is a little terrifying.
Now, I’ve never been one much for make-up. I think it is a fine art to master applying color ever so elaborately to one’s face and for it to actually look good. Whenever I would apply make-up, I would always feel like I was playing dress up as a child, as my skill is that of a child. I envy those that possess the talent to apply and successfully sport a beautifully painted face. As an American, my perception of “well-done” make-up maybe slightly skewed due the colossal cosmetic industry and media outlets such as “What Not To Wear” influencing what is perceived as “beautiful” in our modern society. With all that said, the way make-up is applied in Senegal would teeter on the line of over-done drag queen and perhaps subdued circus clown in the States. I have never seen purple painted tall eyebrows anywhere else besides a drag show. Perhaps when Senegalese women do wear make-up, they are compensating for the months of monotony in their daily lives.
We started off with our greetings, which takes an exceptional amount of time. Without missing a beat of Senegalese hospitality or even questioning “who invited the Toubabs?”, we were escorted into a room with a massive bowl of ceeb u yapp (rice and meat) and were instructed to sit down and eat. Eat we did! A couple bits into the mid-day meal we discovered that our mystery meat was foie or liver. I thought it was quite good. Afterwards, we were ushered outside an instructed to sit and wait for the tam-tams and dancing to start. It wasn’t until an hour later, that things actually picked up, but we witness an impressive display of rhythmic dancing paired with acrobatics. The family of new-born was Fula-Kunda (we didn’t even speak their language) and their ethnic group is known for this type of dancing. As some point in the evening, someone that it would be a good idea to plop the new-born baby into my arms for a while, which was slightly terrifying in my mind. I’m just happy I didn’t break the fragile little thing. As night fell, we decided to head back and spend our last night in the village with our host families.
If it isn’t enough that we crashed one baptism before we left our training village for good, we managed to weasel our way into another baptism our final morning before we heading back to Thiès for the end of training. Once again, my fellow trainees and I were walking around taking in our last moments in our host village, when we saw a crowd. We couldn’t resist heading over to check out what all the commotion was about and sure enough, another baptism! We greeted everyone and sat around chatting for a good hour. As the blessing commenced we decided to make an attempt to slip away because we had promised to have lunch at one of our family’s homes and Senegalese tend to a bit long winded. As we were sneaking out in the middle of a prayer, the imam stopped to yell out Kay! Togg! Lekk! (Come! Sit! Eat!). Instantaneously, every pair of eyes was on the three bizarre Toubabs of the village. We had no choice but to walk back to our seats (which were rapidly snatched up by a bunch of kids). We enjoyed some delicious lax with a group of village strangers and way too many children, thanked the family repeatedly, and finally took our partings.
Earlier in the week, we had heard rumors of a potential baptism taking place in our village. A baptism is an important event in Senegalese culture because it is the naming ceremony of a new-born baby. Anytime from a week to a month after a baby is born, the father of the child organized a ceremony to celebrate the baby’s birth and to official give the baby a name. The father usually decides the name or discusses the name with his wife. The imam of the village, the prayer leader of the local mosque, makes the name official by whispering it into the baby’s ear and then announcing the name aloud. A few prayers are spoken and then the festivities begin. Usually, a goat or a sheep is slaughtered for the celebration and the family and guests indulge in the delicious dish called lax (in Wolof) or bouillie (in French). Lax is a porridge that is served with “milk”. Imagine a huge bowl of very dense tapioca pudding with a pool of runny yogurt served on top. And then, imagine ten people gathered around the bowl with their spoons slurping up the tasty goodness. You think it might not be your cup of tea? Give it a shot and you’ll crave it for the rest of your life.
Anyway, as my fellow trainees and I were determined to attend one of these events, we (not so discreetly) asked one of our families if they were attending the baptism and if we could tag along. Of course, we didn’t know the family at all and had no idea what we should bring or wear to a baptism, but nonetheless, we invited ourselves. Our accompanists told us they were going around 4:30 p.m. – calculate that into Senegalese time and that means at 6:00, the women were still braiding their hair and not even dressed. We decided to go ahead anyway with the plans to crash another party at the college (middle school) taking place at the same time. One our way to the college, we happened to stumble upon the baptism and continued to check it out unaccompanied. Everyone was dressed in their finest traditional attires (we looked like sloppy Americans, as usual) and the women had their hair elaborately braided with hair extensions or sported a classy wig. The women of the family of the new-born had done their make-up, which at first is a little terrifying.
Now, I’ve never been one much for make-up. I think it is a fine art to master applying color ever so elaborately to one’s face and for it to actually look good. Whenever I would apply make-up, I would always feel like I was playing dress up as a child, as my skill is that of a child. I envy those that possess the talent to apply and successfully sport a beautifully painted face. As an American, my perception of “well-done” make-up maybe slightly skewed due the colossal cosmetic industry and media outlets such as “What Not To Wear” influencing what is perceived as “beautiful” in our modern society. With all that said, the way make-up is applied in Senegal would teeter on the line of over-done drag queen and perhaps subdued circus clown in the States. I have never seen purple painted tall eyebrows anywhere else besides a drag show. Perhaps when Senegalese women do wear make-up, they are compensating for the months of monotony in their daily lives.
We started off with our greetings, which takes an exceptional amount of time. Without missing a beat of Senegalese hospitality or even questioning “who invited the Toubabs?”, we were escorted into a room with a massive bowl of ceeb u yapp (rice and meat) and were instructed to sit down and eat. Eat we did! A couple bits into the mid-day meal we discovered that our mystery meat was foie or liver. I thought it was quite good. Afterwards, we were ushered outside an instructed to sit and wait for the tam-tams and dancing to start. It wasn’t until an hour later, that things actually picked up, but we witness an impressive display of rhythmic dancing paired with acrobatics. The family of new-born was Fula-Kunda (we didn’t even speak their language) and their ethnic group is known for this type of dancing. As some point in the evening, someone that it would be a good idea to plop the new-born baby into my arms for a while, which was slightly terrifying in my mind. I’m just happy I didn’t break the fragile little thing. As night fell, we decided to head back and spend our last night in the village with our host families.
If it isn’t enough that we crashed one baptism before we left our training village for good, we managed to weasel our way into another baptism our final morning before we heading back to Thiès for the end of training. Once again, my fellow trainees and I were walking around taking in our last moments in our host village, when we saw a crowd. We couldn’t resist heading over to check out what all the commotion was about and sure enough, another baptism! We greeted everyone and sat around chatting for a good hour. As the blessing commenced we decided to make an attempt to slip away because we had promised to have lunch at one of our family’s homes and Senegalese tend to a bit long winded. As we were sneaking out in the middle of a prayer, the imam stopped to yell out Kay! Togg! Lekk! (Come! Sit! Eat!). Instantaneously, every pair of eyes was on the three bizarre Toubabs of the village. We had no choice but to walk back to our seats (which were rapidly snatched up by a bunch of kids). We enjoyed some delicious lax with a group of village strangers and way too many children, thanked the family repeatedly, and finally took our partings.
Ann Marie and I enjoying some tasty lax at the second baptism we crashed.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Koumpentoum – Home Sweet Home (to be)
We received our site placements! My site is a road town called Koumpentoum. It’s located in the Tambacounda region which is located in the south-east of Senegal. It recently acquired “ville” (city) status last year with a population around 12,000 people and growing. It will be interesting to serve in Koumpentoum during this transition time. They just built (administratively and physically) a new mayor’s office. The city is currently building a hospital and has hopes to install a second forrage (water tower) soon. Since it falls on the national road, Koumpentoum serves as a connecting city to get to other villages in the bush. It’s a very ethnically and linguistically diverse city with languages of Wolof, Pulaar, Pula Funta, Fula Kunda, Bambara, Mandinka, Sereer, and French. Since Wolof is the most widely spoken language in Senegal, I’ll be fine with just speaking Wolof and French. Home sweet home for the next two years!
Demystifying
During the PST (Pre-Service Training) period in Senegal, the trainees spend about 5 days visiting a currently serving or exiting PCV. In the PC jargon, they refer to this stay as “Demysting”. Ideally, if you are going to a site where there is a current serving volunteer or a volunteer who is about to COS (Close of Service), you would go to your site and stay with that volunteer. Your “ancienne” (the preceding volunteer at your site) or “Sitemate” (another PCV serving at the same site) hosts you for a couple days, helps you to familiarize yourself with your new community, and explains the details of current projects in the community.
Before heading to my site of Koumpentoum, We -- me and the other PCTs going to the Tambacounda region - spent the evening at our regional house in Tambacounda (the city). This gave us the opportunity to meet all the volunteers currently serving in the region and a night to unwind after a day of traveling across Senegal. The PCVs made us dinner and gave us a royal welcome to the region with a surprise themed “Lady Gaga” party. Sigh. Good times.
My anienne, Carla, was an Environmental Education Volunteer and stuck around an extra week in Senegal in order to host me for demysting in Koumpentoum. She was a fabulous hostess and it was fantastic to have her introduce me to all the dignitaries, counterparts, and good people to work with and to know in the community. We spent a lot of time running around meeting people and visiting important sites – the mayor’s office, the schools (Koumpentoum has a lycée!), the Education Inspector’s Office, the radio station, Eaux et Forets (the local Bureau of Reforestation in Senegal), Prefects’ Offices, Poste de Santé (Health Post), etc. Since my site is larger than the typical EE or Health Volunteer’s site, we were pretty busy trying to fit everyone in. It’s a little difficult right now attempting to keep everyone straight, but once I get to site, it’ll be nice to be able to recognize faces even though I might not remember the name or title.
My host family seems to be really sweet. There are mostly women around because my “host father” passed away a few years ago. A family friend, Balaa, was asked to live in the compound to be a “male figure” in the house. Balaa works in the mayor’s office and is also one of my counterparts. I haven’t figured out exactly how the family makes it money, but they eat really well, which means I’ll eat well! From what I’ve experienced so far, the women in my compound are phenomenal cooks and there never seems to be a dearth of vegetables (I’m sooo lucky!). My family has their main family compound and a “secondary compound” right off of the main one. They have about six rooms that they rent out of the secondary compound to seasonal workers and to me. My room is a good-sized room that is already fully furnished (thanks to the previous two PCVs at my site) with a private douche (latrine and shower space). Carla also rented out the small room next to the main room which was used to host travelling PCVs in the area, but now she uses to store gardening supply. I’ll probably continue to pay for the second room and use it to store my bicycle, gardening supplies, and miscellaneous items. I also have a nice fenced-in backyard / gardening space, which Carla has some veggies and fruits already planted. Basically, it’s fantastic!
Koumpentoum has one awesome community garden already, which was started last year by a GIE called “Les Amis de Tous”. Carla and I spent time working on garden transplants, watering, and making a Pépinière (Tree Nursery) with the woman who frequent the garden daily. It’s uplifting to see a successful community garden in action, because we talk about them often with our EE work. Apparently, a women’s group in Koumpentoum wants to start another community garden at the other end of town (closer to my home!), which would be a good project for me to learn about and to jump in on once I get to site.
In addition to Peace Corps’ presence Koumpentoum, JICA also has a presence. JICA stands for Japan International Corporation Agency. It’s the equivalent of US Peace Corps only it’s a program for Japanese. The JICA program is similar to Peace Corps in that volunteers receive technical and language training and serve for two years in a developing country. Their program structure is slightly different than Peace Corps in that a small group of JICAs live in a somewhat urban area together, whereas with Peace Corps, PCVs are usually more isolated from other PCVs. Koumpentoum has five JICAs that work in various sectors of development. Carla and I had dinner with them one evening and they all seem really sweet. Carla got along with them all very well. I’m not sure if she collaborated on any projects with the JICAs, but there is always that potential. Also, they just seem like awesome people to get to know.
There are so many other potential projects that I could be involved with in Koumpentoum, but I’ll elaborate on those as they unfold. There is still so much I need to learn about my community and its needs. After talking with my ancienne, it sounds like some potential projects could be a city-wide waste-management project (something that is already kind of in motion in the mayor’s office, but needs some major logistical assistance), a public latrine project, a new water tower, community gardening, reforestation efforts, small enterprise development with women’s groups, and school clubs – business, environmental, girls’ empowerment, etc.
It’s refreshing to say that I have actually been “demystified” as a PCT, although I know there is still so much I have to learn about the life and role of a PCV. I feel so much more at ease now knowing exactly where I’ll be serving for the next two years and to have met a few people in my community. I still have a lot of work to do before PST is over – language and technical development, but I am getting very anxious to actually install and begin life as a PCV in Koumpentoum.
A shot of the community garden through the fence.
Me and my ancienne
My douche! (Bathroom) Quaint aye?
My room! Home for the next two years!
Anna (a nearby volunteer) getting out of her bush taxi into Koumpentoum. Notice the numerous individuals riding on top of the taxi along with a goat.
A baby goat seeking shade right outside my door.
My courtyard outside my room. Check out the gorgeous mango trees. Btw, the donkies aren't always there, they come and go.
la gare routière de Koumpentoum (The train station)
An evening with my ancienne and the JICAs
Before heading to my site of Koumpentoum, We -- me and the other PCTs going to the Tambacounda region - spent the evening at our regional house in Tambacounda (the city). This gave us the opportunity to meet all the volunteers currently serving in the region and a night to unwind after a day of traveling across Senegal. The PCVs made us dinner and gave us a royal welcome to the region with a surprise themed “Lady Gaga” party. Sigh. Good times.
My anienne, Carla, was an Environmental Education Volunteer and stuck around an extra week in Senegal in order to host me for demysting in Koumpentoum. She was a fabulous hostess and it was fantastic to have her introduce me to all the dignitaries, counterparts, and good people to work with and to know in the community. We spent a lot of time running around meeting people and visiting important sites – the mayor’s office, the schools (Koumpentoum has a lycée!), the Education Inspector’s Office, the radio station, Eaux et Forets (the local Bureau of Reforestation in Senegal), Prefects’ Offices, Poste de Santé (Health Post), etc. Since my site is larger than the typical EE or Health Volunteer’s site, we were pretty busy trying to fit everyone in. It’s a little difficult right now attempting to keep everyone straight, but once I get to site, it’ll be nice to be able to recognize faces even though I might not remember the name or title.
My host family seems to be really sweet. There are mostly women around because my “host father” passed away a few years ago. A family friend, Balaa, was asked to live in the compound to be a “male figure” in the house. Balaa works in the mayor’s office and is also one of my counterparts. I haven’t figured out exactly how the family makes it money, but they eat really well, which means I’ll eat well! From what I’ve experienced so far, the women in my compound are phenomenal cooks and there never seems to be a dearth of vegetables (I’m sooo lucky!). My family has their main family compound and a “secondary compound” right off of the main one. They have about six rooms that they rent out of the secondary compound to seasonal workers and to me. My room is a good-sized room that is already fully furnished (thanks to the previous two PCVs at my site) with a private douche (latrine and shower space). Carla also rented out the small room next to the main room which was used to host travelling PCVs in the area, but now she uses to store gardening supply. I’ll probably continue to pay for the second room and use it to store my bicycle, gardening supplies, and miscellaneous items. I also have a nice fenced-in backyard / gardening space, which Carla has some veggies and fruits already planted. Basically, it’s fantastic!
Koumpentoum has one awesome community garden already, which was started last year by a GIE called “Les Amis de Tous”. Carla and I spent time working on garden transplants, watering, and making a Pépinière (Tree Nursery) with the woman who frequent the garden daily. It’s uplifting to see a successful community garden in action, because we talk about them often with our EE work. Apparently, a women’s group in Koumpentoum wants to start another community garden at the other end of town (closer to my home!), which would be a good project for me to learn about and to jump in on once I get to site.
In addition to Peace Corps’ presence Koumpentoum, JICA also has a presence. JICA stands for Japan International Corporation Agency. It’s the equivalent of US Peace Corps only it’s a program for Japanese. The JICA program is similar to Peace Corps in that volunteers receive technical and language training and serve for two years in a developing country. Their program structure is slightly different than Peace Corps in that a small group of JICAs live in a somewhat urban area together, whereas with Peace Corps, PCVs are usually more isolated from other PCVs. Koumpentoum has five JICAs that work in various sectors of development. Carla and I had dinner with them one evening and they all seem really sweet. Carla got along with them all very well. I’m not sure if she collaborated on any projects with the JICAs, but there is always that potential. Also, they just seem like awesome people to get to know.
There are so many other potential projects that I could be involved with in Koumpentoum, but I’ll elaborate on those as they unfold. There is still so much I need to learn about my community and its needs. After talking with my ancienne, it sounds like some potential projects could be a city-wide waste-management project (something that is already kind of in motion in the mayor’s office, but needs some major logistical assistance), a public latrine project, a new water tower, community gardening, reforestation efforts, small enterprise development with women’s groups, and school clubs – business, environmental, girls’ empowerment, etc.
It’s refreshing to say that I have actually been “demystified” as a PCT, although I know there is still so much I have to learn about the life and role of a PCV. I feel so much more at ease now knowing exactly where I’ll be serving for the next two years and to have met a few people in my community. I still have a lot of work to do before PST is over – language and technical development, but I am getting very anxious to actually install and begin life as a PCV in Koumpentoum.
A shot of the community garden through the fence.
Me and my ancienne 
My douche! (Bathroom) Quaint aye?
My room! Home for the next two years! 
Anna (a nearby volunteer) getting out of her bush taxi into Koumpentoum. Notice the numerous individuals riding on top of the taxi along with a goat. 
A baby goat seeking shade right outside my door. 
My courtyard outside my room. Check out the gorgeous mango trees. Btw, the donkies aren't always there, they come and go.
A beautiful Baobab Tree
Another shoot of the community garden in Koumpentoum
la gare routière de Koumpentoum (The train station)
An evening with my ancienne and the JICAs Monday, April 12, 2010
Microfinance with a whole new outlook
Back in beautiful Tassette, my co-trainees and I happened to stumble upon a women’s microfinance group meeting. The meeting was apparently scheduled to take place under the glorious and shady Neem tree that we study under every day, so the meeting actually kind of came to us. I was so excited to sit in on the women’s tontine because I became interested in Tontines while I was studying in Cameroon and ended up doing multiple studies about them in the States. A tontine is a group of individuals who meet periodically and each contribute an agreed amount of money (or good or service) for every meeting. The sum of money is then given to one investor of the group, who can spend the money how he/she wishes. Every investor takes a turn taking the money and then the cycle is repeated. It’s an informal type of credit and lending, but is extremely important in rural Africa and to the informal economy. The tontine we sat in on was only for married females in the community. It began with about 30 women but now consists of 140 women who meet every 10 days and contribute 2000 CFA (about 4 USD). That equates to 280,000 CFA (about 560 USD) for each participate to take once a cycle. We talked with one of women in the tontine, and she spent her money on buying a refrigerator for her family, which she uses to sell ice and bisaap (ice cold sugary drinks) in her community.
Not only do tontines serve an important economic purpose in Senegal, but they also serve an important social function. The attendees were dressed in their finest clothes and make-up all done up. No men were allowed to attend the meeting. The women showed up with babies on their backs and greeted and chatted for a while. Then a few women flipped over some tin bowls and started jamming out (I haven’t met anyone in Senegal who doesn’t have crazy awesome rhythm). Women got up in 2s and 3s and started breaking out some crazy dance moves and then there was some crazy skirt flapping. The dancing evolved into women whipping open their wrap-skirts and flashing a sexy loosely knit under slips and “bins bins” (sexy beads). Up to this point, I was told that it was inappropriate to show your knees in Senegal, so I was pretty taking back when I witnessed the “vagina dance” with all these conservative married women. The dancing also involved a decent amount of pelvic trusting and thrashing – sometimes in your face. There were a few times when the women would pull me and the other female PCT up to the center of the mayhem to bust out our moves. I have to say, I wasn’t able to go full frontal with the village kindergarten teacher present (who, by the way, is the best / craziest dancer of them all). Perhaps that would be the moment when I can say I have actually assimilated into Senegalese culture. Something to ponder. Anyway, so informal microfinance institutions just took on a whole new spin for me. Loving it!
Zombieland
As I mentioned earlier, my CBT (Culture Based Training) site is a small – medium sized village called Tassette. I am staying in Tassette along with two other PCTs from my stage and our LCF (Language and Culture Facilitator). We each have our own home-stay families in Tassette. For Tassette, we are not the first group of “Toubaabs” (Wolof for foreigner or white person) the village has experienced, but it’s been a little while. So naturally, whatever the toubaabs are doing, it always tends to draw a crowd, especially children. 95% of the stuff we do is not very exciting, but nonetheless, anyone of us will develop an entourage of kids just to walk to the market. At first, it seemed kind of fun and sweet, but after awhile, it’s just nice to get your work done without a million little hands reaching out for you and little voices yelling words and phrases that you just don’t comprehend because you’ve only been learning Wolof for a couple weeks.
Last week, my fellow two PCTs and I were working on mapping out our community for a technical assignment. For the sake of time and sanity, we tried to be discreet in our endeavor, so not to draw a crowd. We had multiple waves of followers, but at one point, seemed to have bored everyone off. We had about 15 minutes of solidarity when we realized that children were approaching us from a distance in 3-4 different directions. After just viewing the movie “Zombieland”, the children immediately paralleled the characteristics of zombies in my mind – slowly approaching from all sides in order to trap you and suck out your life (or in this instance, hinder you from completing your task and frankly just to be annoying). I know, I’m being dramatic, but it was slightly frightening. For the most part, I like kids, but primarily in small doses and the well-behaved ones. Unfortunately, that scenario is difficult to come across in Africa.
The usual entourage of children when we go out.
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