Don’t let the rainy season get you down

It’s still rainy season in Senegal. Apparently, this rainy season has been especially tumultuous. It rains at least a little bit every day and it seems that we get a couple major storms a weeks. You can tell when a good storm is coming in because the temperature sudden drops from a sweltering heat, the winds get a little out of control, the big dark clouds encroach in from the southeast. The first time it stormed in Koumpentoum, I was a little freaked out because I have a metal rooftop and even the slightest bit of sound is amplified times a hundred. My first couple nights in my room I was a bit alarmed by the sounds of lizards scurrying across the roof or a gust of wind. By now, I’ve adapted well enough to sleep even through major storms.

About a month ago, Koumpentoum endured a storm that it had not seen in years. I was awakened at 4:30 a.m. by my next door neighbors (my new neighbor that rent out the rooms next to mine) because their room was beginning to taken over by flooding waters. I opened my door to see that the water had also reached my door though had not yet infiltrated my room. It was still raining heavily. The entire courtroom had flooded and water was about thigh-deep to wade through. An unoccupied hut that my family had use for storage completely toppled in the storm. By 6:00 a.m., the rains had abated and I went back to bed. When I went out that morning, I saw that many boutiques and buildings in Koumpentoum had fallen in the storm. Many of the roads and paths were flooded. Most of the water in my courtyard had receded and my brothers were picking through the ruins of the fallen hut. Koumpentoum even made the evening news with its epic storm.

My host brothers picking up the fallen hut.

The flooded street outside my compound.

I thought that the rains were finally beginning to subside this month. I was wrong. This past week, Koumpentoum was pounded with rain every day and two somewhat destructive storms. In the first storm, I was fast asleep at 3:00 a.m. when my neighbors’ wall toppled down. I woke up the next morning to find my neighbors moving out all their possessions, a mason throwing globs of cement on the side of the building, and my counterpart, Balla, at my door explaining that I need to spend the day collecting my things to move. Even though my room had not fallen in the night, the building had begun to collapse. My family cleared out one of the younger boys’ room and cleaned it out for me to move all my stuff to a safe location. I’m now completely moved out of my room (including the plastic covering for the floor) and living in the main family compound “temporarily”. The next night, another big storm came through and caused the 2^nd portion of the building to fall. Yet again, my room still stands, but now two-thirds of the home is collapsing. I’ve been away at site for the last couple days to help out a project in another volunteer’s site. I’m heading back to site tomorrow. I’m really expecting my room to still be standing. I’ll find out tomorrow. My family thinks that I need to spend the next four months in my refugee room (that is connected to another room and does not have a private douche like my last room) to wait out the rain season and the chance to rebuild. Next week, a Peace Corps support staff person is coming by my site to hopefully work a more expedite solution. Inchallah.

The toppled room from the first storm.

The collapsing building after the second storm. My room is the last one standing on the end.

Korité

It’s official. I survived my first Ramadan in Senegal. Thirty days of getting up at 5:00 a.m. to eat breakfast with the family, of listening to prayers in Arabic being projected over the loud speakers of the Mosque all day, of attempting to hold meetings only for people to show without any ambition to concentrate due to their excessive thirst and hunger, and of having people approach me and ask me if I was fasting. Honestly, I thought I would hate Ramadan, but I actually really enjoyed it after I got into my routine. Sure, I was up early for breakfast, but my family usually had delicious fondé (a buttermilk rice porridge). I would typically go back to bed until about 8:30 a.m. and have the entire day to attend to my tasks without the long break of lunch (which is usually about 2 hours in the middle of each day). At some point in the day, I would make myself something small for lunch and relax or get done what I needed to for the afternoon. It was great. I actually felt like I had much more control over my day. Also, my family usually eats dinner late, around 10:00 p.m. However, during Ramadan, we’d have “first dinner” right after everyone broke fast around 8 p.m. Each day, we’d break fast with the call of prayer from the mosque at dusk. My family always broke fast with some bread and chocolate and butter and café or kinkiliba tea, which are really tasty leaves from the bush. I’d put little powered milk in mine and it was delicious. Since my family wasn’t spending any money on lunch, our dinner was a much better such as pasta and meat dish or Moroccan cous cous.

The end of Ramadan is marked with a festive day called Korité. All the men go to the mosque to pray in the morning dressed in their finest. The families usually slaughter a sheep or a goat for the fete. You ask all your friends and family to forgive you for any wrong doings you may have inflicted upon them knowing or unknowing. You also ask that God blesses that family and the next year and that he allows us to celebrate this holiday next year. In the afternoon, the kids get dressed up and go around greeting their friends and neighbors. The little kids go door to door asking for “dewelin” which is money for a party (it’s kinda like our version of trick-or-treating, I guess).

I let my host brother, Djiby Sow, take my camera to the mosque. These four guys live at my house.

This is another shot at the mosque of my neighbors, Mamadou Camera with his son Omar.

I helped my sister, Marie Diaw, cook lunch for Korité, which took all morning, but was delicious. My counterpart, Balla, slaughtered a goat in the morning. We cut it up and cooked in a sauce and made pommes frites (french fries), with hardboiled egg, and a veggie and mayo side dressing. I just did what I was told to do: stir the sauce, peel potatoes and onions, cut veggies, hold the meat while my sister or mom makes a cut, etc. However, my family told me that they really liked “my Korité lunch” that “I cooked.”

My sister, Marie Diaw, putting the finishing touches on dinner.

Our Korité lunch.

After lunch it rained for a while so I didn’t go out to greet anyone until kind of late. My friend who I work with in the community garden had a dress made for me for the fete. Even though it was complete white in the middle of rainy season, I still wore it out. I visited a couple homes and then came back home and took a few pics with my host sisters. My host sisters decided not to go around greeting people because it was so muddy out, so they went around the next day. I managed to make it though the evening in my white complet without slipping in the mud, so I would call the day a success. Now, it’s time for me to get back into the swing of my “normal” Senegalese lifestyle.

Me and my host sister Dioudé

My Korité dress

Dioudé's Korité Dress. Classy.