Sunday, April 28, 2013

Safara, safara!

It was a typical evening.  I had just finished cooking dinner (sweet potato fries - in honor of my host brother Mussa who absolutely loves when I make them) and was sharing it with my family.  My host dad and siblings had all tasted some, and I was holding the bowl out for my host mom to taste some.  We were standing in the backyard when we heard a loud commotion of people running.  Usually, when people run and scream loudly, they are heading toward the scene of a fight.  But today, these screams sounded more frantic than excited.  We rushed out front and saw smoke billowing from a nearby compound.  Women and girls rushed by, racing with buckets of water balanced on their heads.  I stood, gaping, bowl still in my hand.

"Safara, safara!" (Fire, fire) my host aunt shouted at me as she joined the throng carrying water.  I stared, aghast.  What could my village do to prevent the spread of a fire when all the huts were made of straw roofs and the dry ground was perfect fuel?  I turned to my host mother for direction, but she was standing next to me, shoveling potatoes into her mouth.  I yelled at her to stop eating and go help, but she just continued.  I had to literally remove the bowl from her vicinity before she went inside to get more water.

I was soon left standing alone in my compound, unsure of how I could help.  I had half a bucket of water in my backyard; I could bring it to help put the fire out (and just skip showering that night).  Would half a bucket make a difference though?  I decided that every drop of water would help, grabbed the bucket, and walked slowly (I cannot yet run with a bucket of water balanced on my head, even when it's only half-full) toward the fire.  My host aunt saw me approaching, frantically grabbed the bucket from my head, and handed me her empty bucket.  I returned home, saw my host mom armed with another bucket, traded her, and headed back toward the fire.  My host aunt once again saw me, and traded my now empty bucket for the full bucket on my head.  I returned home once more, but my family was out of water, and my host mom instructed me to just sit down.

But I was too hyped up from the event to sit, so I walked with the children toward the fire.  People were running frantically in all directions.  Heading toward the fire were men, women, and children carrying full buckets of water, sloshing onto the ground as they raced down the path.  In the other direction, buckets swinging in their hands, were those who had already emptied their buckets and were now running to refill them.  And gathered around the scene were those too young or too old to carry water as well as those who had already exhausted their supply of water.  The fire was still raging strong, and I was still worried.  I turned to a woman and asked if perhaps I could help by getting water from the tap.  Certainly, the women who operated the 3 water faucets in my village had unlocked them and were using them to put the fire out.  The woman just laughed at me; who would pay for this water (each bucket costs $0.02)?  No, the taps were not being used right now, only the well.  Men were frantically at the well (measuring 45 meters deep - we have a very low water table) pulling water as fast as they could.  The situation seemed helpless to me, and I returned home to wait a bit.

As I approached my house, my host dad called out to me to bring my flashlight.  We then proceeded to read all the phone numbers written on chalk on my hut.  At some point, someone had written the phone number for the Gambian Fire Department (located only a few kilomenters away as opposed to the Senegalese Fire Department over an hour's drive away) on my wall.  We gazed at each number, looking for a 7-digit phone number that would signify a Gambian number as opposed to a Senegalese one.  Only one Gambian number was on my wall, and it was identified as a friend's number, not the fire department.  So now what?  My instincts told me that they should call a friend who'd know the number and then proceed from there.  I knew my phone would be needed, so I reentered my room to put more phone credit on my phone in anticipation of the amount of phone time they'd need.  When I came back outside though, they were still searching for the number, rereading the numbers over and over again.  I suggested they call a friend, but in all the commotion and franticness, my suggestion was passed off as not understanding the situation or Senegal.  So instead, I watched them look for a phone number that clearly had been wiped off the wall during the rainy season.

Feeling frustrated by this lack of action, I handed my host dad my cell phone and returned to the fire.  It was much smaller now, somehow.  All the women and children were now standing back as the men worked.  My upbringing told me to remain quiet while this was all occurring; after all, it was a grave situation.  But all the women standing around me began joking with me, talking loudly and telling me to dance.  I cautioned them that now was not the time, but they laughed and began to sing and dance.  In Senegal, it is always time to dance or joke, regardless of the place, company, or situation.  After resisting for a bit, I finally gave in and joined the group enjoying themselves.

Eventually, somehow, the fire was put out and only billows of smoke remained.  Everyone began to head toward them compounds to finish preparing their dinners that had been put on hold.  (The fire had started by a wind spreading a cooking fire.)  Three huts had been burnt badly, leaving just one hut in the compound in good shape.  It was the topic of conversation for the night.

In the morning, when I bike rode past the hut, I saw a large group of men at work in making mud bricks to replace those that had been destroyed, putting up new straw fencing, and gathering material to remake the thatched roof.  I was impressed by the community spirit (though it was not unexpected in this community-oriented society) and how quickly they all came to the family's aid.  This work continued for the next few days with a group of men blasting the radio and working on the compound.  Unfortunately, no one followed up about the missing fire department number, and despite my advice to discover and record it (on a piece of paper in several people's possession), no one has taken the initiative.  I'm just relieved that only one compound was affected; if the fire had spread to multiple compounds, there would've been no way to retain it, and the entire village could easily have burned.  But fire is accepted as part of life here, brought by the dry weather and strong winds.  After a few days, no one discussed it, and the only reminder is the blackened ground and straw lying scattered around the compound.

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

Senegalais laa leegi (updated)


While traveling in France, I realized that I’ve picked up some habits here that I consider to be normal but to an American or European, would not be.  At first, I didn’t think twice about many of these behaviors, but luckily I had my brother and sister there to comment on my quirks.  I will list some of these here, with added explanations:

·      Entering every store saying, “Bonjour, ca va?” to which people just stared at my questioning how they were.
(In Senegal, it is rude not to greet people.  Everyone I pass, I greet and ask how they're doing, with questioning sometimes continuing for several minutes as family members are asked about and some questions even repeated - even with complete strangers.  When I enter a store, it is also important to greet.  Once I forgot, and the man refused to serve me until I had greeted him.  So, naturally, I tried to do the same in France; I was able to check myself when walking down the street since it was packed with people, but in stores the words came out without me thinking.)

·      Hoarding coins to use later and only spending bills
(In Senegal, change is hard to come by.  People prefer that you pay as close to exact as you can.  If you have no change and only large bills, the seller often has to go to friends or nearby sellers to try to find change.  So I've learned to spend large bills in fancier stores that sell more expensive products and keep all the change to use at future dates; and, when those future dates come, I use my larger coins if possible to save up smaller coins for future times when I spend even less.  In France, it was so easy to get change, that I kept giving in my bills and collecting all the coins.  Of course, in France, no one wants you to spend coins, and I was laughed at as I counted all my 1 cent and 5 cent coins to pay for a sandwich.)

·      Glaring at people wearing clothes above their knees
(In Senegal, no one wears clothes these short, except some tourists.  It looks completely unnatural to me now, and I didn't know how to react to these outfits.)

·      Saving yogurt containers to use as bowls later
(In Senegal, everything is reused.  Once, I went to a fancy baptism with my host mom and host grandma where juice boxes were given out.  My host family had never seen them before, so I was instructed to save the boxes in my purse to bring home so that the children in my compound could play with them and pretend to drink out of them.  So, when I saw the yogurt containers, I immediately thought how useful they'd be as bowls.  We could either buy a larger yogurt later and have bowls available or we could use them for another food item.  Regardless of the case, they could definitely come in handy.  My brother and sister scoffed at the idea; after all, we could just buy small yogurts again.)

·      Staring into every food stand (epicerie, boulangerie) we passed
(In Senegal, I eat the same foods over and over again; each dish has only one way to prepare it that every child can list off.  I miss flavors that I'm accustomed to as well as variety.  The food stands had so much to offer in these areas that I couldn't help looking at every item and admiring every part of it.  I've done this with ads in magazines or inventories of food that I make in my head, but seeing it in person was even better.  Obviously, I wasn't always hungry to buy these items, but it was reassuring to know they were there.)

·      Walking slowly through supermarkets without the intention of buying anything but just to see what was being sold
(This is a bad habit I've accumulated in Senegal.  When I'm in a large city here that has a supermarket, I walk around to see what my options are.  As I pass each food item, I imagine the flavor and relish the thought of the taste.  I can't afford most of the items in the supermarket, so it's fun just to look, and I've walked far to supermarkets with friends just to peruse the shelves.  The supermarkets in France were so much bigger with so many more options that it was overwhelming at first, especially as I tried to look at every option.  Luckily, I put time constraints on myself and left the supermarkets before I had seen every aisle, and by the end of my visit, I was finally able to allow myself to walk past shelves to search only for the item I needed.)

·      Desiring everyone to share whatever they’re eating with me and offended when they didn’t
(In Senegal, everything is shared.  From mango slices to pieces of candy - which small pieces are bitten off of to distribute among children and adults alike - no item belongs just to one person.  Kids and adults are constantly saying "Maay ma" or offer me whenever they see something being eaten or drank that they want.  And everyone is good at sharing it, no matter how small the item may be to begin with. Kids don't complain as small pieces of bread that they were eating are broken into morsels; it is just accepted that they will share.  And it's an attitude that I've adopted.  I'm always ready to share what I have, and I expect everyone to share what they have.  So in France, as I saw people around me consuming foods that I wanted, I thought to myself, "Maay ma."  Obviously, this was silly because often the item I wanted was being eaten by a complete stranger who happened to be beside me, but nevertheless, I couldn't help feeling slighted when they didn't turn and offer me a lick of their ice cream or a sip of their tea.)

·      Being really stingy with spending my money
(This has developed for two reasons.  First of all, as a Peace Corps volunteer, I don't make much money, so I don't have much to spend.  Secondly, as a foreigner, I don't like to show that I have money.  Clearly I have more money that my villagers, but I don't like them to see me spending it or else they'll expect me to buy them things all the time.  I see my service as helping them by educating, not by continually purchasing items.  So, even though I could easily pamper myself much more than I do, I try to live at the same level as the villagers in the amount of clothes and other items I accumulate; still, I wind up having much more "stuff" than them with money left over, but I put this extra money aside.  And, when I spend money, I try not to spend it anywhere near my village so that people won't know what I've purchased or how much I've spent.  Even so, it is always obvious when I buy something as everyone sees the foreigner making a purchase, tries to increase the price to make a larger profit, and then bystanders comment on the item I've bought; it is possible to buy anything inconspicuously.  Thus, in France, I was very wary about spending money, and I had a hard time handing out large sums of money.  This made it difficult at times while traveling and trying to have a vacation with two people accustomed to spending money at will, but I was very wary of my environment and the amount whenever I took cash from my wallet.)

·      Expecting to take a mid-day rest every day and disappointed when I didn’t
(In Senegal, nothing happens between 1 and 4 since it's the heat of the day.  People just sit around, make tea, or lie in bed.  Even though I'd like to be working during this time, it's just not an option.  So I've learned to rest at this time as well.  Sometimes this entails sitting and talking, but often I'll lie down in my bed for about an hour, just thinking and not doing anything.  I've become very accustomed to this rest time.  In France, it was surprisingly difficult to continually be active all day without sitting or lying down for a bit in the early afternoon.  I had to push myself to keep going.)

·      Having difficulty staying up past ten pm
(In Senegal, I go into my room around 9:30 and turn my light off around 10/10:30.  I have become so used to only staying up an hour or two past dark, that it was strange to me to try to stay up later.)

·      Getting excited when I saw a variety of vegetables being sold at decent prices
(In Senegal, there are lots of vegetables sold, but it's the same vegetables: eggplant, carrots, potatoes, sweet potatoes, cassava, okra, tomatoes, onions, bitter tomato, Chinese turnips, squash, green peppers, hot peppers, and sometimes cucumbers and lettuce.  During the mid- to late dry season, these items are cheap, but during the rainy season and early dry season, they're expensive.  In France, vegetables from all over the world were available and at farmers' markets, these vegetables were cheap.  I was really excited by red and yellow peppers, spinach, and much more.)

·      Using very simple vocabulary and sentence structures when I speak
(I only know simple Wolof and French vocabulary and sentence structure, so that's all I'm used to using.  On the rare occasions that I meet someone who can speak English, my speech is even simpler.  Plus, since I interact mainly with uneducated people, they can only understand simple logic broken down into each step and repeated many times.  It was difficult to transition back into complex thoughts and expression.)

·      Washing my hair twice a week
(Yes, I admit in Senegal that I only wash my hair this often.  I don't like to waste so much water to wash my hair more frequently nor to use up so much of my highly-valued Pantene shampoo and conditioner.  Clearly, this is improper behavior in France.)

·      Burping on the street
(In Senegal, burping is a complement.  It shows that you enjoyed the meal and that you're eating well.  People burp whenever they want to including in the middle of sentences, during meetings, and while I'm playing my harp.  I've just become accustomed to not holding it in and letting it out whenever it comes.  I accidentally did this once on the street in Paris; luckily, I wasn't with my sister, but I did get some looks from passersby that reminded me to keep this in check.)

·      Talking frequently about the weather
(In Senegal, this is a more common topic of conversation than my experience in Wales.  I cannot pass one person without them mentioning how hot or cold it is or how strong the wind is.  So, I found myself often bringing up the weather in France, which no one was interested in discussing.) 

Now that I’ve returned to Senegal, these behaviors are seen as common among Peace Corps volunteers, and I fit right in.  It’s nice to be back with my host family here and to be surrounded by Senegalese culture.  However, I know that when I return to the US in another year, they will once more be regarded as strange, and I’ll have to work on re-adapting to American life.


On the flip side, there are many aspects of Western life that I had severely missed and greatly appreciated being a part of.  These include:

·      Intellectual/analytical conversations
(I crave this in Senegal, and it was so nice to have deep conversations with so many people while in France.  I appreciated how on meeting people, they would probe me with deep questions or tell me about themselves.  In Senegal, conversation generally revolves around why I am not married, whether I can dance, jokes about my host family, or how hard life in Senegal is.)

·      Reading on public transportation
(The literacy rate in Senegal, especially among adults who are the most frequent travelers, is very low.  I have only twice seen someone reading on public transportation in Senegal, and I always find myself gazing at scenery rather than attracting attention by pulling out a book.  It was reassuring to see people standing on the subway with a book in the hand or children reading books on train rides.)

·      Speaking English
(It was nice to finally be able to express myself without feeling language constraints.  Though I am comfortable speaking Wolof now, I still can't always say what I mean, and my meaning is not always fully understood.  In English, I can directly articulate what I want, and I felt much more at ease with my words.)

·      Seeing literacy as an expectation
(As I wrote earlier, so many Senegalese are illiterate.  I am accustomed to reading phone numbers to people or having people lean over my shoulder as I write and ask my what letter it is.  Even children in school will try to read from my books and will sound out every syllable very slowly without understanding the meaning of what they're saying.  Suddenly, in France, everyone could read, and it was strange to see people of all ages with literature or reading signs.  It's been awhile since I've seen adults or young children with these abilities, and it was a relief to be reminded that literacy should not be something special, but can and should apply to everyone.)

·      Good food
(As I wrote earlier, food in Senegal is repetitious.  It tastes good, but it's the same meals over and over and missing the flavors that I grew up with as well as packed with salt and MSG-filled bouillon cubes.  It was really enjoyable to eat a fresh salad, cheese-covered gnocchi, hand-made pastry, creamy gelato, and much more.  I savored each bite, though I tried not to show others how much I had craved the flavors; it was everything I had imagined while lying in bed during the afternoon heat of the hot, humid wet season with sweat dripping down my body.  And, sadly, I ate much more that I needed to be full while in France.)

·      Greenery
(Senegal is very green during the rainy season and very brown the rest of the year.  It's currently the dry season and has been so since the rains stopped in October.  At this point, not much greenery remains except in vegetable gardens and a few scattered trees.  The green color of grass and trees was so vibrant and unrealistic to me.  I couldn't stop staring at it as it rolled past while I was in trains or cars.  When I walked past it, I couldn't help meandering off the path a bit to feel the squish of soil underneath me.)

·      Snow
(Obviously, there is no snow in Senegal.  Coming from snowy Colgate and the iceberg-filled Southern Ocean/Antarctica, I dearly miss this form of precipitation.  While my sister moaned about it, I secretly was ecstatic; I love the feel of snowflakes on my face and the crunch of snow under my shoe.  When my flight was canceled because of the weather, I slowly walked down the street with my face up in the air, absorbing the snow flakes as they fell.)

·      Mountains
(Senegal, except in Kedagou, is very flat.  So flat, that a nearly invisible upgrade has become steep to me.  In Paris, I was first reminded of this difference when biking around with my brother; we reached a fairly steep street, and he quickly pedaled to the top.  Despite my constant and long-distance biking in Senegal, I was unprepared to use the muscles required to reach the top and found myself sweating hard as I inched up the hill.  Later, when we drove through the Pyrenees and hiked, I couldn't take my mind off the beautiful peaks.  After spending so much time in college hiking mountains, it's something I sorely miss in Senegal.  It was rewarding to see them again, and I felt like I'd returned home to friends.)

·      Bundling up in winter clothes
(I admit, compared to my old standards, France wasn't that cold.  But, compared to my new standards, it was freezing.  Some days, I wore a t-shirt, sweater, my fleece jacket, my sister's Patagonia winter coat, scarf, and ear muffs just to stay warm.  That's a lot of layers, especially for me.  But it reminded me of cold days at Colgate, bundling up to go to class, and I love the feeling of wearing lots of clothes for cold weather.  It was nice to have a cold nose again and feel my hair freeze after a shower, even if it was hard for me to stay warm at times.  My cold-resistance is not what it was while in college or on the ship.)

·      Slipping into the crowd and not drawing any attention to myself
(In Senegal, everything that I do is the object of attention.  Everyone stares at me as I go past, calling out to me and singling me out; sometimes they call me by name, and other times they just refer to me as foreigner.  No matter the case, I know that I am constantly watched by people who both know me and don't.  Whatever I do, will be remarked upon and probably retold to someone in my village.  It's nice to know what it must feel like to be a celebrity, having my name shouted after me, people run up to me, and everyone want to catch my attention.  But, at the same time, I miss just existing and not sticking out.  I'm not someone who needs to draw attention to myself.  It was nice to just be an average person in France that no one really noticed or whose actions were particularly cared about.)

·      Being able to do whatever I want without feeling that my actions are being judged
(This relates directly to the previous bullet.  I know that whatever I do here, people judge me not as Jacqueline Gerson, but as being a foreigner or to tell my village.  No matter how comfortable I feel here, I can never be completely integrated because I stick out.  People are constantly watching me to see my actions and to notice the difference between Senegalese and me.  Clearly, this was not the case while I was in France.)

·      Going to sleep amidst quiet
(Senegalese village life is loud.  At night, radios blast, people call out to each other, and drum circles begin for dancing; there is no such concept as quiet time or respecting others' desire to sleep.  People go about whatever activities they want, regardless of the time of day.  In addition, there are donkeys braying, cocks crowing, dogs barking, coyotes howling, and goats crying.  There is no quiet.  Senegalese have adjusted and are really deep sleepers; my host siblings need to be hit several times or shaken violently before they wake up from sleep.  For me, when I'm not exhausted, it is sometimes hard to fall asleep, though luckily I'm often so tired that this is often not an issue.  But in France, it was soothing to have complete silence as I lay down for the night.)

·      Riding in a comfortable car with family
(As much as I hate pollution, it was nice to have a road trip.  Roads in Senegal are very bumpy and cars packed with people, so the journey is not comfortable by any means.  Sitting in the car with my siblings, the car was extremely spacious, conversation was interesting, and delicious snacks were handy.  I had forgotten how fun car trips can be.)

·      Sitting at a table to eat slowly with personal bowls and good conversation
(In Senegal, everyone sits around a large bowl to share.  Meals are fairly fast with people eating quickly and getting up as soon as they are full.  Not much is said either.  It was nice to enjoy slow meals at restaurants, savoring the company and the food.)

·      Smooth roads
(As I explained above, roads in Senegal are in awful condition.  The 25 km leading from my village to Nioro is so horrible that cars often off-road and travel on what was originally intended as a path for animal-drawn carts and this short distance takes about an hour to travel.  It was nice to sit comfortably in a car without bumping back and forth while maintaining a fast speed along the road.)

·      Cute, healthy dogs
(Dogs in Senegal are not cared for.  They are sickly, flea-covered, and malnourished.  Often, they just lie around without the energy to run or perk up their ear at sounds.  Their state is so depraved that I do not even have a desire to pet them.  Plus, there are only 2 or 3 breeds of dogs in Senegal, and they are not particularly good-looking breeds.  Every dog I saw in France, I wanted to hug and play with.  They were so pampered, so shiny, and so full of energy.)


Many of these aspects of Western life, I often think about while here in Senegal, and it was nice to be re-exposed to them for a bit.  It has refueled me for my remaining year.  I also realized the value I place on many aspects of Western culture, which I was wholly unaware of before coming here.  I am glad that my time in Senegal is not yet up, but I know that I will have an easier time returning to the US after Peace Corps.  Senegalais laa leegi (I’m Senegalese now).

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Am na benn at ci Senegal!


Am na benn at ci Senegal! (I have a year in Senegal!)  I’ve officially been in Senegal for over a year and in my village for almost one year.  I can’t believe time has gone by so fast nor how comfortable I’ve become here.  Happenings that I used to think unique and so strange have just become commonplace.  I’m used to the site of babies running around naked, chickens prancing into my room, events being determined by temperature, and using an outside toilet/shower.  I have to remind myself to stop and remember my impression when I first arrived; I’ve just become so comfortable, and I can even speak Wolof without needing to first translate into English (which is a relief, seeing as my English abilities are steadily receding).  My host family is wonderful, and I’ve grown used to their customs as much as they’ve grown used to mine (and my quirks).  And I’ve gotten absorbed into my work, which has been keeping me quite busy.

Let me now describe a typical (if there is such a thing) day in my life.  It is the beginning of the hot season now; days reach up to 110 degrees F, but the evenings are still cool.  I therefore wake up, curled in my sheet, to the call to prayer sometime between 5 and 6 am.  Luckily, my village does not have a speaker, and instead the imam stands in the middle yelling out the words.  When he is done, I can successfully fall back asleep until the donkeys start braying, baby goats screaming, and people begin moving around outside.  After I roll out of bed, I go for a nice early morning jog.  The sun is just beginning to rise as a bright ball, and I pass some of the village kids walking to the middle school and high school 3 km away.  The kids call out to me as I run, and I remember to greet them as I pass them in both directions.  When I reenter my village, the place has suddenly become alive.  Children call out to me as I head toward my compound, some of them daring me to race them and others just wanting to shake my hand or see me wave at them.  I join the women at the water pump, waiting my turn to carry a bucket of water (on my head of course) back to my room to shower.

I generally emerge from my room around 9 am.  As soon as I open the door, the 3 toddlers in my compound run into my room.  I have taught them to shake medicine containers like maracas, and they love to grab these and come sit on my bed.  If only two of them notice my door opening, they are certain to call out to the other to come join as well.  I walk outside and greet my host grandma and the other women in the compound.  Then, I usually head on my way for my morning activity.  As I have a variety of projects, this activity could be in my village, up to an hour’s bike ride away, or back in the town I just ran to that morning.  As I bike ride or walk through my village, people call out greetings to me.  It’s generally the same greetings each time, but it’s nice to be recognized and to see how much everyone values getting my attention.  Greetings are so important here as a way of showing respect and acknowledging someone’s presence.  As I enter other villages or towns, people call out to greet me as well.  Sometimes they know me and call me by name (though they’re more likely to remember my name than I am to remember theirs) and sometimes they just call me “Toubab,” the name for foreigner or white person.  I always answer their greetings as I ride.  If they ask me for money or say they love me (which often happens when I pass people I don’t know), I try to make a joke and keep riding until I reach my destination.

Often, I don’t return until around 1.  Senegalese always want to share their lunches, and I have to carefully and respectfully decline in order to arrive back home for lunch.  I know that my host mom will always save me lunch if I miss it (even if I eat elsewhere), she’s a good cook, and I often have an afternoon activity that I want to return home for which ideally involves leaving before the mid-day heat sets in, so I prefer to be home for the meal.  Once again, as soon as I open my door, I can guarantee that the toddlers will come running to my door to be allowed in.  At this time of day, sometimes I let them stay in my room for a bit, laughing as they shake the bottles, roll around on my bed, or dance for me.  The three of them really are my favorite.  But I also like to go sit outside under the big neem tree in my compound where there’s a nice breeze, and I can talk with some of the adults.  So after a little, I suggest a move outside.  The older two (3 and 4 years olds) are very responsive to this, and immediately jump up, say that we’re going out, and put their bottles away.  The youngest one (2 ½ years old), however, prefers to remain on my bed, and I often have to tickle and tease her to get her outside.  She can’t talk yet, so she gurgles statements at me and points, signs that I can generally interpret; her remarks reminds me of a combination of Boo from Monsters Inc. and a bird.  Since lunch isn’t served usually until around 2:30, I grab my chair and sit outside with my host family, chatting with the adults, playing with the kids who now jump on my lap (sometimes all 3 at the same time), or just sitting lost in my thoughts.

I still eat at least two meals in my village with my host grandma, host parents, and sometimes another family in my village who sends a child over to bring me for the meal.  Usually my host grandma’s meal is done first, and I join the other 13 people around the bowl.  Then I return to sitting outside until my host parents’ meal is done, joining 7 others for that meal.  The toddlers often appear for a second meal as well, one-by-one showing up at the door and waiting to be called to the bowl to join (reminding me of the storm scene in The Sound of Music).  We eat, and then I return to sitting outside with people while afternoon tea is prepared.  People are usually still sitting as I leave for my afternoon activity around 3:30 or 4 among protests that it’s too hot, and I should wait until later to depart.

I return around 7, join the women in the garden for afternoon watering and offering advice on their vegetable beds, carry more water as drinking water, and prepare dinner.  Then, I join my family sitting outside on their cement slab.  This is my favorite time of day; the kids are very chatty and enjoy telling me stories or joking with me.  I discuss some of my village projects with my host parents or talk about some of their hardships.  I talk with my oldest host brother about school, encouraging him in his studies and sometimes helping him with his exercises.  I watch my host sisters dance to the music playing on the radio.  I trade American and Senegalese riddles with my host parents and oldest sister.  I tell fairy tales to the children, often repeating their favorite ones (The 3 Little Pigs and Little Red Riding Hood) several times.  Or I simply lay back and enjoy gazing at the clear skies searching for shooting stars.

Finally, I return to my room around 9:30, fighting back their insistence that I am leaving earlier than usual and that I should stay and talk.  Instead, I lie in bed reading and then listening to the voices floating in from outside, music blasting on the radio, and children reciting Arabic verses at the Koranic school in the compound next to me (which most of the children in my village attend every night, 3 afternoons a week, every Sunday, and every morning the French school is closed – though some children do attend the Koranic school every day instead of attending French school at all).

Every day is long and packed with activities, but each day also gives me time to socialize with people in my village or in the other towns I visit.  And, though I do have a general routine, it often changes if an activity requires an entire day or if I decide to engage in village activities instead.  And, of course, Sunday is the weekly market day, and I find myself walking to Farfenni to buy fresh vegetables instead.  But life here is gaining a rhythm, and I’m growing very comfortable in my general schedule.