Anglais rekk!

“It’s hot, de”

I just completed a week of English Access Camp, a program run by the US Embassy for students aged 15-17.  I worked with 2 other volunteers and 4 English teachers to organize the camp in Tambacounda for 57 students, both boys and girls.  It was an amazing experience.

I was very impressed by the level of these students’ English.  All schools in Senegal require English classes beginning in 6^th grade.  From what I have seen in my village and at the local high school, they are not absorbing much of this language; just learning French, the national language and language of the classroom, is difficult enough for them.  However, I was blown away by the talent of the Tambacounda students.  Each of the 4 teachers had chosen several students to attend the camp and ability certainly ranged a scale, but we were able to successfully conduct all activities and discussions in English, as well as require the kids to continually speak just English.  Anglais rekk! (English only!)

We had a wide variety of activities for the students.  Each morning, we’d begin the day with an icebreaker or game.  My favorite was watching the students participate in a 3-legged relay race; they’d never done anything of this sort before, and they loved it.  Several groups fell on the ground as they hopped down the field, and a few groups figured out how to run as a team.  Another day, we played silent birthday line-up; this activity ended with a girl asking the point of the game, and we gave an explanation of the importance of teamwork (since that activity did not require any English speaking).  Another daily activity was teaching them English songs.  I taught them “If You’re Happy and You Know It,” “Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes,” “Have You Ever Seen a Penguin Come to Tea,” “I’m a Little Tea Pot,” and “Old McDonald.”  We had a contest of who could sing “Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes” loudest, and it was hilarious to watch the kids hopping around to “Penguin Come to Tea.”  On the last day, during the final song session, the kids chanted for us to dance Senegalese-style.  After appeasing them briefly, we taught them Macarena and the Chicken Dance.  The three of us were standing on a bench to teach them these dances and were very visible to people walking down the street; we got quite a cheering from outside the school as a result.

The main part of each day consisted of small groups of about 10 students, which allowed the students time to practice their English.  We played games such as 20 questions, identify the person/place taped to your back through questions only, and team builders such as Human knot, as well as held discussions.  The most interesting session involved a line-spectrum debate.  I’d read a statement, and they’d have to group themselves into “agree completely,” “somewhat agree,” “somewhat disagree,” and “disagree.”  Each person then had to justify his/her response.  Some statements were simple and there was unanimity: “Boys and girls should both go to school,” “Children should go to school until graduating from high school and then continue to university,” and “Men should not beat their wives.”  It became more interesting with controversial topics such as “It is possible to overcome the corruption in Senegal” and “Senegal can become a developed country.”  For those statements, the students explained (in English) the problems in Senegal, which included officials pocketing money, development only occurring for cities, friends and family expected to be hired for official positions (and offended if not chosen), many unqualified teachers, and numerous other reasons that were very well articulated and do represent the political climate in Senegal.  I was happy to see that the majority of students were more optimistic and thought these obstacles possible to overcome through education, sensitization, laws, and law enforcement.

We also had sessions involving the entire group.  A trivia game was particularly popular among the students.  They had a larger amount of world knowledge than I had expected, though they were all convinced that the United States has 52 states.  (Apparently, this information is in their textbooks.)  Another day, we had an American culture question and answer session.  They each wrote down a question on a piece of paper, and we responded to as many as possible.  There were the normal questions of “What is education like in America,” “At what age do people get married in the United States,” and “What’s your national dish.”  Some more interesting questions were “How do people vote in elections,” “Why do you run English Access Camps,” and “Why do Americans want to become the best in the world and spread their culture everywhere?”  That last questions was particularly intriguing to me, and we asked the students to determine answers within their groups.  Every student agreed with the statement and thought Americans want to convert everyone to be like them; we then tried to explain why Americans think development is important, and I shared my (somewhat idealistic) opinion that the purpose is not to defeat cultures, but merely to help.

Our final activity consisted of a performance.  Each group had written a skit during the week, without any help from us.  The skits were amazing.  One group presented on the importance of protecting the environment by not throwing trash on the ground or cutting down trees.  Another presented on the problem of student-teacher relationships and how it could lead to child pregnancies and teachers being fired.  A third group presented on the problems of students dropping out of school early because their parents can’t pay for their school supplies.  The final group presented on talibe (children who are sent to study the Kora,n, but are often beaten by their teachers and must beg on the street for food and money) and how people should give them the opportunity to improve their lives instead of treating them poorly.  They hit on such key points and issues within Senegal and provided idealistic solutions that I hope they continue to follow when they’re adults.  These skits strengthened my faith in the education system and its ability to create leaders who understand and are determined to achieve solutions.

We had a large budget for this camp, so I determined that rather than throwing an elaborate party at the end, we should buy school supplies for the students (though we still did give them delicious fatayas – fried dough stuffed with mashed fish and onion sauce cooked by one of the teacher’s sisters).  Each student was provided with a large notebook, small notebook, red pen, blue pen, eraser, highlighter, and school supply packaged set (consisting of a protractor, ruler, pencil, colored pencils, eraser, and pencil sharpener).  The kids were overjoyed at receiving such items; now they can begin the school year with their supplies, rather than waiting until a few months in to purchase them.  (Many students spend the first few months without even a notebook until their parents find the money to buy them the supplies.)

The camp was a great opportunity for me, the students, and the teachers.  It was an amazing chance for them to practice their English every day for 4 hours.  At the end of each day, they didn’t want to go home and would often stay late to practice their skits (leaving only because they had required house chores to complete before lunch).  I was astounded at their ability to express themselves and also to help their friends to express themselves; they were very understanding of each individual’s different comprehension level and prepared to encourage each other to speak or explain a person’s intentions.  The fact that these children could defend societal issues, tell traditional Wolof stories, write engaging skits, and play complicated games in English attests to their individual drive and motivation in succeeding.  Passing school is not a guarantee here, but these students are certainly on their way to attain it. 

Lutax nga jooy?

This year, I decided to celebrate Rosh Hashanah as best as I could in village.  To prepare for this, I needed a shofar.  Every Sunday, I go to my weekly market.  There is a man there who sells items used for mystical purposes: porcupine quills, conch shells, bright pink Fanta seeds, rabbit furs, live chickens, and much more.  I approached him and asked him for a sheep's horn.  He rummaged around his baskets of supplies and pulled out two horns.  I'm not sure that they were a sheep's horn, but they looked the same.  I chose the larger one for about 40 cents (about the length of my elbow to the tips of my fingers).  Now came the first unexpected problem: there was no hole on the end.  I asked him to cut the tip off, assuming the hole was close to the end.  This proved to be incorrect; after he'd cut nearly 1/3 of the horn off, he still hadn't reached the hole, and he was exhausted from sawing.  (He was using a hand saw and horns are hard.)  To give him a break, I offered him to bring it home, take his time, saw it off, bring it back the following week, and I'd pay him for his labor.  He seemed relieved, leaned back in his chair, and promised to have it cut to the hole and sanded smooth for me.

I returned the following week, and he called me over when I was still a few stalls away.  He proudly retrieved the horn.  It was now nearly half the size it had started out, but the hole was clearly visible, and he'd done a nice job of cutting it smoothly.  I thanked him, paid him generously for his efforts ($1, which left him overjoyed), and happily placed the horn in my backpack on top of the 7 kilos (15.4 lbs) of vegetables I'd bought to give my host family for the week.  I then went to my stall to teach the importance of moringa ("the miracle tree") to whoever stopped by my booth, and tried not to think about my excitement over my purchase.

Later, as I walked the 5 km back to my village, I decided to pull out the shofar and try it.  I was alone on the path, no one would be able to hear me, and I could ensure myself of my abilities.  With a large smile on my face as I laughed at the absurdity of blowing the shofar on a random bush path in Senegal surrounded by fields of corn, millet, and peanuts, I put the horn to my lips.  Still walking (it was almost 5:00, I hadn't eaten lunch, and I didn't want to waste time in getting home to eat the food my host family had put aside for me), I blew into it.  Only a squeak came out.  I tried again, with the same result.  Now I began to be worried - I was always good at blowing my brother's shofar at home, but this one was much smaller making it more difficult.  So I stopped walking, took a deep breath, and blew again.  Once more, I was rewarded with just a small squeak.  I decided I was just tired from working all day and would put it away until Rosh Hashanah.

On the first night of the holiday, I arrived home just as it was getting dark.  I pulled out my shofar, stood in my back doorway, and decided to surprise my host family with the call of the shofar.  But, when I blew into it, I once again could only produce a small squeak.  I tried again and again and again, but only squeaks came out.  I continued to try for 15 minutes.  Finally, my host brother came into my room, followed immediately by the rest of my host family.  They stood clustered in the door and asked me if I was ok.  I told them I couldn't get any sound to come out and held up the shofar.  They stared at it and repeated their question, this time adding, "Lutax nga jooy?"  (Why are you crying?)  I started to laugh; they'd been hearing the squeaks of the shofar, my panting after each extended breath, and my sighs of exasperation and had assumed I was standing in my backyard crying to myself.  All of them had sat quietly on the cement slab outside, unsure if they should interrupt until finally they couldn't allow me to weep by myself anymore.  After I assured them I hadn't been crying and explained the shofar's significance, I decided the surprise was ruined (and impossible to obtain) and followed them outside.  There commenced a long evening of the children and me trying to get a deep sound out of the shofar.

But it wasn't until the following day that I was finally successful.  (On closer inspection in the daylight, I found the problem to be the size of the hole.  It was very large and part of one side was also cut open.  The only way I could properly blow it was to hold one side of my mouth closed with my other hand to prevent the air from escaping.  I must've looked ridiculous.)  The sound drew all the nearby kids over, and they watched as I produced this strange sound; none of them could get anything more than a small squeak out of it.  One toddler was scared of it.  She couldn't understand how noise could come out of a horn (an object she's completely familiar with).

To finish off my Rosh Hashanah observance, I ate apples with honey, cooked teighlach, and observed Tashlich with bread in the river nearby.

Creating a Library

Dear Friends and Family,

I am writing to you in regard to a current project my village.  The school is working to create a library to be based at the middle/high school.  This library would include textbooks and pleasure books for use by the students, teachers, and literate community,

Currently, there is a lack of available books.  In classrooms, students do not have textbooks to take home to learn the material.  Thus, they often have only their notes and practice problems from class with no additional information to study before exams.  When they read literature for French class, there are a few copies of books that are passed between the students; a few students are assigned the book each week, and they read the assigned chapters for the month before they are reassigned the books.  Even the teachers do not have access to appropriate resources.  The lessons and information they teach is often based on out-of-date materials.  I have walked into classes where teachers explain that Pluto is still a planet or that malaria can be treated by several types of prescription drugs, obsolete information that is no longer accepted by the scientific community; unfortunately, the teachers have no way to access this new information.  Having current textbooks is a vital aspect of improving the Senegalese education system.

In addition to textbooks, the library will include pleasure books.  At the moment, it is rare for a student, teacher, or community member to have the luxury to afford a book.  There is not one person in my village that has ever read a novel or understood that reading can be for fun, not just as assigned schoolwork.  I have been a bookworm for as long as I can remember, losing myself in the lives of the characters.  I want to provide the same opportunity to the community here to allow them the pleasure to curl up with a novel and the chance to learn about the world outside Senegal through reading books.

Thus, I am turning to you for help in financing this project.  If you are able to donate, even just five or ten dollars, I would greatly appreciate the support.  We have all been so fortunate in our lives as Americans to have up-to-date textbooks for every student and every subject and free access to public libraries.  Now it’s your chance to provide the same opportunities to students and community members in Senegal.  Donations can be submitted to: http://SenegalLibrary.causevox.com/ until November.

Thank you very much in advance, and thank you for all your continued support while I’ve been in Senegal.

Colonie, dafa neex!

I recently returned from a weeklong girls’ camp for 40 middle-school girls.  This was an amazing opportunity for talented, motivated girls from across the Kaolack, Fatick, and Kaffrine regions to meet others with a similar passion for learning, a rare sight within most of their villages.  It also allowed them time to have fun and relax, another rare event within their communities.  Most of these girls return home from school to cook, clean, care for children, work in the fields, and perform other duties while still finding some time to study for their classes.  These girls are incredibly dedicated to school with goals to earn a university education; become doctors, journalists, NGO workers, and much more; and refrain from marriage until completing a degree.

Every day of the camp (which was run by Peace Corps volunteers with the help of several Senegalese women mentors) had a different theme: identity, health, environment, gender, and careers.  These themes allowed the girls to explore and learn about topics in a fun, interactive environment.  They were able to develop an idea of themselves and how they fit into their communities.  Additionally, we began each day with leadership activities, which my friend and I led; these were fun, team-building games that I’d learned from Outdoor Ed and Nature’s Classroom, and the girls had a blast untangling themselves from the human knot, passing a bucket of water around with their feet, and hugging trees blindfolded which they later had to identify.

On health day, they learned about family planning and female hygiene.  Imagine a group of 15-year-olds receiving their first sex ed and birds-and-the-bees conversation.  I learned many of these details beginning in 5^th grade from parents, friends, and school, but these topics are taboo here.  No one explains to them their bodily changes when they hit puberty or where babies come from.  Everything teenagers know is from rumors, and they never find out the truth about their bodies.  It is often not until their wedding night that most girls learn what sex is, and even then it is often performed in the dark and forced upon them by their husbands.  I have had women with several children come ask me to explain male anatomy because their husbands direct all activities in the middle-of-the-night while they lie completely still.  Thus, the fact that we provided these girls with information regarding sexual health and puberty was completely radical in this country.  Their mouths were literally dropping with surprise as we explained female anatomy, they tried not to giggle as we explained safe sex practices, and their eyes shut with horror as we showed pictures of STI symptoms.  We were trying to prepare them for their futures, to explain their options, make them aware of normal behavior, and empower them to make smart decisions with men.  We ended the day with a skit portraying an ambitious, intelligent teenager pursued by a male classmate who offered the girl money.  The girl was tempted to bring money home to her mom who works really hard, though she didn’t want to drop out of school.  (Relationships often lead to marriage that inevitably leads to pregnancy soon afterward.)  The girls were asked what they would do if placed in that position.  Immediately, a girl shot up her hand to announce that she’d continue studying and tell the boy that he should do the same and not pressure her for sex; if he really loved her as he said, he’d value her education.  The other girls screamed and clapped with approval.

On environment day, we rented two boats took them on a trip to an island.  This was all but one of their first time on a boat.  (The one girl lives on an island; coming to the camp was her first time in a car.)  They loved the ride, the beauty of the mangos, and the opportunity to shout taunting shouts to the other boat.  The girls were so creative with their chants, creating songs about the camp, their new friends, and their activities.  One particular catchy song declared, “Colonie dafa neex!”  (Camp is fun!)  The boat ride went really well, until the way back when, in the pouring rain, one of the engines cut out.  My boat, far ahead of the other boat, turned to see the driver of the other boat standing up, waving his shirt in the air for us to come help him.  We ended up towing his boat back to camp; the one-hour trip doubled in time, but the girls were content to be smashed in the boat joking with each other.

On gender day, we taught them that women can have power.  They should stand up for themselves and not let their gender limit them in any way.  We brought in Senegalese men to speak about healthy relationships and sharing domestic responsibilities.  The girls were amazed that these options exist.  They had never considered that men could help take care of their children or that they had the right to refuse being beaten by their husbands.  The Senegalese men taught them strategies to resist relationships that gave the men all the power, and the girls took notes as they explained how they treat their partners.  We Peace Corps volunteers couldn’t help but smile at the thought of the tough line these girls would rightfully expect of their boyfriends and husbands.

On career day, we encouraged them to pursue their field of interest and to plan out how to achieve this.  We explained the importance of planning for the future.  Mostly, we wanted them to see that there are many girls in Senegal with similar hopes for studies and careers; they should resist their communities’ pressures to marry early, work, and drop out of school.  The whole week had served to empower them to stand up for their rights, and this was the closure; they have the ability to achieve whatever they put their minds to.  This final night, we held a talent show.  It was the chance for the girls to show off their gymnastics, dancing, singing, and public speech.  At the end, “invisible friends” were revealed.  On Monday, each girl had been assigned another girl to compliment and treat with respect without betraying their identity.  Now, on Friday, one girl was called forward.  One of the Senegalese mentors began a song about searching for her invisible friend.  While she sang, the invisible friend jumped up, dancing over to the girl, and they danced around hugging each other a bit, before the first girl sat down, and the remaining girl waited for her invisible friend to appear.  It was so nice to see how close these girls had become over the week.  Watching the girls embrace and dance with their new friends who shared so much in common with them was beautiful.

But all wonderful things must come to an end.  On Saturday, the girls all piled on busses the campement for home.  The girls were literally bawling and had been in such a state since the previous night.  They had felt so accepted here among other motivated, intelligent girls.  One girl explained that she was nervous to go home where all her peers and even adults taunted her for studying.  We drove the girls to Kaolack, and then we all separated to return to our separate villages.  I waited in public transport with the two girls I had brought.  Several young men came up to them and said they loved them, a normal occurrence here.  But, unlike on the way here when they’d simply ignored the comments, my two girls turned to them and said that they’d just come back from a vacation to learn and studying was their sole interest now.  They then asked the young men why they weren’t in school and went so far as to scold them for dropping out early and pursuing their education.  I sat next to them with a huge grin on my face.  The camp’s mission had been accomplished.

Naan bi jot na

It’s the last few days of Ramadan, an important holiday in this Muslim country.  Nearly all adults, most teenagers, and some children fast for the 29 or 30 days of this holiday.  I, for one, am eager for the month to be over.  I’m looking forward to Korite, which occurs the day after Ramadan ends, and I’m looking forward to the end of the fast.

It began nearly 4 weeks ago.  Senegal does not have a schedule for its holidays; instead, people judge the commencement date by examining the moon.  When the first glimpse of the moon is seen, then the holiday begins.  Thus, the month begins 1-3 days after the official date written on my calendar.  Children are usually the heralds of the holiday, carefully searching the sky and bringing the message home to their families and village when they view the moon.  Once it’s been seen, everyone eats a hearty dinner and prepares themselves for the fast ahead.  They’ll wake again at 5 am with the call to prayer to eat their morning meal before beginning to fast.

Life continues as normal despite the fast.  It’s particularly difficult when Ramadan falls at this time of year: not only is it hot and humid, but it’s also planting and weeding time and families must go out to the field every day.  Additionally, since they haven’t reaped the benefits from the harvest yet, money is particularly tight, and it is difficult for Senegalese to afford the large meals required of break fast.  Nevertheless, despite these hardships, people can be seen working hard in their fields.  They arrive early and often stay in the fields until late in the afternoon, skipping the customary mid-day break (usually lasting from 1-5) since there is no lunch.  Men and boys lead manual tractors pulled by donkeys, horses, or yoked cows.  Women and girls follow behind the animal, weeding around the crops with hoes.  It’s exhausting work, but they don’t complain.  They know that carefully caring for their peanuts, millet, beans, and corn now will pay off later.

By late afternoon, they’re exhausted.  They return home, and the entire village is quiet as everyone takes an afternoon nap.  Even with nourishment and drink, the work would be difficult; the fast and weather only exacerbate this.  They all lay and watch the sun, waiting for it to dip below the horizon.

Then, at 7:45, the imam’s voice can be heard ringing from the center of the village.  My host brother comes to call me: Naan bi jot na! (Drinking time has come!)  My family gathers in the backyard to eat a date, drink coffee (made from leaves of a local plant), and eat bread.  I use this time to down 2 or 3 liters of water, replacing my fluids for the day.  As soon as I’ve consumed this water, I can feel sweat starting to drip down my body, normal for this heat but absent during my dehydration.  I feel much better now.  Suddenly, voices can be heard ringing out, children playing, and laughter resounding; the village has come back to life.  I break fast with my host parents and siblings, but after finishing my meal there, I am promptly called over to my host grandma’s hut where I am given another cup of coffee and another loaf of bread.

An hour later, it’s time for dinner.  Dinner during Ramadan consists of the nicer food eaten generally for lunch only.  Once again, I eat one meal with my host family and then another with my host grandma.  When I go to bed soon afterward, I am stuffed with food, liquid, and contentment from the antics of my host siblings.  Ironically, I find myself more full during Ramadan than during the rest of the year.  I’ve consumed so much food that I’m not hungry until the following evening; it’s just the water I miss.

Neberdie, am na solo!

For several weeks now, I travel to my weekly market with more than the goal of consuming.  Now, after eating a bean sandwich for breakfast, buying several kilos of fresh vegetables for my family, and greeting women in my village who sell mangos, I set up a table and begin educating people about the value of moringa.

Moringa is fondly known as “the miracle plant” because it prospers in dry, sandy soils (aka Senegal).  Literally, without much care and no gardening knowledge, anyone can grow a moringa tree.  In addition to growing easily, it grows fast; in just 2 or 3 years, it can reach heights greater than me or my tall Senegalese host father.  But, even more importantly, the leaves of this tree can provide nearly all the necessary vitamins and minerals.  (The Wolof word for moringa is “neberdie,” a version of the phrase “never die” since moringa can drastically improve health.)  With just 3 spoonfuls of leaf powder, an adult can have 4 times the potassium of bananas, 6 times the vitamin C of oranges, 3 times the protein of yogurt, 4 times the vitamin A of carrots, and 4 times the calcium of milk, in addition to folic acid, vitamin B complex, vitamin K, iron, and more.  Due to its dense nutrient value, moringa is extremely effective at countering malnutrition, fighting many illnesses (including reducing hypertension, diabetes, blindness, worms, fevers, headaches, diarrhea, constipation, and fatigue), and supporting both pregnant and breastfeeding women.

Moringa is truly an impressive plant and quite prolific here, but most people are unaware of the benefits.  If the Senegalese only know the importance of the tree as well as the proper way to prepare it (the traditional method of boiling the leaves to make a sauce for couscous denatures some of the vitamins and causes the rest to leak into the water which is subsequently dumped and the leaves are left nutrition-less), their health could be drastically improved.  So, armed with some visuals graciously created by a fellow Peace Corps volunteer, I stand at my table and teach men, women, and children.  Attracting an audience is extremely easy; my very presence as a white person immediately draws attention to myself as people come over to see what the Toubab is selling.  Once a few people wander over, a large crowd gathers to see what those few are examining.  And so I find myself with an eager group of people ready to absorb what I have to tell them (after they understand that I’m not selling anything, but just offering them knowledge).

After being at the market for a few weeks, I’ve learned the best way to explain the information so that people will take away as much as possible.  However, I still prefer when others around me explain the facts instead.  Luckily, this happens often.  Once one person understands what I’ve said, they begin to show the visuals to the newcomers, repeating the do’s and don’ts of preparation and why moringa is so useful.  I also often gather a following of children, who enjoy explaining the information to the adults or to me during brief pauses between groups, and who I then encourage to teach their parents when they return home.

Teaching at the market provides me with immediate gratification, much different from a lot of my work as a Peace Corps volunteer where the effects are hard to measure.  When I finish explaining the information, nearly everyone says, “Neberdie am na solo” (Moringa is important).  They tell me that they never knew that it was healthy, and that they are will begin to make the powder.  At first, I took this as a sign of their appeasing me, of telling me that I understand Wolof now and that they appreciated that I’m trying to help them.  But I’ve realized that they’re actually taking away my message.  They’re remembering it, teaching it, and acting upon it.  As I walk around the market now, I hear people talking about moringa, teaching their friends about the benefits and how to prepare it.  I also have many people (both men and women) who approach me to say they’ve made the leaf powder and have begun to eat it every day.  Some have even sworn its effectiveness to me in treating their illnesses.  Everyone has become excited by the potential of moringa, and I’m hoping to start my own, small moringa usage epidemic in this area by teaching and planting some in my village.