Yesterday morning, I decided to visit a village about an
hour bike ride from me. I had worked
with this village to teach them how to successfully create and maintain a
vegetable garden; a local NGO had given them the money to build a fence and
purchase materials but had neglected the important fact of training the women
in the necessary skills. Last year, I
visited them about twice a month to provide advice and check on the garden’s
status. However, since the rainy season
began in early July I have not been back for two reasons: the dirt paths have
large holes that are often filled with water making biking very difficult and
the women are all in their fields working rather than in the garden or at their
homes. I’ve seen some of the women at
the weekly market or in town, and they’ve asked when I’ll come visit them
again. I decided that it was finally
time for me to return.
The cold season has begun, so nights and mornings have
become chilly. So I pulled myself out of
my sleeping bag, went to fetch water to shower (the water left in the bucket
overnight is too cold to shower with in the morning, and I prefer the warmer
water from the tap – my host family boils water to mix in with the tap water so
that it’ll be even warmer to shower with), and left my village around 8. After a stop at my favorite bean sandwich
lady in the nearby town for a delicious breakfast of beans on bread with a cup
of quinquilliba coffee (not sure why it’s called coffee-it’s actually a leaf tea,
and I get it mixed with milk, so it’s a delicious way to start the day), I headed
down the dirt path to the village. I
love this bike ride because the paths are not well traveled so I can get lost
in my thoughts as I go. I have to pass
through one village on the way (a Pulaar-speaking village), and they all called
to me by name as they see me and commented that it’s been awhile. I was nearly at my destination when I saw a
group of women heading toward me on the path.
I realized they’re from the village I’m going to, but they were all
headed to the field to harvest their peanuts.
I’d thought by getting my early start and arriving before 9:30, I’d be
able to catch them before they left; then my main friend in the village would have
remained with me for the day rather than heading to her field. They informed me that she’d already left, and
there were no women in the village.
Nonplussed, I continued into the village, greeted the men, left an oral
message to greet my friend, and decided to continue further into the bush.
I’ve wanted to venture to these further villages for a while
but never had the opportunity. With no
work to do in this village, I was excited to be able to explore and to roam
around on my bike. I asked for
directions to a nearby large village and headed down that path. Somehow, I must have missed a turn (there are
lots of side trails off the main trails that villagers use to head to their
fields), and I ended up on a narrow, very bumpy trail that is closed-in tightly
by weeds. I was enjoying the adventure
though and continued until I saw a women working with her children in the
fields. I called to her and inquired
about the village. She instructed me to
cut across a few fields (requiring me to walk my bike since the fields have
heavily grooved in neat lines), and I soon met up with the main path. I crossed through a small village and nearly
an hour after I left my friend’s village, I entered this large village. Here, too, all the women were in the field,
and I stopped to speak to a group of men.
I asked them what village lay beyond theirs and inquired about the
path. I then continued to this next
village. When I arrived there, I stopped
to speak to a group of men under a tree.
I asked them where the next village was, but they laughed. I could take the path to my left, which would
lead me into Gambia, or I could continue straight for a very short bit before
I’d hit water. This area has an
extremely high water table at just 1.5 meters.
This encloses them from other Senegalese villages, but it allows them
easy access to water for gardening; in the dry season, they have huge plots of
onions, potatoes, sweet potatoes, cassava, tomatoes, etc. that they sell at the
Senegalese weekly markets but also as far away as Banjul. They also have access to fresh fish as a
result, which I’m reminded of as a donkey cart piled high with fish passes
by. I stand and talk with these men for
awhile. They asked about where I live,
and then they inquired about friends and family who live in my village. My village is just 400 people, yet several
people knew members of my community. We
talked about my work, their village, and the harvest. After awhile, I decided it’s time to head
back. Doo xar ane? (You won't wait for lunch?) They insisted that I should wait
for lunch or at least until the women returned so that I could speak with them
(and also for me to return and lead health lessons in their village), but I had
my girls’ club in the afternoon and was a 2-hour bike ride from home. I declined their offer and continued home.
I passed through the large village again, and the men
inquired about my visit to the other village and also insist that I stay for
lunch. I declined again and continue on
my way. I decided to take a different
path back to town to see new places. It
was hot by this point, and my water bottle was nearly empty. The landscape was beautiful, and I enjoyed how
spaced out the villages are, but my mouth was parched. I was very happy when I passed through
another village. I stopped at a
compound, greeted the woman, and asked for water. She brought me out a full liter cup, and I stood
there, gulping it down. Meanwhile, other
people in her house returned from the fields, and they all greeted me; no one as
surprised at my presence in their compound drinking water. I returned the now-empty cup to her, and she
asked if I had a water bottle that she could fill. I happily handed mine over. She insisted that I should wait for
lunch. I thanked her, declined the
offer, and continued on my way. Finally,
I reached the town and then continued to my village. It was now 2:00, and I had arrived just in
time for my first of the two lunches I always eat. I was exhausted after having ridden my bike
for nearly 5 hours, much of it through very sandy areas (and some parts so
sandy I had had to walk my bike as I trudged through), but it was a great
adventure. It reminded me of how
generous and welcoming Senegalese people are.
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