Dafa naw.

The other day, I went to my first baptism here.  It was for the namesake of one of my neighbors.  (Here, a namesake acts like a godmother - supporting the child and also sharing a name with the child.)  I didn't know when it would start but sat around with some of the women and kids in the morning, per usual.  One woman was so excited for the day.  She told me all about the food, singing, and dancing of the day, showing off her dance moves (as well as her knowledge of American dance moves).  She couldn't wait to go.  Around noon, my grandmother and the namesake came over to bring me to the house.  We all walked together to a house, greeted everyone, and waited as more women piled into the bedroom; it became so packed that no one else could enter, but still women called greetings through the doorway.  Then, all the vegetables (an entire large bucket of them), rice (an entire sack), and oil (a huge container) were carried over to the mother's house.  We then piled into another room.  I was immediately given the baby to hold for a bit before other people took her to have a chance to hold her.  As usual, I received the usual comment of "Dafa naw" (She is ugly), and as usual I responded that the baby was not ugly but was pretty.  I had no idea who the mother of the baby was until later; she is not given any speical attention, but it is seen as a shared event for the community.  In fact, I received more attention than her as people commented on my presence and the braids in my hair that my neighbor had done the day before (after the namesake had her hair braided for the event).

Then we all piled outside.  We greeted the men sitting in a room next door.  One man decided that he was my "cheri" and told me that he loved me (a usual comment in Senegal - I've gotten quite good and putting off marriage proposals and love affirmations).  My neighbor soon told me that we were leaving, but everyone asked why I was going, and my grandma and the namesake implored me to stay.  So I took a seat beside them on the cement block under the tree.  A little later, I watched as the men slaughtered a sheep for the meal; two men held the legs, while a third cut the head off.  It was then taken outside to be cleaned and cut.  Soon after, a man wth dreadlocks and a sack entered the compound.  I'd seen him before, and he called out to me, asking my name and commenting that I should get dreadlocks like him instead of the braids I had.  A group of kids gathered around him, and all the women stared at him.  I creened my neck to see him too.  Then he began to sing.  Everyone answered "Amin" a lot.  I just sat there until my grandma nudged me to hold both my hands out in front of me with my palms up.  He was apparently praying and chanted for awhile.  At first, everyone was really intent, but as it continued, they shifted a bit in their seats and their eyes became a bit glossy as they stared into space  A few more kids came, and they immediately sat down with their hands out.

When this was over, I walked home with my grandma and the namesake.  The namesake had to gather everything she bought for the baby; she is responsible for providing all the baby essentials.  A large group of women headed back over, led by a hired singing woman from a nearby village.  Two girls banged on metal bowls, and everyone sang and clapped their hands.  We entered the compound.  It was drizzling, so we all poured into a small area with a shade structure.  To women crazily beat the metal bowls, sweat pouring down their foreheads.  I was at the back, and I peered over to the singing woman and some women dancing in front of her (after paying her a small fee to dance).  My grandma pushed her way to the center to dance, moving her feet quickly, one hand holding her skirt and the other in the air with a huge smile on her face.  Then she called me over to dance with her.  I did the one Senegalese dance move that I know and tried to copy my grandma.  Another woman paid the woman a bit more so that I could continue to dance.  I smiled widely, laughing at myself and my horrible dance moves (though later most of the women came up to me to tell me that I could dance - a courtesy they extend to me, but mock each other's dancing abilites).  Then I drifted back into the crowd to clap my hands and watch other women dancing.

Soon, the dancing and singing stoped.  The singing women called for all the gifts to be grought over.  She went through them all, counting them as she picked them up and handed them to another woman.  It was interesting because I wanted to see what the gifts (especially the clothes) looked like, but they were only interested in the amount - to see how well the namesake would care for the baby.  There were a lot of bars of soap, baby oil, perfume, poop bowls (toddlers poop into a small bowl which is then emptied out, and they just pee on the ground), hat, shirts, pants, underwear, coat, shoes, buckets, baby carrier (for when the mom goes to the field and needs to leave the baby somewhere), bracelets, and probably a few other things I can't remember.  The woman made funny comments about a few things as she held them up and named them off, and everyone laughed.  All the women had been eagerly watching to see.  It seemed as though they were all impressed, and the namesake was treating the baby well.

Then there was more singing and dancing.  I went to go sit down with some of the women.  A bench was brought over for me.  I joked that I would be lonely sitting on a bench all by myself.  My mom went to sit on it with me, but when we leaned back, it seemed to be breaking and tilting.  Everyone joked that my mom was too fat and her butt too big.  (Women had been joking around all day.)  We moved the bench to a new spot and tried it again because it looked ok, but the same thing happened.  My mom jumped off it at this point, but then we realized that it was just sinking into the wet ground.  A boy brought rocks over to put under the legs, and it was fine then.

I went over to help the women cook.  There were two enormous cast-iron pots; I probably could've fit inside.  They each blanaced on three legs with wood burning underneath.  They were stirred by spoons almost as tall as me.  It literally looked like they were brewing a potion in a witch's cauldron when they stirred with two hands, peering inside from a distance and addingm ore things to the pots.  Cooking was a long process; it took a few hours.  The meat was already in water and oil in the pots when I arrived, and it was being stirred.  Onions were bing cut, cabbages and bitter tomatoes were being washed, and potatoes were being peeled.  Then peppercorns were pounded, the onions, bouillon cubes, salt, garlic, and green peppers added, and more pounding occurred.  The vegetables were then all added to the meat.  Then the rice was steamed on top.  Eventually, the meat and vegetables were removed, and the onion mixture and rice were added to the water until all the water had been absorbed.  The two huge pots were now full of rice, an incredible amount.  There were about 15-20 women cooking, and it was a social event.  People joked, got up to dance, talked, and had fun with the work.  I ttried to help; I stirred the meat about five times, cut half an onion, and pounded maybe five times before being told to just sit and watch.  In other words, they were letting me try, but eitehr didn't like how I did it or else were joking about needing my help (because they had all told me that I should be working instead of sitting - they always tell me to help with things, but usually don't actually mean it).  So I sat and watched the process and was also pulled in to go dance in front of  the singing lady one more time.  This time, another woman came with me (a baby on her back), and she told me to follow her moves, so my dancing was a bit more sophisticated (though I'm sure not much).  Meanwhile, all the men were sitting under a tree talking.  Baptisms are apparently mainly a women's event.  Mostly women were there and only a few men, and all the singing, dancing, gifts, cooking, etc. involved only the women.  I never saw the men move from their seats all day and most men either showed up for five minutes or not at all, compared to most women who spent the majority of the day there.

At 7:30, we broke fast as usual.  (The baptism occurred during Ramadan.)  As the man in the center of my village began to call out the call to prayer and break fast, bread with butter and coffee was provided to everyone present (about 50 people).  Then juice was served among the men (and I got some too) and soon the bowls of food were brought out.  I sat around a bowl with a group of men and ate with my hands for the second time since arriving in village.  I think I did a really good job eating with my hands, but it probably helped that it was dark so no one could see me.  But I did make fairly good rice balls and didn't make a mess.  After eating, tea was served.  Then I went back home.  My family had waited for me to eat, even though it was now 9:30 and very late for them to eat dinner during Ramadan.  I ate with them and then ate more food from the baptism that had been brought over for my family.  I was also given the bread my family had bought me for the break fast.  I was beyond stuffed but content; it had been a very interesting day.

Tey, nungiy noos.

The 21st was Korite - or praying day as they call it.  There was some debate as to whether it'd be on Sunday or Monday, but no one saw the moon on Saturday night.  On Sunday night, I was sitting outside with my brother who was searching the sky for the moon.  Suddenly, he screamed out with delight because he'd seen the thin sliver of it.  My sister immediately began to dance, her legs moving wuickly as she hummed the rhythm and waved her head scarf all around her.  My grandma and aunt came over.  They recited a few lines in Arabic with their hands in their air and then recited it slowly so that i could repeat it after them.  Then they, too, started to dance.  Everyone was in a good mood that night.  We ate rice with vegetables as usual, but it tasted even better for some reason.

The following day, Monday, was Korite, and I wasn't sure what to expect.  I happily drank lots of water when I woke up and joined my family for a breakfast of couscous, fish, and sauce.  I then sat and talked with my family for awhile.  Everything seemed to be like normal, but I could feel excitement and anticipation in the air.  Groups of kids walked past as usual, but I had trouble recognizing them because everyone had their hair braided for the occasion.  The braiding process had begun on Friday, and suddenly all the children had long hair (from extensions they put in) and beautiful braids.  The toddlers had even dyed their hair black (they usually have reddish hair) and black dye was also all over their scalp and foreheads.  The braiding process was still occuring, with last minute touch-ups, the final people being braided, and gold paint used to decorate heads.

I moved to sit outside and was joined by some family members and women from my village.  Everyone was in a great mood; it was a celebration day.  I watched as children and men over 30 walked back from praying in a nearby open area used as the mosque.  They were all dressed in fancy clothes, heavily starched, clean, and making the wearer seem very dignified.  They were all completely unrecognizable to me in these nice clothes.  I didn't feel like I was in my village anymore.

My mom called me inside to help cook lunch - an onion/macaroni sauce with chicken.  (Meat is so rare in my village as is a vegetable-based dish, and everyone was so excited for this meal.  I had been hearing about how good the food is on Korite for days.)  I helped peel and chop potatoes and onions.  Usually, the women laugh at the way I cut and cook, since I can't do it the same way they do.  But this time, I requested something to use as a cutting board and received wide-spread praise for my onion-cutting abilities.  To make the sauce, we added vinegar, mustard, salt, Dimbal (a Senegalese bouillon cube-essentially powdered MSG), garlic, and pepper to the onions.  Then we fried the potatoes, fried the chicken, and cooked the pasta in the chikcen oil/water mixture with more Dimbal and pepper.  All of this was then mixed together in a bowl.  As I cooked, the radio was on, and my siblings kept coming over to dance to the music.  No one could stop smiling; there are only 3 holidays that they celebrate here, and everyone gets so excited for them.  The anitipation and happiness reminded me of holidays at home in the US: the cooking, hanging out, laughing, and waiting for the celebration to begin.  After cooking, I went and sat outside some more while my sister finished cooking.  Around 2, all the women and girls went into my grandmother's hut to eat, while the men went to my parents' hut; some neighbors also came to eat.  We were given bread to use to scoop up the onion sauce.  More and more chunks of bread kept being handed to me, and they ignored my refusal.  I ate at least a loaf-and-a-half before I was finally successful in declining more.  Still, more sauce and bread were offered to me later as was a rice dish.  It was so much food, but it was so good.

Then I went back outside to drink juice (a real treat) and tea.  Everyone said: Tey, nungiy noos.  (Today, we enjoyed ourselves.  In Wolof, enjoying oneself is synonymous with spending money.  Usually, people deny having fun because they aren't spending money, but on this day, they all splurged.)  By this point, a lot of kids had put on their fancy new clothes that had been bought especially for this occasion.  They wandered around the village in groups by gender and age-group.  They weren't playing (careful to keep their clothes clean), but were just talking and meandering (mostly walking, not even running).  The girls all wore new complets of fancy shirts and wrap-skirts.  The boys wore new clothes too - matching shirts and shorts/pants that were very western (in contrast to the Senegalese clothes worn by the girls).  My brother had a striped collared tee and jean shorts.  The boys all looked very American, which I thought was funny.  All the kids were very proud of their new clothes and strutted around, smiling, and laughing even more than usual.

Around 5:30, I was told to shower and put on my nice clothes - the outfit I wore for my swearing-in ceremony.  When I emerged in the outfit, I received compliments from everyone who admired my complet and told me that I was now Senegalese.  I then walked from compound to compound with two of the women from my compound.  The concept is to show off your nice clothes and get money for looking nice.  All the younger women and girls do it, and all looked stunning in their outfits.  We would walk into a compound, greet everyone, stop in some bedrooms to talk for a few minutes, and then move on.  Everyone was so excited to see me in Senegalese clothes and told me that I looked very nice.  I got most of the attention, and I felt bad because the two women that I were with both looked absolutely stunning and deserved attention too.  I kept smiling and laughing.  Three people gave me money, which I felt bad about.  I gave this money to my mom, and she bought juice and milk (to make hot milk with sugar served in the shot-glass sized tea glasses) to share with everyone.  We then ate dinner, still dressed in fancy clothes.  I commented on my sister's pretty barette.  Without even thinking, she took it out of her hair and put it in mine, ready to share with me; it was so kind and self-less of her.  At night, we sat outside talking as usual and enjoying each other's company.

I was impressed by Korite - how nice everyone looked, the fancy clothes (some women even looked like they were going to a ball) and hair, and the excitement.  And also by the simplicity of it all - good food, dressing up, walking around, hanging out.  Nothing big or spectacular, but just good for being a break and a chance to splurge.  When I think about it, we celebrate holidays so similarly at home - nice clothes, good food, hanging out, and spending time with friends and family.  I went to bed, completely satisfied and with suggestions that I should look forward to Tabaski, which is even better.

Yangiy ci coor gi?

Currently, we are fully into the month of Ramadan.  As I live in a Muslim village, everyone except the children fast.  I decided to try fasting with my village.  Though according to calendars, Ramadan has an official start day, that is not followed here.  Instead, they look for the first sight of the moon (following the new moon).  On the day this occurred, it was extremely cloudy out, and I couldn't even see the stars.  But one man in my village spotted the moon, and the message was passed along; Ramadan had officially begun.  The first day of Ramadan was easy.  For the first (and only time) since I've been here, there was a light drizzle all day and the temperature was cool.  It almost felt like September or October in the US, and I felt like I was fasting for Yom Kippur.  (I even wanted to go to shul-I was so convinced.)  Since then, fasting has gotten a bit harder, since it's hot and humid every day.  I am so impressed by the people in my village who go out to the village to farm for hours every day.  This is the hardest time of year for Ramadan to occur because it is planting season and hot season.  Yet they continue to fast.

Fast is broken every night around 7:40.  At this time, a man in my village sings out prayers, and everyone rushes indoors.  Bread with butter and coffee are drank to break the fast.  (The first day of Ramadan, when I felt like it was Yom Kippur, I actually felt like I was eating a bagel to break the fast, just like at home.)  Traditionally, dates are also eaten, but my village can't afford to buy them.  Then, about an hour later, dinner is eaten.  This is the same meal as we usually eat for lunch.  (There's not much protein in the meal though, making fasting even harder.)  Afterward, tea is prepared, and everyone sits up late talking.  At 5 am, people wake up to eat left-over dinner or a dish similar to oatmeal with lots of sugar.  Then, fasting for the day begins again.

I fasted for the first week.  Since then, I have been cheating a bit, so that I have energy to interact with people all day and to think in Wolof.  (Essentially, I eat breakfast consisting of a mango at 7 am, drink about half a liter of water throughout the day, and sometimes have some dates as a snack in between.)  A common question of greeting is: Yangiy ci coor gi? (You are in the fast?)  When I say that I am, I receive a variety of answers.  Some people are very impressed that I, as a white person, can fast.  Others are surprised that I would fast if I'm not a Muslim.  Still others tell me that I'm doing what I'm supposed to do, but want to know why I'm not praying (although a lot of my village does not pray).  And others tell me that I shouldn't fast since it's not my religion.  But I'm glad to be supporting my village by fasting (well, mostly fasting), I am gaining more respect from them as a result, and I enjoy everyone coming together to hungrily devour the break-fast meal.

And now, there are just 10 days left of Ramadan.  It will continue until the moon is first sighted after the new moon.  Again, this is slightly later than the official end date because they wait until they can see the moon (rather than just the predicted date of the new moon).  When Ramadan ends, Korite begins.  Everyone celebrates, goats are slaughtered and eaten, and there is a lot of dancing.  I can't wait for this!

On a side-note, I went to Dakar for 10 days.  When I returned to my village, it was 7 at night.  I walked down the dirt path leading from the street to my village.  The millet and corn had gotten much taller in my absence, some almost as tall as me.  (Not that that is too hard to accomplish.)  I smiled to myself, noting the beauty of all these fields and delighting in the fact that I was almost home.  Birds sang in the trees, sunset was beginning, and it was nice to be back.  A lot of people were busy in their houses, finishing chores, pulling water from the well, getting ready to break the fast.  When people saw me coming, they all called out happily to me.  Every adult I passed, stopped to talk to me, to see how I was doing, and to ask how Dakar was.  The children all chanted my name and some followed me on the path home.  As I rounded the corner near my compound, I saw my mom flying down the path.  She had heard people calling out to me and ran towards me.  She didn't stop until she was directly next to me.  My face was one huge smile.  If Senegalese hugged, I would've received a huge bear hug for her.  Unfortunately, they do not.  But I received a warm, long handshake and incessant chatter on her part.  It's the biggest sign of affection I've ever seen from her.  We entered my room, and I was followed in by at least 10 children and 5 adults.  More kept piling in as they found out I had returned.  The room was literally packed with people.  My backyard had become overgrown with weeds, and the children immediately set to work weeding the whole backyard and sweeping my room and backyard for me.  Letters that had fallen from the walls were carefully retrieved by others.  As the adults and children in my compound returned from the fields, they all came running into my room to greet me too.  All of them had huge smiles on their faces, so glad that I was back.  My brother Moussa and sister Kani, both about 10 and both of whom adore me, both ran into my room when they returned from the fields and did not leave my side until after dinner.  (According to my mom, Moussa doesn't do any work when I'm around and is always talking about me or hurriedly doing what he has to do so that he can join me.  He also called me on the phone once while I was in Dakar to see how I was.)  Even family members who usually don't show much emotion around me showed how ecstatic they were to have me back.  And apparently Bom, my favorite toddler, had gone to my door every day chanting my name and wanting to know where I was.  She tottered over to sit on my lap now that I was back.  Oh, how I love my village.

Dafa taw!

It was wonderful to return to my village after being away for about 2 weeks at a language seminar (some additional Wolof instruction at my friend's site with a Peace Corps teacher) and then in Kedagou for vacation.  As I sat in the car nearing my village, I couldn't help but smile.  Plus, the entire area has erupted in greenery now that the rainy season is in full swing, and it was beautiful - way different from the sandy, brown landscape I had left behind.  I stepped out of the car and began to walk the 1 km of bushpath to my site.  A lot of my village was in the fields farming, and they all waved at me as I passed.  Everyone greeted me excitedly and children ran out to me.  I neared my compound, and my whole family came out to see me.  It was a great homecoming.  Apparently everyone had been asking about me (children and adults alike) and couldn't wait to see me again.

Life is a bit different now that the farming season has started.  Every morning, everyone goes out to the fields to work until 12 or 1, then they come back for lunch and a short nap.  They usually return to the fields around 4, after the heat has decreased.  My village farms peanuts, millet, and corn, and this is all very labor-intensive without modern technology.  The men usually begin the field first.  A boy leads a horse or donkey attached to an old-metal contraption that digs the soil and is guided by a man.  Women and children follow behind to dig up the soil with hand tools, pulling out all the weeds to leave just the crop behind.  I have accompanied them to the field twice so far.  It is exhausting work, and everyone is wiped out at the end of the day from bending over and hacking at the ground all day.  I enjoy helping in the fields but am a bit nervous at accidentally digging up the crops.  I can just imagine the headlines: Peace Corps volunteer destroys village’s harvest.  I’m sure that won’t happen, but I do get a bit nervous nonetheless.

I am finally feeling a part of my village and not just a guest.  The toddlers in my family are no longer scared of me either.  One shook my hand, I carried one on my back through the fields when we went to pick hibiscus leaves for sauce, and the other absolutely adores me.  This last one hobbles toward me when she sees me coming, and I am put in charge of watching her when everyone else is in the fields.  She is so cute.  When she walks, she gets a very concentrated look on her face and stares intently at her destination.  There are also the older children who I spend a lot of time with.  My room is often the coolest place in the morning, so I hang out with the children and even my parents in my room.  They all love the chalkboard I have painted on my wall, and I have begun some tutoring sessions with my siblings to help them with school.  One time, during a rainstorm, all the kids piled into my room.  I taught them to play pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, which they all loved.  Then we sat around my headlamp and just talked, one of my sisters repeating that she didn't want me to ever leave.  During other rain storms, I stand in my backyard, singing and dancing.  The storms are intense, like summer thunderstorms in the US, and I love them.  I just sit and watch the rain pouring down, listening to the thunder in the distance, and laughing at all the kids and adults dashing through the rain on some mission.  Dafa taw! (It’s raining!)  Yesterday, 2 boys came running through the pounding rain in the pitch-black, trying to catch a duck.  The duck kept evading them, and the boys tried all different angles to tackle it.  Finally, they were successful and took it back home to their compound to spend the night in the backyard.  I am constantly entertained and never stop laughing.

Netti bes, netti cascade

Let me begin by telling you the small progress I have made on one of my projects.  After speaking with Eaux et Forets in Nioro, I had learned that I could receive trees, so I eagerly returned to my village to share this information with them.  I spoke to my family first, and they were extremely excited.  Currently, we only have neem trees in my village (which according to the people, have no purpose since it can't be burned for firewood or eaten), and there aren't too many of these either.  So the prospect of new trees was very exciting.  My father declared that we would have a  meeting to determine what types of trees and how many we should request.  My mother went around to every compound, informing them to meet after dinner on Monday night.

Before the meeting began, I became very nervous.  This is the first project that I am starting in my village, so it sets up expectations for me during the rest of my service.  On top of that, I have absolutely no experience planting trees (though an Agriculture and Forestry volunteer told me she would help me).  I began to ask myself questions: What if I couldn't get the trees they wanted?  What if all the trees died?  What if I couldn't properly plant them?  I tried to convey all this information to my father, suggesting that perhaps we shouldn't have the village meeting.  I wanted him to just tell me what types of trees we should request for the village.  I knew that their desire to call a meeting was best since it would reflect the actual needs of the community, and I was excited that they had decided to determine this all so democratically rather than individually.  However, I didn't want people to become angry if I couldn't carry this project through.

My parents were insistent that we continue to have the meeting as planned, so after dinner we headed over to the clearing.  Boys carried benches out for every to sit on.  Altogether, about 50 people showed up, a big feat for a village of 400 people.  I was impressed that there were essentially an equal  number of men and women.  I was still nervous, but one of my friends in the village began to talk with me, practicing the english that I have been teaching her and that helped me to calm down a bit.  Then my father, as village chief, began the meeting.  He explained that I could get trees from the village and also explained how it was out of my control if I could bring back what they asked.  He told them that we should create options of types of trees; this way, if Eaux et Forets could not provide one type, I would have alternatives to request.  This all went over really well.  My whole village became very excited and an animated discussion began.  I was impressed that they discussed trees to buy for the village and not individually.  I had assumed that I would be getting one tree per compound, but they wanted to devote a plot of land to creating a community orchard.  They really do work as a community here.  In the end, they decided that they wanted a tree for firewood, cashew fruit trees, and mango trees.  They also told me that if I received these trees, they would sing and dance as they planted each one.  It would be a community event, as everyone would contribute to helping to plant the trees.

Luckily, when I went to Eaux et Forets, they approved my request and I will be transporting the trees back to my village in August.  It has all worked out.  I can't wait to tell my village that they will be receiving these trees.



And then, in other news, I just returned from a short trip to Kedagou, a region in southeastern Senegal.  It is supposedly one of the most beautiful parts of the country, and the only region with mountains (hills, really) and waterfalls.  On the drive down, I watched as the scenery changed from brown, sandy, and flat to green, muddy, and hilly.  In fact, I have become so accustomed to the dusty color here that the green seems so vibrant and unrealistic; it is almost as if the grass was painted that color.  It is probably the same color as grass in the US, but it's been over 3 months since I've seen this, and I really did miss it.  (Now that rainy season has officially began in my village, I should be seeing grass there too, so I can't wait to see that when I return.)  I was overjoyed by the topography and flora.  I then spent 3 days hiking with some friends in this region; netti bes, netti cascade (3 days, 3 waterfalls).  We had a lovely hike to Segou falls, where we saw baboons and even heard a few fighting.  We then hiked to Dindefello falls, the highest waterfall in Senegal; it was a beautiful waterfall, though the hike to it was less majestic than to Segou.  Swimming in the Dindefello Falls was a great way to cool off though before climbing the mountain to see one final waterfall and also the source of the Segou Falls.  As we stood at the top of this waterfall, we could see some of our friends below, hanging out at the bottom of the waterfall.  It was great to hike again, spend some time with friends I haven't seen in awhile sharing stories (and speaking english), see this beautiful part of the country, and speak with some of the locals in the area.  But now, after being away from my site for about a week-and-a-half (I was also away for some language training before I left for Kedagou), I can't wait to return to my site and see my family and villagers again.

Sama liggey, mungi tambali

I have successfully been in village for 5 weeks now, completing what is known as Peace Corps’ 5-week challenge.  During this period, volunteers are challenged to remain at site and not spend a night at the regional house (houses owned by the Peace Corps in each region for volunteers to use to get work done or to spend a night speaking English).  And now, the real work of a volunteer begins to unfold a bit.

As I have only been here for 5 weeks, at first I spent my time merely getting to know my village.  I would spend a lot of time in my compound talking to my family, all the children who come there to play, and all the women who would stop by to speak with me or my parents.  My Wolof is still slowly improving, and people are telling me that I understand Wolof now.  (This is very generous as I still ask for a lot to be repeated or words to be explained, but I am understanding their explanations now and I can understand most of what is being said if only one person is speaking at a time.)  As time went on, I received invitations to have lunch or tea (which is drank every afternoon) at other people's compounds.  Now, in the past week, sama liggeey, mungi tambali.  (My work is starting.)  As a health/environmental education volunteer (in Senegal, these programs are synonymous-when you think about it, it makes sense since they're so interconnected), the potential for my work expands over a broad spectrum.

I have spent much time at the local high school (about a 3 km bike ride from my village) working to promote girls' education.  Thanks to the help of the students at Van Der Veer Elementary School through my mom, I will be funding 9 girls' education.  The 9 girls are in the American-equivalent of grades 6, 7, and 8 and were selected by their teachers for being incredibly bright/motivated but having a financial need that makes it difficult for them to attend school.  I have interviewed each girl (yes, in Wolof), received recommendations from their teachers, and had each complete a short essay describing their desired future and hope for girls in their community (in French).  Soon I will be going to each girl's home to speak with the family.  This process has been extremely enlightening to me.  I've learned a lot about the Senegalese school system, the difficulties these girls face in the education system in Senegal, and about life here in general.  For example, all these girls go home and cook, clean, do laundry, etc. for their family; however, they all accept it and actually don't even mention this work to me unless I ask if they do this at home.  Additionally, when I asked their biggest difficulty, one girl said that she didn't have electricity at home and her flashlight is bad, so it's sometimes hard to study.  When I asked what they plan to do with the money, all said that they would either use it to buy school supplies or give it to their parents.  One girl also said she would use some of it to buy breakfast so that she can concentrate better in school.  Finally, a few mentioned that the biggest problem facing girls in their communtiy is early marriage that causes them to drop out of school; they want to help girls be more motivated to continue.  They all said that they plan to stay in school and don't want to marry until after they graduate or after university (which they all want to attend).  After interviewing them, I couldn't help but feel incredibly lucky for the education and opportunities I received growing up.  In my house, my education came before anything else, and I was lucky to have a great school sytem.  I know some places in the US have similar conditions to here, but I realize how much stronger you have to be (especially as a girl) to succeed in the Senegalese school system compared to East Brunswick, NJ.  Here there is not the same support system at home and school to help you pass.  I even see this from the knowledge the students have.  It is incredibly disheartening to see 10-year-olds struggle to read and having difficulty sounding letters out; at that age, I was flying through books and writing (very short) reports in school.

I have also spent some time working at the health post.  This is similar to a doctor's office in the US; it is a step below the hospitals.  However, there is only one qualified doctor and only 2 or 3 nurses to care for many villages.  I spent a day assisting with vaccinating babies in a nearby village.  We traveled to the village by ambulance.  (Think big white van with an empty back, no equipment but room for someone to lie down.)  We then sat under a tree and waited for the women to come with their babies.  The nurse would administer the vaccine (polio, yellow fever, TB, or Penta), and I would record it all in a booklet for the moms and a master book for all the babies in the village.  It was a good system since then both the health post and the mothers have the information about vaccinations.  Unfortunately, the date of the vaccinations was not spread well throughout the village and only 28 arrived.  However, she will return next month so hopefully those who didn't come this time will come then.

I have been doing some traveling to other volunteers' sites to work in their gardens.  I have helped to start tree nurseries, plant vegetables, and beautify an urban space to have as a teaching garden.  My garden is also just beginning; just yesterday, I planted vegetables in a nursery that I will later transplant.  Hopefully they will grow so that I can give them to my family for meals.  I hope to also start a garden at the primary school in my village to grow vegetables for the village to eat and/or sell.  There are currently school gardens at the two high schools near me started by previous Peace Corps volunteers.  These gardens were created to supplement the World Food Program's provision of free lunches for students who come from far-away villages to school every day.  The vegetables grown would supplement the rice and other grains donated by WFP.  They need a bit of a revival though, so I hope to go to them soon.  (Due to teacher strikes this year, the school year was greatly disrupted and thus the education of students and the condition of the school gardened suffered.)

I have decided to work to bring my village more trees.  Currently, there are only neem trees in my village.  Though these trees have important medicinal properties, my villlage does not know them.  (I will soon start to teach them how to make a mosquito repellent from the leaves and other uses.)  However, there are no fruit-producing trees for consumption or sale.  Though my village does eat and sell a lot of mangos, they buy these in bulk from other villages.  Therefore, I went to speak with the Eaux et Forets branch to bring tree seedlings for transplant to my village.  My village is now planning to host a meeting to determine how many and what types of trees they want; they are all really excited to have more trees.  It is something they have wanted for awhile, but have been unsure of how to accomplish.  I am hoping that Eaux et Forets will grant the request as promised, but I am waiting to find out.

I have begun to teach one woman and a few children english.  This woman approached me saying she wanted to learn english.  She was not the first to do so, but she was the first to actually follow through with this desire.  I have worked with her 3 times so far (though she apparently came over on some of the days I was away from my village too) and is very dedicated to learning.  She has a lot of trouble retaining the information, but tries so hard.  One of the kids is picking up what I teach really fast though.  I need to develop a better system to teach her and the kids separately.  This woman is amazing though.  She is always laughing, inviting me over for lunch, and trying to help me.  The other day, when I walked into a neighboring village with her and my mom for a ceremony, she said something to me.  I thought she was asking if I could run, but she may have been saying something else.  Anyway, I then asked her if she could run, and we ended up dashing down the road together, laughing hysterically as passers-by stared at us. 

Finally, I took it upon myself to go to every compound a few days ago to record the name of every person living there.  This is the first census ever done in my village, and everyone is curious about the stats.  I learned that there are 26 compounds (2 of which contain 3 heads of the house living in one compound).  In total, there are 397 people (assuming no one forgot to mention someone, which is quite possible), twice the number my village had estimated lived there.  As I went to every compound, I was shocked to realize that I didn't recognize everyone; apparently, I see and talk to the same group of people all the time.  But everyone asked me to stay to talk and drink tea, so I will be going back to every compound to spend more time with them.

So these projects are all only just beginning.  In reality, nothing is really accomplished during the first 3 months until after our training in August, but it is nice to have some small projects to work on now.  I feel so much better when I am busy and working toward something.  I also am beginning to formulate some ideas for bigger projects down the road.  It is just the beginning now, but I know soon I will be jam-packed with work as I try to do as much as I can to help my village.

Begge naa tella teddi.

My village and my family are absolutely wonderful.  It’s a small village of about 200 people, but about 3 km from two larger towns where I can buy mangos, vegetables, and other items.  There is also a large weekly market about 5 km away in the Gambia where I can go to buy a larger variety of vegetables, plastics (they use imported plastic buckets, cups, etc. for everything), second hand clothes, fabric, cookingware, and pretty much anything else you can think of; the market is very well stocked.

In my family, I have a mother, a father who is village chief (more a title than anything else as far as I can tell though he does attend some meetings and collect payment from everyone), 2 younger brothers, and 3 younger sisters.  There are also 3 other families living in my compound and always other people in the village coming and going.  I absolutely adore all the kids in my compound.  The older ones – there are 2 girls and 1 boy in high school – are very helpful since they can speak some French and some English.  Some of the middle aged children – between 6 and 13 – are very patient with me, have learned to understand my accent and to teach  me new words, and I spend a good part of my day playing games with them and learning from them.  One girl in particular always makes my day because she loves to smile at me and is always happy.  And then there are the toddlers.  Only one will look at me or come near me, and I love her; the rest shirk away or scream at me when I get close to them because they're scared of me.  But with time, this safety bubble size has decreased, so I have high hopes for the future.  Also, there are all the adults who are wonderful.  At meals, they always encourage me to eat more, they're constantly trying to make conversation with me, my mom always checks that I have enough water (filled from a robinet-they charge a fee to use it, but I'm  not "allowed" to use the well yet), and my dad has hand-made me a stick bed for inside and a cement bed for outside.  of course, there's also the rest of the village who call to m e whenever they walk past my compound, always stop me to talk whenever I walk past them, cheer for me when I bike ride home, and invite me to eat a third lunch at their homes.  With all of this going on, I somehow find myself very busy doing not much at all - just sitting, watching, listening, and sometimes talking.  (Does that even sound like me?!)

There is always something interesting to see.  Horses walk up to my parents' hut door to wait for water, children race by playing with a hoop on a stick (think Colonial American game), toddlers pick up anything on the ground to play with, women carry buckets on their heads, people always visit everyone else, and lots more.  I have also learned a few new games, which interestingly are very similar to American games only they don't require fancy boards - just dirt and rocks.  No one was good at explaining them to me, so it's a good thing that I easily pick up on games.  There's one similar to checkers that I've become quite good at.   There's also one similar to tic-tac-toe, another to mancala, and another to jacks.  They get a kick out of watching me play them all.  I have also shown them how to play jacks, which they really enjoy and have crocheted a jump rope - which they already know how to use.  There's lots of children here to play all these games with, and they're a great way to improve my Wolof.

My Wolof is slowly improving.  I can understand more of what's said to me, though I am still laughed at for continuously asking people to repeat things to me so that I can understand what's said to me and try to remember it.  Also, though they are increasingly able to understand me, there have been some notable instances when they have no idea what I'm saying.  On my first night here, I was exhausted and wanted to go to bed early.  It took me 10 min of repeating this,  looking it up in my Wolof dictionary and notes to ensure I was saying the right word, and trying different pronunciations of the phrase to finally get the message through: Begge naa tella teddi.  3 weeks later, they still make fun of me for this (and I still go to bed early).  But at least we can all laugh together about everything.  It is quite comical (and I have a greater appreciation for ESL students in the US now-it's hard!).

Every day here seems so long because it's jam-packed with such a variety of activities.  I usually wake up around 6:30, though I don't emerge from my room until around 9 and spend this early morning time just taking some time to myself to exercise, journal, eat breakfast, and just think.  This is the only time I have really to myself all day.  Then I either sit outside with my family and the children all morning, greet other compounds in my village, go to a neighboring town for the market, or to the high school or health post in the neighboring towns.  My work hasn't really started yet.  Right now, my  most important job is to get to know people, adapt to village life, and gain the trust of my community.  Essentially, my job right now is to shmooze.