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Yep, outtakes are always more fun I think. Enjoys, muchos grandes love
-Ananda
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
The British Are Coming, the British Are Coming!!! Or, err, the bread?
8:00 a.m. - Wake up, get ready for the day, head over to our family’s restaurant to go eat my bread and tegga degga (natural, no added hydrogenated oil, peanut butter, yum).
8:30 a.m. - Find out that the bread has, in fact, not already arrived at Mamour’s Boutique, and so we stop and pass the time by trying to be the first person to find the white, hearse shaped, bread car. There are an amazing amount of imposter cars.
9:15am- People search the other boutiques in town for the remnants of last night’s bread, which isn’t exactly soft anymore. About three people get to eat and go on with their days. Currently the whole village is at a standstill- no one goes anywhere or does much of anything, as we are all playing the waiting game. This would be why people have so much patience here.
10:03 a.m. - Bread Arrives!!!!!!!!! We jokingly cheer, people eat, lives commence, and I go to work.
It’s easy to take something simple out of this situation- like if there was ever a war in Senegal, just go for the bread makers and the whole country would stop- yet it exemplifies so much more. The plain, empty, usually abundant, cheap white baguette bread that is sold here is essential to almost every person and household as a cheap way to get calories. While people eat things like chocolate spread or eggs with their bread sometimes, it is simply not within most families means to make meals, most of the times for huge households, that don’t contain a one food or another that can inexpensively fill people up. Here its rice, couscous for the poorer families (even though it has more nutrients), and bread and, from what I gather, its beans and tortillas in Guatemala. Either way, it is distinct example of the poverty and fragility with which the people around me live. One little thing, like not having the bread delivered, or how yesterday there was just simply no water, can completely change or halt life here. There are no back up plans, no second options to help life continue. For that takes money, space, liberty, ideas, whatever you may- all of which are harder to come by, the poorer you are.
8:30 a.m. - Find out that the bread has, in fact, not already arrived at Mamour’s Boutique, and so we stop and pass the time by trying to be the first person to find the white, hearse shaped, bread car. There are an amazing amount of imposter cars.
9:15am- People search the other boutiques in town for the remnants of last night’s bread, which isn’t exactly soft anymore. About three people get to eat and go on with their days. Currently the whole village is at a standstill- no one goes anywhere or does much of anything, as we are all playing the waiting game. This would be why people have so much patience here.
10:03 a.m. - Bread Arrives!!!!!!!!! We jokingly cheer, people eat, lives commence, and I go to work.
It’s easy to take something simple out of this situation- like if there was ever a war in Senegal, just go for the bread makers and the whole country would stop- yet it exemplifies so much more. The plain, empty, usually abundant, cheap white baguette bread that is sold here is essential to almost every person and household as a cheap way to get calories. While people eat things like chocolate spread or eggs with their bread sometimes, it is simply not within most families means to make meals, most of the times for huge households, that don’t contain a one food or another that can inexpensively fill people up. Here its rice, couscous for the poorer families (even though it has more nutrients), and bread and, from what I gather, its beans and tortillas in Guatemala. Either way, it is distinct example of the poverty and fragility with which the people around me live. One little thing, like not having the bread delivered, or how yesterday there was just simply no water, can completely change or halt life here. There are no back up plans, no second options to help life continue. For that takes money, space, liberty, ideas, whatever you may- all of which are harder to come by, the poorer you are.
Christmas Mashing of the Mass
America is known for its obsession with political correctness. Have any public figure make one slip or slightly slanted joke, and the horse race media takes it over to spin every angle and proportion out of the story. Senegal for one, runs on a very different scale of political correctness, neatly exemplified by how I’m always greeted by the name toubab, or whitey. I’ve always thought of myself as a person who’s pretty good at handling humor or politics, whether I agree with them or not. Then I went to mass on Christmas morning, which had been moved from the night before due to the fact that the Pastor didn’t show up. I knew that it wouldn’t be the same as Duke Chapel, but expected consciously and unconsciously, the same love, peace, and nondenominational message. While the people at the mass call themselves Christians in general, it was a very distinctive Catholic service, complete with Holy Communion. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with this, but it was just a bit surprising. Then the Pastor went on to preach. It started with the peace and love message, and then slowly turned into a joke about how God did not, in fact, make an original fish that then turned into man- Church 1: Evolution: 0. Then he really got rolling: while the Muslims should be applauded for asking for forgiveness each year, how can they believe in more profits than just Jesus? While we are all good Christians, we must remember to set an example for others. Look at Rwanda, they are 94 percent Christian and have had the genocide of the century! Something about Taiwan and Toubab (Alec and I) followed when the Pastor switched to wolof. Finally, it was all capped off when I met the Pastor at the end of the service… and he commenced to try and get me to marry him and bring him back to America with me. While this may have just been a very…individualy interpreted holiday message, it was quite an experience. Touché Senegal, for now being called toubab is on the politically correct side my scale.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
The Absolute Randomest Jumpiest post ever, yay week of Christmas.
Fun updates in bad grammar, yay!!!
Okay, well lets see. This week was pretty crazy. Went to Dakar on Monday with my host mother to get a pair of jeans that actually fits (the ones I brought are more like comfy bagginess, not exactly good for anything but lounging and such), and then ended up having to go back the next day at (woken up at 5:50 am, left at 6:30, got there at 9:25) to fill out visa forms for Gambia and get our visa pictures taken. All of us, except matt, went to this French restaurant/bakery for lunch and it was complete heaven. I had a three cheese quiche and a scoop of chocolate ice cream. I may have felt slightly sick from the richness of it all, but it was sick heaven. Then there was a bus ride from 2 to 6 to get back to my town (with no traffic, I think it would take about 30 min, maybbbbe).
So I was going to go to midnight mass on Christmas eve… and then my friend Marcel (christian) comes back, and says that the pastor either didn’t want to come, or couldn’t find transport… so mass was put off until 10am on Christmas day. Then comes a very catholic service, which I was surprised at simply because im used to a very non denominational service. And then there was the pastor. Well, first he made a joke about evolution and how god didn’t make an original fish that then turned into a man. Then there was the laugh at how Muslims believe in a prophet other than just Jesus (but they have the redeeming quality of asking for forgiveness for the new year). “for even though we Christians live love and peace, we need to remember that those are our values. Look at Rwanda. Its 94% Christian, yet they have had the genocide of the century”. Then there was something about a whitey and asian (Taiwan, made me laugh) when he said some stuff in Wolof. Finally, when I met him after the service, he hit on me and asked to go to America with me like every other Senegalise man. Yep, it was epic, and made me miss home quite a bit. At least it’s a good story though. Oh, and the chorus…they have a drum section.. Even the national service had a drum section for the chorus. Silent Night with added beats is just wrong.
Um, lets see, on Christmas day there was a ‘christian’ Christmas party over in sangalkam- first there was this choral concert, but like there was the African drumline, and then all the old fat ladies would bust out dancing once the beat hit. Then it was on to the dance, around 1 am, where I must say, I kill. I finally learnt the ridiculous Senegalese dance moves, and everyone was basically in awe that a toubab/whitey could dance. I probably dance with you know, at least a third of the people there. I decided to help Penda to convince Aida to let her come to the party with us, but shes really kina awkward,/ boringinsh, I thought sprining her from the coop would make her livelier, but sadly, not really at all. Africans are super into the whole make a circle and have people show off in the middle, yep, me= champion.
Then last night was this festival called TamXarit (tam harit), which is the muslim new year. Basically all the kids dress up as opposites- girls as men, guys as girls) and go around playing drums and dancing for money, rice, or couscous at different houses (that’s sounds really bad I know). I was pretty much the money maker for my shock value, as a white person participating, and for my fabulous dance skills which everyone was amazed with (thank you previous night for giving me them).
missing driving- its so nice, fun, and freeing.
So I got home at 1:40am on Christmas eve (went to Sangalkam to visit Marcel and I‘s friends and at least see the church on Christmas eve (im not super religious, its just a family tradition to go to duke for midnight mass, so it was more of missing the family than anything religious. Marcel is my neighbor, fellow christian, and all around good guy that my parents trust), Rachel called me at 2:50 am, but I was lying awake in bed since I suck at sleeping, and then I talked to her for an hour and eventually fell asleep around 4:30am. Then after the party, I got home around 4 am (it took like half an hour to walk home), and fell asleep sometime after that, and was up until about 12ish last night writing stuff. So im pretty dang exhausted to say the least. But on the bright side it was all pretty fun, and it was something different and new and good. Got to talk to the family for like, an hour and a half on Christmas day, which made me super happy. Im having them freeze me peppermint bark chocolate because its basically beyond delicious and can be bought only during the holiday season (even though I make it as a chritmas preasent every year for people, but hey, its different). My host mother bought singing lights to put up in her ‘restaurant’, by singing it means notes that hare much higher than Alvin in the chipmunks, and there arent even words. Thank gosh she finally learned how to turn it down.
Okay, apologies for how everything jumps around. Loveeeeeeeee
Ananda
pictures of tamxarit to follow
Okay, well lets see. This week was pretty crazy. Went to Dakar on Monday with my host mother to get a pair of jeans that actually fits (the ones I brought are more like comfy bagginess, not exactly good for anything but lounging and such), and then ended up having to go back the next day at (woken up at 5:50 am, left at 6:30, got there at 9:25) to fill out visa forms for Gambia and get our visa pictures taken. All of us, except matt, went to this French restaurant/bakery for lunch and it was complete heaven. I had a three cheese quiche and a scoop of chocolate ice cream. I may have felt slightly sick from the richness of it all, but it was sick heaven. Then there was a bus ride from 2 to 6 to get back to my town (with no traffic, I think it would take about 30 min, maybbbbe).
So I was going to go to midnight mass on Christmas eve… and then my friend Marcel (christian) comes back, and says that the pastor either didn’t want to come, or couldn’t find transport… so mass was put off until 10am on Christmas day. Then comes a very catholic service, which I was surprised at simply because im used to a very non denominational service. And then there was the pastor. Well, first he made a joke about evolution and how god didn’t make an original fish that then turned into a man. Then there was the laugh at how Muslims believe in a prophet other than just Jesus (but they have the redeeming quality of asking for forgiveness for the new year). “for even though we Christians live love and peace, we need to remember that those are our values. Look at Rwanda. Its 94% Christian, yet they have had the genocide of the century”. Then there was something about a whitey and asian (Taiwan, made me laugh) when he said some stuff in Wolof. Finally, when I met him after the service, he hit on me and asked to go to America with me like every other Senegalise man. Yep, it was epic, and made me miss home quite a bit. At least it’s a good story though. Oh, and the chorus…they have a drum section.. Even the national service had a drum section for the chorus. Silent Night with added beats is just wrong.
Um, lets see, on Christmas day there was a ‘christian’ Christmas party over in sangalkam- first there was this choral concert, but like there was the African drumline, and then all the old fat ladies would bust out dancing once the beat hit. Then it was on to the dance, around 1 am, where I must say, I kill. I finally learnt the ridiculous Senegalese dance moves, and everyone was basically in awe that a toubab/whitey could dance. I probably dance with you know, at least a third of the people there. I decided to help Penda to convince Aida to let her come to the party with us, but shes really kina awkward,/ boringinsh, I thought sprining her from the coop would make her livelier, but sadly, not really at all. Africans are super into the whole make a circle and have people show off in the middle, yep, me= champion.
Then last night was this festival called TamXarit (tam harit), which is the muslim new year. Basically all the kids dress up as opposites- girls as men, guys as girls) and go around playing drums and dancing for money, rice, or couscous at different houses (that’s sounds really bad I know). I was pretty much the money maker for my shock value, as a white person participating, and for my fabulous dance skills which everyone was amazed with (thank you previous night for giving me them).
missing driving- its so nice, fun, and freeing.
So I got home at 1:40am on Christmas eve (went to Sangalkam to visit Marcel and I‘s friends and at least see the church on Christmas eve (im not super religious, its just a family tradition to go to duke for midnight mass, so it was more of missing the family than anything religious. Marcel is my neighbor, fellow christian, and all around good guy that my parents trust), Rachel called me at 2:50 am, but I was lying awake in bed since I suck at sleeping, and then I talked to her for an hour and eventually fell asleep around 4:30am. Then after the party, I got home around 4 am (it took like half an hour to walk home), and fell asleep sometime after that, and was up until about 12ish last night writing stuff. So im pretty dang exhausted to say the least. But on the bright side it was all pretty fun, and it was something different and new and good. Got to talk to the family for like, an hour and a half on Christmas day, which made me super happy. Im having them freeze me peppermint bark chocolate because its basically beyond delicious and can be bought only during the holiday season (even though I make it as a chritmas preasent every year for people, but hey, its different). My host mother bought singing lights to put up in her ‘restaurant’, by singing it means notes that hare much higher than Alvin in the chipmunks, and there arent even words. Thank gosh she finally learned how to turn it down.
Okay, apologies for how everything jumps around. Loveeeeeeeee
Ananda
pictures of tamxarit to follow
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Happy Holidays
Merry Christmas guys! Or kwanza or Hannukah or whatever you like really. Miss you all and hope everything goes/is going spectacular. Eat tons for me. Im starting to take down all the recipes so I can make them when i get back (only the ones i like of course, they do exist). Promise to take pictures on Christmas and New Years, and the day after Christmas, which i forgot the name of, but its basically cross dressing day and all the men go house to house in womens clothing singing and you give them money. That promises to be hilarious.love you all,
-Ananda
-Ananda
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Poverty's Design
There are many different scales by which to measure poverty: less than a dollar a day, being able to provide food, shelter, healthcare, emergency funds, stability, etc. Compared to many places in Senegal, my community is pretty well off in that the majority of the population can afford at least their food and house, which is either a gray concrete block or a thatched hut with some form of tin usually attached. When walking home from work, I have two views in front of me. On the right, there is the lush reserve where the different flora and fauna create a quilt of beauty. To my left though, is the plain and gaunt grey concrete wall that seems to never end – changing from wall to wall, house to house, and grey to grey to grey to grey. To be sure, this design is not representative of a culture which is full of so much character and color in every aspect of life. So here’s another face of poverty, shown by the simple fact that putting color into one’s life is almost always beyond ones means.
I promised...
Well its Sunday. Today I did some laundry and worked on this for the most part. Its love.
Well hey there. So it’s been going well, some ups and downs for sure, but at the end of each day I am pretty much always satisfied and happy. From the last post you can tell that my schedule will consist of much less poop scooping, which I am pretty dang excited about, as it involves a bit more intellectual work and tact. The time I spent at the village was useful though, no matter how menial it was at times. I came to see exactly how it worked, what things are going wrong and right, and found out that I am definitely not satisfied with what it gave me-which is why I worked with Rachel to figure out what else I could do. So last Saturday we had a weekly meeting about all of those things that I’m about to start, which should have been amazing right? But then Sunday came, and I was in the oddest apathetic mood. I felt like all the things I was scheduled to do were good in their own right, but that if you took them away I wouldn’t care that much. This thought spread to my host family and the friends I have made here-true, I really do enjoy some of the people, but I know that at this moment if you took them away, I wouldn’t be to terribly torn up. I pretty good now though, the apathy stopped around Wednesday. I guess it was just one of those moods/day(s). It really bothered me though, I mean there was no reason for me not to be extremely excited about everything, but I was just indifferent. Not caring about what I do in life is definitely a fear; dispassion is really not my thing.
So:
-I think we get to go on a day trip to the Gambia because ACI messed up something with our visas. I think we only get to have lunch while we are there, but hey, it’ll be a fun ride at least. Don’t worry no deporting or anything.
-I got a package from Mrs. Angell, and I am slowly enjoying gummy bears. Can we all just take a second and think about how absolutely Harabo Gummy bears are? Oh my gosh, they are made in Turkey too!!! Just like the cookies. Turkey has taken over all tasty things. We better not get in a war with them, that would be horrible.
-I taught my host father how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, he loved it. (We always eat breakfast together in the mornings (miss you dad, don’t worry, it’s definitely not the same)). Whenever he has an egg sandwich with ketchup on it he says he is eating like an American. I stand by the fact that salsa is way better on scrambled eggs… and that eggs should not be deep fried.
-I may have already said this, but time is a very odd thing here. Each day, it’s very slow, up until after lunch. Then it all goes really fast, and I tend to learn more after 6pm. That day as a whole seems to fly when it’s over, and the weeks go even faster. It seems like every time I actually think about the date a half a month has gone by. I almost only have four months left, which is crazy to think about. Four months seems really really short, but also really long.
-Family update: I don’t completely hate the devil/gremlin child Muhammad anymore. I can actually find him cute sometimes… when he’s not punching me in the eye with a fist covered in milky millet. Yuck. Tomas and I are chill, except for when he was obsessed with trying to get me to buy him things, like pens. I told him that he can have my pens when I leave if they still work (don’t worry, Ill actually get him a pen if they run out). It took a good half an hour of him saying, but it’s only a pen, and me explaining that I’m not a bank to work that one out... Bali and Awa, while I can barely talk to them, are probably the people I most enjoy, simply because they have fun personalities and always joke around. Abdoulaye is slightly crazy at times (he loves to do the military marches), but kind of adorable as well. I hailed a diagne diage on the way back from my first visit to Lamine’s Library, and he was in the front seat coming back from school ( very low odds of that every happening as there are about a billion diagne diages), and he leaned out the window screaming and waving, pretty adorbs. I like Lamine in that he is smart, really nice to me, and can carry on intelligent conversations. But he always bad talks Beniot (my boss) to me, and really talks so much, even about how all the Senegalese do is talk, and then does about half of what he talks about. Sometimes during breakfast I do just not want to talk about how he thinks benoit is a stingy jerk (he really isn’t), I just want to have happy conversation, I mean it’s my favorite meal here! Penda just doesn’t really talk, and either does school work, or plays with Muhammed. I feel a bit bad for her that she has to help parent Muhammad so much. Okay, Aida. So she does have good qualities, as she can be nice to me mostlyish. But really, she’s off her rocker, even Rachel (professor) agrees with me (Rachel said that I could switch families if I wanted to, i.e. if Aida was too much to handle/to stressful, but I don’t want to because that I’m really not that stressed, just annoyed with her, and it would basically be like giving up, and hey, it’s just a good old Senegalese lesson in patience. Can I just restate the fact that I will definitely be one of the most patient people in America when I return?). Anyways, the money that is given to the families is supposed to cover the expenses of the student-the food, laundry, and board. Laundry has presented a difficulty in that it took two talking’s to by Rachel for her to get it (she said she thought I wanted to do my laundry for three hours at a time when I should have been at work), and I finally asked her when the family would be doing laundry this week (its Awa, the maid, not even the family), and she said whenever I want. So I said Wednesday, and she said Thursday, and I was like okay. Then it turned into Thursday night, and she finally took it on Friday to some lady… and she made me buy the soap, which I’m not supposed to do. And it’s just supposed to be done with the family. I just talked to Penda about what I was doing for Christmas (church on Christmas Eve, family stuff (crepes I think) in the morning, a partyish thing Christmas day at night in Sangalkam with Marcel (neighbor, Christian, don’t worry, Lamine and him are buddies, and he’s 25. He grows lettuce and tomatoes and sells chickens. Also, they have basil here, but it’s like, hybrid and tastes a bit like mint somehow. Not bad, but not completely basily either). Anyways, I asked her what she was doing, and she said eating and sleeping, like they do for most holidays (tabaski much?). Lamine says she can go out, but Aida doesn’t like it. So my plan is to spring her for New Years Eve when I hope to be going to Dakar with Awa and Fatim (Awa’s sister, not Awa the maid person, Awa the hilarious friend). Maybe if I ask she will actually get to go? So basically Aida is just a bit manipulative and selfish. I was going to Awa’s and she tried to guilt trip me and say that I’m always over there (not true, not even half the time, I’ve made sure that I don’t make my family feel that I don’t like them), and she tried to make me sit and stay. I laughed it off… and left. So overall, good family, jerky mother, but it’s all good.
-So I’ve slowly trying to figure out how educated everyone is about nutrition and such, in my family and with the community in general attached to that. So it seems that no one really cares about all the oil. And everyone eats rice more than couscous (even though it’s cheaper and way healthier); because if you eat couscous more than once in a week people will think that you are poor. As I now eat my tegga degga (peanut butter, just ground peanuts with their own oil, no additives, party) every morning with my bread, it’s shown as a healthy alternative to eating chocolate spread every day. I’ve got Mamour (boutique guy who sells bread, tegga degga, chocolate spread, everything) laughing at me because he thinks its nasty in comparison with the chocolate, but I even found Aida eating bread with tegga one night… and she likes it! So that is a step forward in the health department. And they probably think I’m a freak in that half the time when I say I like something, one of the reasons that I like it always includes “its good for the health.”
-I started a recipe page in my notebook for all the things that I think of while I’m here. As I think about food a freaking lot, I have come up with what will definitely be some promising recipes. Yeah, now I’m one of those food freak people. But hey, it’s gonna make for some great dinners people.
-the monthly meeting in Dakar was pretty much amazing. It was good food, really fun and interesting conversation (either we were all joking, or we would be in session with Rachel talking about different topics like poverty), everyone got along better that we had before, and I got to Skype even if it was for only a wee bit of time. I have videos from gore and such, but the internet always cuts off in the middle of the upload when I try and use the computer at the Village des Tortues, so maybe it will work eventually or I will have to wait till our next monthly meeting. Every morning (excluding the last because I was dead tired), Gaya and I woke up around 6:45 to go get the bread for breakfast from an actual bakery (which smelt like heaven, I have also decided that I want to work in a pastry shop/store, I think it would be fabulous, and a great skill.), so the baguettes we had actually had a real crust to them. We really don’t give crust enough credit, it’s basically half the bread in the goodness factor (in artisanal breads at least). I made apple pie and mashed potatoes for our thanksgiving dinner (a week or two late of course). Gaya made the crust for the pie. Of course it wasn’t the most amazing thing, but in the context of Senegal, it was pretty dang good. But the whole menu was basically fabulousness: chicken... And a representative turkey leg, mashed potatoes, green beans with garlic sautéed in olive oil, carrots with ginger and sugar (to sweet for me), sweet potatoes with butter and cinnamon sugar, bok choi like vegetable sautéed with salt and garlic, cornbread/cake like thing, and then the pie with vanilla ice cream. Oh, and a gravy that was a complete failure, but still tasted good. Not exactly the typical thanksgiving meal, but it was pretty amazing. Basically throughout the whole weekend everyone gorged themselves unconsciously (and consciously) because it was like food! Variety! Not oil? What is this? YUMMMM. Oh gosh, and I ate fish…. And I liked it. It was the first night we were at Rachel’s and she had made this vegetable curry fish dish, and I was mad hungry, and it smelled absolutely delicious, and I was like, hey, why not try it if I’ve already tried all the Senegalese fish dishes, it can’t be worse. It was just as tasty as the vegetables, and the best part was that it was only a small bit fishy, unlike the Senegalese fish which is like… concentrated fishsplosion all over all day every day. So yep, that’s a big step for me. Our sessions usually ended going until 1 or 2 in the morning, and we were always going going during the day (it was pretty fun I have to say, in the learning manner that is), so when we got back to our home stays everyone basically slept for a day or two.
-When I met with the director of the Sangalkam school his first questions were: are you married, how old are you, when are you coming to have lunch at my house. I know Senegal is super into its hospitality, but I do not know if I will ever get used to people regularly asking that line of questions. I think the unsettling part is knowing that polygamy is quite accepted here (as long as it’s less than 4 wives), and that everyone is on the lookout for a western wife. Then, about half way through the conversation after showing me math booklets that USAID had given the school; he said that Americans knew nothing about culture. For in comparison, the Senegalese know all 50 states of America. I said that that might possibly be a generalization based off a few people he has met or heard of. Benoit says that I handled it well (he was there too), but I definitely talked the fastest French of my whole life, which was actually pretty surprising. So I have minor anger management issues, not after Senegal (jokes, please don’t sent me to anger management counseling).
-People back home, letters I get, and songs/things that make me remember them take up probably about half of the space in my diary, bunches of letter writing times, and a large majority of my day/night dreams. For a while I was worried that I was preoccupied with missing things too much, but really I’m not, and that’s part of the experience anyways.
-I finished Brave New World-pretty great book, and really, Shakespeare & Hamlet now keep randomly going through my head. To sleep, but to dream…..rank as an un-weeded garden. Thank you senior year English class.
-Skype is amazing. Really, it is. Either people can call me on my Senegalese phone through it… or I can call them when I have it, or see them when we are both online (in Dakar obviously for the latter). Also, I got to talk to Laura Keaton, one of the Guatemalan fellows yesterday on face book chat. How crazy is that? Among many more important and intellectual things, we talked about how where we’re going to be eating till we can’t move when we get back… Lily’s lattes (okay that’s not eating, so what), delicious life in general. I also can’t believe that I don’t get to make my peppermint bark chocolate this Christmas, sad life.
-For awhile I thought that I had lost all the muscles on my shoulders and around my neck…. Then I realized that I just didn’t have the inches of knots that usually exist there. You know senior year was stressful when you begin to think that the extreme knottiness was normal, and that when it’s gone you worry.
-As for health issues, I’m good in general. Lots of hair falling out (which happens to Rachel too), but either way she’s going to pick me up some calcium when she goes back to the states this week (returning on New Year’s, it’s mostly because of the visa thing, and the holidays). Don’t worry, I take my multivitamin every night, alarm at 8 o clock (way before dinner).The doctor lady also said it could be due to stress, and I don’t think I’m stressed really, but it could be unconscious, so I’m supposed to look out for that. Also had a minor freak out when I was thinking how doxycyline makes the skin sensitive to the sun and how that might last forever (scary), but the doctor also said that that’s not something to worry about and that doxy doesn’t cause long term sensitivity. So I figure I’ll wait it out a bit before deciding to switch medications or not. Depends on if the tiredness I’m feeling is actually one of the side effects of doxy, or if I’m just doing more than I think I am. Also, I started doing yoga before lunch. I like running here; it’s just really quite dangerous with the crazy roads/drivers/potholes and such. Also, I’ve decided that I’m running in the Turkey Trot next thanksgiving, oh yeah its gonna be sweet.
-Started to read Harry Potter in French, which is fun.
-The clothes that I have here will definitely be at least a size larger by the time I get back due to the hand washing. On the upside, I am definitely going to have a couple amazingly soft shirts… and the rest of the clothes will probably either be left here, or given away due to their not rightness.
-I’ve started playing hacky sack in my room, because juggling with a ball would probably be too destructive. I miss green grass fields a wholeeeee lot. There will definitely be some major time being spent at SAS and WRAL upon my return.
Well I gota go, but I’ll try to at least get another blog up after Christmas/New Years. Missing you all,
With Love,
Ananda
Well hey there. So it’s been going well, some ups and downs for sure, but at the end of each day I am pretty much always satisfied and happy. From the last post you can tell that my schedule will consist of much less poop scooping, which I am pretty dang excited about, as it involves a bit more intellectual work and tact. The time I spent at the village was useful though, no matter how menial it was at times. I came to see exactly how it worked, what things are going wrong and right, and found out that I am definitely not satisfied with what it gave me-which is why I worked with Rachel to figure out what else I could do. So last Saturday we had a weekly meeting about all of those things that I’m about to start, which should have been amazing right? But then Sunday came, and I was in the oddest apathetic mood. I felt like all the things I was scheduled to do were good in their own right, but that if you took them away I wouldn’t care that much. This thought spread to my host family and the friends I have made here-true, I really do enjoy some of the people, but I know that at this moment if you took them away, I wouldn’t be to terribly torn up. I pretty good now though, the apathy stopped around Wednesday. I guess it was just one of those moods/day(s). It really bothered me though, I mean there was no reason for me not to be extremely excited about everything, but I was just indifferent. Not caring about what I do in life is definitely a fear; dispassion is really not my thing.
So:
-I think we get to go on a day trip to the Gambia because ACI messed up something with our visas. I think we only get to have lunch while we are there, but hey, it’ll be a fun ride at least. Don’t worry no deporting or anything.
-I got a package from Mrs. Angell, and I am slowly enjoying gummy bears. Can we all just take a second and think about how absolutely Harabo Gummy bears are? Oh my gosh, they are made in Turkey too!!! Just like the cookies. Turkey has taken over all tasty things. We better not get in a war with them, that would be horrible.
-I taught my host father how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, he loved it. (We always eat breakfast together in the mornings (miss you dad, don’t worry, it’s definitely not the same)). Whenever he has an egg sandwich with ketchup on it he says he is eating like an American. I stand by the fact that salsa is way better on scrambled eggs… and that eggs should not be deep fried.
-I may have already said this, but time is a very odd thing here. Each day, it’s very slow, up until after lunch. Then it all goes really fast, and I tend to learn more after 6pm. That day as a whole seems to fly when it’s over, and the weeks go even faster. It seems like every time I actually think about the date a half a month has gone by. I almost only have four months left, which is crazy to think about. Four months seems really really short, but also really long.
-Family update: I don’t completely hate the devil/gremlin child Muhammad anymore. I can actually find him cute sometimes… when he’s not punching me in the eye with a fist covered in milky millet. Yuck. Tomas and I are chill, except for when he was obsessed with trying to get me to buy him things, like pens. I told him that he can have my pens when I leave if they still work (don’t worry, Ill actually get him a pen if they run out). It took a good half an hour of him saying, but it’s only a pen, and me explaining that I’m not a bank to work that one out... Bali and Awa, while I can barely talk to them, are probably the people I most enjoy, simply because they have fun personalities and always joke around. Abdoulaye is slightly crazy at times (he loves to do the military marches), but kind of adorable as well. I hailed a diagne diage on the way back from my first visit to Lamine’s Library, and he was in the front seat coming back from school ( very low odds of that every happening as there are about a billion diagne diages), and he leaned out the window screaming and waving, pretty adorbs. I like Lamine in that he is smart, really nice to me, and can carry on intelligent conversations. But he always bad talks Beniot (my boss) to me, and really talks so much, even about how all the Senegalese do is talk, and then does about half of what he talks about. Sometimes during breakfast I do just not want to talk about how he thinks benoit is a stingy jerk (he really isn’t), I just want to have happy conversation, I mean it’s my favorite meal here! Penda just doesn’t really talk, and either does school work, or plays with Muhammed. I feel a bit bad for her that she has to help parent Muhammad so much. Okay, Aida. So she does have good qualities, as she can be nice to me mostlyish. But really, she’s off her rocker, even Rachel (professor) agrees with me (Rachel said that I could switch families if I wanted to, i.e. if Aida was too much to handle/to stressful, but I don’t want to because that I’m really not that stressed, just annoyed with her, and it would basically be like giving up, and hey, it’s just a good old Senegalese lesson in patience. Can I just restate the fact that I will definitely be one of the most patient people in America when I return?). Anyways, the money that is given to the families is supposed to cover the expenses of the student-the food, laundry, and board. Laundry has presented a difficulty in that it took two talking’s to by Rachel for her to get it (she said she thought I wanted to do my laundry for three hours at a time when I should have been at work), and I finally asked her when the family would be doing laundry this week (its Awa, the maid, not even the family), and she said whenever I want. So I said Wednesday, and she said Thursday, and I was like okay. Then it turned into Thursday night, and she finally took it on Friday to some lady… and she made me buy the soap, which I’m not supposed to do. And it’s just supposed to be done with the family. I just talked to Penda about what I was doing for Christmas (church on Christmas Eve, family stuff (crepes I think) in the morning, a partyish thing Christmas day at night in Sangalkam with Marcel (neighbor, Christian, don’t worry, Lamine and him are buddies, and he’s 25. He grows lettuce and tomatoes and sells chickens. Also, they have basil here, but it’s like, hybrid and tastes a bit like mint somehow. Not bad, but not completely basily either). Anyways, I asked her what she was doing, and she said eating and sleeping, like they do for most holidays (tabaski much?). Lamine says she can go out, but Aida doesn’t like it. So my plan is to spring her for New Years Eve when I hope to be going to Dakar with Awa and Fatim (Awa’s sister, not Awa the maid person, Awa the hilarious friend). Maybe if I ask she will actually get to go? So basically Aida is just a bit manipulative and selfish. I was going to Awa’s and she tried to guilt trip me and say that I’m always over there (not true, not even half the time, I’ve made sure that I don’t make my family feel that I don’t like them), and she tried to make me sit and stay. I laughed it off… and left. So overall, good family, jerky mother, but it’s all good.
-So I’ve slowly trying to figure out how educated everyone is about nutrition and such, in my family and with the community in general attached to that. So it seems that no one really cares about all the oil. And everyone eats rice more than couscous (even though it’s cheaper and way healthier); because if you eat couscous more than once in a week people will think that you are poor. As I now eat my tegga degga (peanut butter, just ground peanuts with their own oil, no additives, party) every morning with my bread, it’s shown as a healthy alternative to eating chocolate spread every day. I’ve got Mamour (boutique guy who sells bread, tegga degga, chocolate spread, everything) laughing at me because he thinks its nasty in comparison with the chocolate, but I even found Aida eating bread with tegga one night… and she likes it! So that is a step forward in the health department. And they probably think I’m a freak in that half the time when I say I like something, one of the reasons that I like it always includes “its good for the health.”
-I started a recipe page in my notebook for all the things that I think of while I’m here. As I think about food a freaking lot, I have come up with what will definitely be some promising recipes. Yeah, now I’m one of those food freak people. But hey, it’s gonna make for some great dinners people.
-the monthly meeting in Dakar was pretty much amazing. It was good food, really fun and interesting conversation (either we were all joking, or we would be in session with Rachel talking about different topics like poverty), everyone got along better that we had before, and I got to Skype even if it was for only a wee bit of time. I have videos from gore and such, but the internet always cuts off in the middle of the upload when I try and use the computer at the Village des Tortues, so maybe it will work eventually or I will have to wait till our next monthly meeting. Every morning (excluding the last because I was dead tired), Gaya and I woke up around 6:45 to go get the bread for breakfast from an actual bakery (which smelt like heaven, I have also decided that I want to work in a pastry shop/store, I think it would be fabulous, and a great skill.), so the baguettes we had actually had a real crust to them. We really don’t give crust enough credit, it’s basically half the bread in the goodness factor (in artisanal breads at least). I made apple pie and mashed potatoes for our thanksgiving dinner (a week or two late of course). Gaya made the crust for the pie. Of course it wasn’t the most amazing thing, but in the context of Senegal, it was pretty dang good. But the whole menu was basically fabulousness: chicken... And a representative turkey leg, mashed potatoes, green beans with garlic sautéed in olive oil, carrots with ginger and sugar (to sweet for me), sweet potatoes with butter and cinnamon sugar, bok choi like vegetable sautéed with salt and garlic, cornbread/cake like thing, and then the pie with vanilla ice cream. Oh, and a gravy that was a complete failure, but still tasted good. Not exactly the typical thanksgiving meal, but it was pretty amazing. Basically throughout the whole weekend everyone gorged themselves unconsciously (and consciously) because it was like food! Variety! Not oil? What is this? YUMMMM. Oh gosh, and I ate fish…. And I liked it. It was the first night we were at Rachel’s and she had made this vegetable curry fish dish, and I was mad hungry, and it smelled absolutely delicious, and I was like, hey, why not try it if I’ve already tried all the Senegalese fish dishes, it can’t be worse. It was just as tasty as the vegetables, and the best part was that it was only a small bit fishy, unlike the Senegalese fish which is like… concentrated fishsplosion all over all day every day. So yep, that’s a big step for me. Our sessions usually ended going until 1 or 2 in the morning, and we were always going going during the day (it was pretty fun I have to say, in the learning manner that is), so when we got back to our home stays everyone basically slept for a day or two.
-When I met with the director of the Sangalkam school his first questions were: are you married, how old are you, when are you coming to have lunch at my house. I know Senegal is super into its hospitality, but I do not know if I will ever get used to people regularly asking that line of questions. I think the unsettling part is knowing that polygamy is quite accepted here (as long as it’s less than 4 wives), and that everyone is on the lookout for a western wife. Then, about half way through the conversation after showing me math booklets that USAID had given the school; he said that Americans knew nothing about culture. For in comparison, the Senegalese know all 50 states of America. I said that that might possibly be a generalization based off a few people he has met or heard of. Benoit says that I handled it well (he was there too), but I definitely talked the fastest French of my whole life, which was actually pretty surprising. So I have minor anger management issues, not after Senegal (jokes, please don’t sent me to anger management counseling).
-People back home, letters I get, and songs/things that make me remember them take up probably about half of the space in my diary, bunches of letter writing times, and a large majority of my day/night dreams. For a while I was worried that I was preoccupied with missing things too much, but really I’m not, and that’s part of the experience anyways.
-I finished Brave New World-pretty great book, and really, Shakespeare & Hamlet now keep randomly going through my head. To sleep, but to dream…..rank as an un-weeded garden. Thank you senior year English class.
-Skype is amazing. Really, it is. Either people can call me on my Senegalese phone through it… or I can call them when I have it, or see them when we are both online (in Dakar obviously for the latter). Also, I got to talk to Laura Keaton, one of the Guatemalan fellows yesterday on face book chat. How crazy is that? Among many more important and intellectual things, we talked about how where we’re going to be eating till we can’t move when we get back… Lily’s lattes (okay that’s not eating, so what), delicious life in general. I also can’t believe that I don’t get to make my peppermint bark chocolate this Christmas, sad life.
-For awhile I thought that I had lost all the muscles on my shoulders and around my neck…. Then I realized that I just didn’t have the inches of knots that usually exist there. You know senior year was stressful when you begin to think that the extreme knottiness was normal, and that when it’s gone you worry.
-As for health issues, I’m good in general. Lots of hair falling out (which happens to Rachel too), but either way she’s going to pick me up some calcium when she goes back to the states this week (returning on New Year’s, it’s mostly because of the visa thing, and the holidays). Don’t worry, I take my multivitamin every night, alarm at 8 o clock (way before dinner).The doctor lady also said it could be due to stress, and I don’t think I’m stressed really, but it could be unconscious, so I’m supposed to look out for that. Also had a minor freak out when I was thinking how doxycyline makes the skin sensitive to the sun and how that might last forever (scary), but the doctor also said that that’s not something to worry about and that doxy doesn’t cause long term sensitivity. So I figure I’ll wait it out a bit before deciding to switch medications or not. Depends on if the tiredness I’m feeling is actually one of the side effects of doxy, or if I’m just doing more than I think I am. Also, I started doing yoga before lunch. I like running here; it’s just really quite dangerous with the crazy roads/drivers/potholes and such. Also, I’ve decided that I’m running in the Turkey Trot next thanksgiving, oh yeah its gonna be sweet.
-Started to read Harry Potter in French, which is fun.
-The clothes that I have here will definitely be at least a size larger by the time I get back due to the hand washing. On the upside, I am definitely going to have a couple amazingly soft shirts… and the rest of the clothes will probably either be left here, or given away due to their not rightness.
-I’ve started playing hacky sack in my room, because juggling with a ball would probably be too destructive. I miss green grass fields a wholeeeee lot. There will definitely be some major time being spent at SAS and WRAL upon my return.
Well I gota go, but I’ll try to at least get another blog up after Christmas/New Years. Missing you all,
With Love,
Ananda
Current TV Blog
Hey guys, so Current TV is doing a blog about/with GCY fellows, which is pretty dang cool. So heres the link, and below is the blog that will be appearing on it.
http://blogs.current.com/news/2009/12/14/global-citizen-year/
Home’s a pretty big deal to me, its where I feel safe and comfortable, where all my roots are, where I go to relax, breathe, and just be. From what I can tell my new home here in Senegal, which I will be staying in for six months, is just a tad bit different. First, it’s all hustle and bustle. Eleven children (of which three pairs share the same name) divided between two sets of parents in the two parts of the house, a restaurant to run, relatives and friends always coming and going, and cooking and dishes are forever being done. Not quite the same ambiance as my Dad, cat, and I. Then there is the hierarchy that exists. Bali and Awa clean and cook for the house and restaurant, only the women do any chores, older people get more food and respect, and then there’s the fact that while they think of me as part of the family, I’m still separate from it. Growing up with two brothers and a sister, we all did our equal share of chores, whether it was vacuuming or the dishes. When eating, we were given equal shares of food which were not divided by age or sex. This difference in hierarchy has led me to feel as if I’m playing politics at home, for everything I do has a different significance and every American expectation of equality is out of place. Along that line, independence is a very different thing here. No matter what I do, be it going to the bathroom or work, I am always asked what I’m doing, for permission must be granted to do almost anything (not going to the bathroom, thank you very much). Back in America I have a freedom to go almost anywhere, and a Dad who just wants to know if I’m okay, not what I plan to do after showering. All at once I am the most independent that I have ever been, far, far away from everything that I know, and yet the most dependent as I have rules and expectations from a family and culture that are foreign to me. True, I probably couldn’t imagine a more different home. Nevertheless, I still eat breakfast with my ‘dad’ here, enjoy helping to cook, do my own laundry (it just takes a bit more work here), and have the sanctuary of reading (as I am lucky enough to have my own room). Being here for almost two months, I know that I’m not at home yet. It is possible though, so I’m looking forward to having over four months to find out.
http://blogs.current.com/news/2009/12/14/global-citizen-year/
Home’s a pretty big deal to me, its where I feel safe and comfortable, where all my roots are, where I go to relax, breathe, and just be. From what I can tell my new home here in Senegal, which I will be staying in for six months, is just a tad bit different. First, it’s all hustle and bustle. Eleven children (of which three pairs share the same name) divided between two sets of parents in the two parts of the house, a restaurant to run, relatives and friends always coming and going, and cooking and dishes are forever being done. Not quite the same ambiance as my Dad, cat, and I. Then there is the hierarchy that exists. Bali and Awa clean and cook for the house and restaurant, only the women do any chores, older people get more food and respect, and then there’s the fact that while they think of me as part of the family, I’m still separate from it. Growing up with two brothers and a sister, we all did our equal share of chores, whether it was vacuuming or the dishes. When eating, we were given equal shares of food which were not divided by age or sex. This difference in hierarchy has led me to feel as if I’m playing politics at home, for everything I do has a different significance and every American expectation of equality is out of place. Along that line, independence is a very different thing here. No matter what I do, be it going to the bathroom or work, I am always asked what I’m doing, for permission must be granted to do almost anything (not going to the bathroom, thank you very much). Back in America I have a freedom to go almost anywhere, and a Dad who just wants to know if I’m okay, not what I plan to do after showering. All at once I am the most independent that I have ever been, far, far away from everything that I know, and yet the most dependent as I have rules and expectations from a family and culture that are foreign to me. True, I probably couldn’t imagine a more different home. Nevertheless, I still eat breakfast with my ‘dad’ here, enjoy helping to cook, do my own laundry (it just takes a bit more work here), and have the sanctuary of reading (as I am lucky enough to have my own room). Being here for almost two months, I know that I’m not at home yet. It is possible though, so I’m looking forward to having over four months to find out.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Pictures and new schedule!!
So a quick update of what ive been working on to make my week consist of ( note, the study and rufisque english club begin after christmas). Hope to get a good post up on sunday.
once a week i have french/wolof classes at matts house with his host father
then ill be helping with an english club in sangalkam at a school once a week
then one in rufisaque with this canadian ngo
im doing a study in my town about the imact of the village of tortues, and then seeing peoples view about the environment in general so that i can apply it to senegeal, africa, and developing nations in general
a project to grow trees for noflaye and the people in it, and hopefully getting the children involved so that it interests them in the environment and becomes sustainable
teaching the Bali and Awa ( in the picture above, awa has curly hair, this is the one who does the housework) french
tutorng my little brother Tomas in english and french when he gets home
turtoring my mentors little sister person in reading french
oh and working at thsi libraary that my host father started that is like a preschool in the morning, adn like a study/ game place for older kids in the afternoon
Hope to get a good one up on Sunday, Love you all,
Ananda
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Day of Sacrifice.... Litterally
Well to say the least, chickens are no big deal. I mean really, they are small, equivalent to a soccer ball. You could even kick them if you really wanted to. Rams are really not small, and I’m sure that if you kicked one, that it would kick you back, with sure damage being done. This past Tabaski was a day of Senegalese food and fashion immersion. The day started out with the peeling of about four kilos each of onions and potatoes. Peeler blister and onion tears: check. Be proud though, I only started crying after onion kilo 2.5. My little brother Thomas then dragged me to the other side of the building so that I could join in on the Ram Fest 09’. I had the pleasure of coming in just as they were slitting Ram #2’s throat : three full grown men holding the ram to the ground with its neck opening up to the earth as its life flowed from it. I promise I only jumped around and freaked out for a couple of minutes. Taking back up my butcher title, I was allowed to skin the hind leg. The trick is to get the knife to find the line between the thin layer of fat, and the lean muscle. I think I actually did pretty well as my host father was particularly impressed with the fact that my leg was cut better than the ones not done by me. That is where my skinning ended though, as they slung up the ram on the wall in order to let the blood drain out as they hacked off bits and pieces with a machete. After a brief period of washing my hands, I moved on to cleaning and separating the hacked chunks of ribs, shanks, and other mystery meats. This lasted a couple of hours, as you much imagine that a full grown ram consists of quite a lot of meat. Fast forward to nighttime when I go to put on my fabulous boubou, or traditional Senegalese outfit. With bright green with gold embroidery shirt, paine (like a skirt), and foulard (a head wrap), matching luminescent green eye shadow that I never knew existed, cornrows intact, and henna on the hands, I was a sight to be seen. All around me there were exclamations of “rafet na trop!”, basically “Its really pretty!.” I stand by the fact that I looked like a jolly green octopus, and possibly even more out of place than usual. The night began with a traipsing around the village visiting different families, and ended at my friend Awa’s house with legitimate dance lessons. Beginning my day as a butcher, I finally transformed into the jolly green octopus that dances. There was no thing that was more important than another, just a totality of a complete experience… and knowledge that I helped kill my universities mascot of course.
You know your in Senegal when…
Dont worry, I promise a legitimatish post soon. sorry its been so long. Really, it seems like so little gets done here, yet your always busy, even if being busy entails waiting for hours on end. Oh well, here ya go.
The closest thing you get to snow is hundreds of small white butterflies flying across the road
More of those butterflies use intersections to cross than people do
Every single meal takes a couple of hours to cook… and contains at least a liter of oil
You start to only care about mosquitoes being in your room. Crickets, salamanders, spiders, roaches, flies, and everything else seem to matter much less.
The crickets are black… and freaking massive. They also never die. Seriously, they are pretty much indestructible. Only a firm shoe, not a flip flop, can terminate them.
People invest in sheep and construction, not stocks.
Shop talk is of those sheep, not the local sports or politics.
The soap operas are way worse than anything you can imagine. Half of the 30 minute period is literally taken up by ‘shoom, shoom, shoom,’ close-ups. Search Vidaye
If done, giving to the poor must be done strategically. First, food is best, because you never know where the money goes. When giving leftovers, you must then make sure that they do not know where you live in order to avoid masses outside of your house. Note: this applies almost exclusively to toubabs.
It is still easier to find bilingual people than in America… even if the other language is only spoken in a couple square miles of the world.
Doing your laundry draws a crowd… and makes your hands raw
At the sight of food variety an ingrained instinct to scarf takes over. No, there is no hope, only the thought of whether the next cookie will make you throw up or pop. Either way, one eats the cookie.
Having the fashion sense of a teletubbie is prime. Monotone is in, and you can never forget to match your eye shadow/liner to your outfit. Now that would be a tragedy.
Things get steadily less gross… skinning chickens, skinning lambs….fat mothers breastfeeding in front of company….finding out that most people really aren’t fat. I have a tally of six slightly overweight men so far. Women do get bigger as they get older, but only to the point of fabulous jaiefunday.
Its funny that my goal in life is not: to have a jaiefunday, to get married around the age of 18, to find a Senegalese man, to find the most ways to get out of my work, and is not to win a gossip championship (which applies to about half of everyone).
When random strangers try to pay for everything you are doing (from buying fruit to taking the bus) because this is the country of Taranga, or hospitality. Exhibit A. On the way to Dakar I met a man who worked in the airport. We were talking, and while I was looking out the window, he paid for me without me noticing. After about twenty minutes of trying to pay him back, and him not letting me, I gave him my grapefruit, which was worth roughly the same amount, and he barely let me give him that.
People tend to adjust their clothes outside of a bathroom more often than inside of one.
Half of one shopping can be done from your car/bus window as you wait in traffic and vendors walk past with good either on their heads or hanging off of wires. I really think it would be easy to steal a banana off of one of the ladies heads as the bus drives off, hypothetically of course.
You make mashed potatoes… and then mash them with a fork.
You jump onto your public transport while it is still in motion, just as you leave your transport while it is still in motion
The closest thing you get to snow is hundreds of small white butterflies flying across the road
More of those butterflies use intersections to cross than people do
Every single meal takes a couple of hours to cook… and contains at least a liter of oil
You start to only care about mosquitoes being in your room. Crickets, salamanders, spiders, roaches, flies, and everything else seem to matter much less.
The crickets are black… and freaking massive. They also never die. Seriously, they are pretty much indestructible. Only a firm shoe, not a flip flop, can terminate them.
People invest in sheep and construction, not stocks.
Shop talk is of those sheep, not the local sports or politics.
The soap operas are way worse than anything you can imagine. Half of the 30 minute period is literally taken up by ‘shoom, shoom, shoom,’ close-ups. Search Vidaye
If done, giving to the poor must be done strategically. First, food is best, because you never know where the money goes. When giving leftovers, you must then make sure that they do not know where you live in order to avoid masses outside of your house. Note: this applies almost exclusively to toubabs.
It is still easier to find bilingual people than in America… even if the other language is only spoken in a couple square miles of the world.
Doing your laundry draws a crowd… and makes your hands raw
At the sight of food variety an ingrained instinct to scarf takes over. No, there is no hope, only the thought of whether the next cookie will make you throw up or pop. Either way, one eats the cookie.
Having the fashion sense of a teletubbie is prime. Monotone is in, and you can never forget to match your eye shadow/liner to your outfit. Now that would be a tragedy.
Things get steadily less gross… skinning chickens, skinning lambs….fat mothers breastfeeding in front of company….finding out that most people really aren’t fat. I have a tally of six slightly overweight men so far. Women do get bigger as they get older, but only to the point of fabulous jaiefunday.
Its funny that my goal in life is not: to have a jaiefunday, to get married around the age of 18, to find a Senegalese man, to find the most ways to get out of my work, and is not to win a gossip championship (which applies to about half of everyone).
When random strangers try to pay for everything you are doing (from buying fruit to taking the bus) because this is the country of Taranga, or hospitality. Exhibit A. On the way to Dakar I met a man who worked in the airport. We were talking, and while I was looking out the window, he paid for me without me noticing. After about twenty minutes of trying to pay him back, and him not letting me, I gave him my grapefruit, which was worth roughly the same amount, and he barely let me give him that.
People tend to adjust their clothes outside of a bathroom more often than inside of one.
Half of one shopping can be done from your car/bus window as you wait in traffic and vendors walk past with good either on their heads or hanging off of wires. I really think it would be easy to steal a banana off of one of the ladies heads as the bus drives off, hypothetically of course.
You make mashed potatoes… and then mash them with a fork.
You jump onto your public transport while it is still in motion, just as you leave your transport while it is still in motion
Sunday, November 22, 2009
YAYYYY, Legitimate update!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It seems that I have discovered that flu and cold seasons actually change with the period in the year, not the actual coldness of a place. Currently I’m sitting in my little mosquito net (feeling the good ol’ wooden boards of my bed that come through my foam mattress) and am a bit sick to say the least. Truthfully, twenty minutes ago was not a content part of my life, but I’m doing a whole lot better now as I just went and looked through all of my pictures. Somehow they all seem so much more vibrant here, and I don’t know why. So I figure that while I take a break from reading, which actually is making me really happy, for it’s a personal time that often is not gotten here, I should give one of my super fantabulistic updates. Here goes:
-Fruit in general is way cheaper out here. I bought a grapefruit for 100cfa, which is roughly 22 cents. How freaking awesome is that? Yes, I get cheap thrills out of grapefruit prices.
-I’m reaching the beginning of that bored phase that Rachel was talking about with our apprenticeships. I really should find out the difference, if there is any, between a terrapin, a tortoise, and a turtle. These wonderful English brothers and a father (who sailed down here and are going to sail to Brazil next) brought it up and I honestly have no worldly idea.
-We have a turtle named Bill Clinton because he arrived at the same day that Bill Clinton was visiting Senegal. And the girl turtle in his pen? Monica. Monica Lewinsky. When I asked where Hilary was the Senegalese just laughed at me. It was worth a try right?
-I sent of some Christmas letters this past Monday. It feels wrong as Thanksgiving hadn’t even passed yet. Kind of like when you see Halloween decorations alongside the back to school section.
-I finally got to go on a tour of the whole reserve and it was actually fabulously interesting. I got to see a glimpse of the actual relationship between the community and the reserve. Also, sweet pictures are on the way. And if they aren’t sweet, at least they are pictures right?
-The computer at the reserve has a European keyboard. So from using that a bit, I now cannot type on an American keyboard or a European keyboard. It’s like my spelling is half French and half English now. I am aware that you all are probably laughing at me because the spelling failures were there way before French became a daily part of my life. It’s okay, now I just have a good excuse. For the record I can’t spell check because every time I try it deletes the blog post. So there.
-Did you know that the QWERTY Keyboard was actually created in order to be the slowest possible arrangement of keys for typing? With every other arrangement of keys the person using the keyboard on a typewriter would write to fast and ended up jamming the keys, so they had to make a keyboard that limited this ability. I think the one I use is an AZERTY keyboard, even though I doubt that is the official name of it.
-The family is still all around nice. I came to a really interesting realization though. With the mother you know how I described her in western terms. Well after thinking it over with Rachel’s words in my head I found something out that is quite obvious, but that I just don’t think about often. Really, I know cognitively that it is a cultural difference that creates the difference in the way the mother acts in contrast to what I am used to viewing. I saw her as an overbearing person in America, but here it is a normal way to show that you care. It was not hard to cognitively think through that. Instead I find the hard part is having your emotions reflect the knowledge. For feeling that someone is overbearing is much different than knowing. So maybe that will be one of the greatest changes…. in eventually having my emotions and reactions change in accordance with the knowledge.
-Almost all of the cookies here are from Turkey. Don’t ask me why, but I would love to know the reason. Is Turkey secretly the cookie capital of the world? Was the cookie monster born in Turkey? Or now he is the Vegetable Monster anyways so it doesn’t matter. What has the world come to when the cookie monster now eats carrots? Appalling, just appalling.
-Bug spray kills ants. So there is always a huge amount of bugs in my room at night as the single light bulb that is on my wall entices them to crawl through the door crack. Then, by morning, for some reason around half of them end up dead on my floor. I’m pretty sure part of this is due to them flying through my fan. This creates an odd little buzzing sound for a couple of seconds, which freaked me out when I didn’t know what it was. Now I just laugh a little bit. Anyways, it turns out that the ants then come down my door frame and act as little the little soldiers that they are and clean up the mess of dead bugs by carrying them off to the nest (I have no idea where that is). Anyways, it turns out that bug spray kills ants. I wonder if I sprayed a mosquito in mid air if it would die? Don’t worry, I sweep a lot.
-Chapstick is such a life saver here.
-A couple hypothetical/research questions that I’ve been thinking of: Note: I’m just throwing these out there as things I was thinking about. I have no proof of anything, only questions to be asked and answered.
Does poverty correlate to distance from the equator? Possibly there is a relationship to the long breaks necessary in the middle of the day because of the heat, and the relative poverty of many countries along the equator.
In Chinese culture ‘inventiveness’ was always a cherished quality. The inventions of gunpowder, silk, fireworks, etc. were always a huge source of pride for the Chinease. Coincidently many of their inventions involved heavy left brain thinking. Is it possible that from the old times left brain-mathematical-hard science types succeeded more passed on their genes more successfully, and has led today to a relative ease with these subjects for the modern Chinese person? Essentially did natural selection in south East Asia make mathematical sciences types more successful, which in turn has led to the current way that Southeast Asia dominates these fields?
-Does anyone remember the term for when something is transferred from one culture to another but it does not necessarily fit? It happened a lot in colonial times. For example, the French came to Senegal and put in place their education system. Or you can look at any of the Spheres of Influence. I just forgot the term. Something with mirroring maybe? If only I could go back to freshman year world history for a day.
-This all makes me sound much spiffier that I actually am. Do not be fooled
-I have continued with my culinary excursions here. I had a chawarma in Rufisque, which it turns out I had in Dakar too I just didn’t remember the name, but it’s basically beef( sawed off this massive pieces that is rotating in one of those keep-em-hotters), tomatoes, onions, and some type of pepper, French fries, and all of that put in a wrap. Actually really tasty-but it would be much better without the French fries. I found out that there is actually at point that the French fries are not sickly here, which is up to four minutes after they have been cooked. The problem is that they are usually eaten and hour or two after they are made. Humph. I’m currently eating cookies with the name of Karsa, from Turkey. I had the chocolate ones, and am currently trying the Hazelnut ones. Nothing special though, it’s like a cracker on the outside and a bit of cream filling on the inside.
-I found a store in Rufisque that sells the English butter-sugar cookies in the blue tin. I believe that will be my Christmas present to myself.
-And now I’m a bit exhausted, which really is pitiful, as the only things that have really been moving are my hands (and possibly a few brain cells). Currently on the miss list are:
Hot water-honestly cold water does not cut it when you are sick and want to take a shower. Shiver me freaking timbers
Cold weather-at least when it’s cold outside you enjoy the fact that you are nice, warm, cuddly, and have tea inside. Summer sickness is the pits.
Soup-mmm. French onion soup with mozzarella. I also will be trying to make a dish called peposo when I get back, which I am thoroughly excited about. It is not in the least bit Senegalese, and it is authentically Italian.
Non-concrete walls as I just hit my head on mine. Ouch.
Okay, off to read, nap, eventually eat something if I get my appetite back (grapefruit or rice, and such things. I also finally put something up on my wall so the room is a bit less like a concrete chamber and more room like. With love,
-Ananda
-Fruit in general is way cheaper out here. I bought a grapefruit for 100cfa, which is roughly 22 cents. How freaking awesome is that? Yes, I get cheap thrills out of grapefruit prices.
-I’m reaching the beginning of that bored phase that Rachel was talking about with our apprenticeships. I really should find out the difference, if there is any, between a terrapin, a tortoise, and a turtle. These wonderful English brothers and a father (who sailed down here and are going to sail to Brazil next) brought it up and I honestly have no worldly idea.
-We have a turtle named Bill Clinton because he arrived at the same day that Bill Clinton was visiting Senegal. And the girl turtle in his pen? Monica. Monica Lewinsky. When I asked where Hilary was the Senegalese just laughed at me. It was worth a try right?
-I sent of some Christmas letters this past Monday. It feels wrong as Thanksgiving hadn’t even passed yet. Kind of like when you see Halloween decorations alongside the back to school section.
-I finally got to go on a tour of the whole reserve and it was actually fabulously interesting. I got to see a glimpse of the actual relationship between the community and the reserve. Also, sweet pictures are on the way. And if they aren’t sweet, at least they are pictures right?
-The computer at the reserve has a European keyboard. So from using that a bit, I now cannot type on an American keyboard or a European keyboard. It’s like my spelling is half French and half English now. I am aware that you all are probably laughing at me because the spelling failures were there way before French became a daily part of my life. It’s okay, now I just have a good excuse. For the record I can’t spell check because every time I try it deletes the blog post. So there.
-Did you know that the QWERTY Keyboard was actually created in order to be the slowest possible arrangement of keys for typing? With every other arrangement of keys the person using the keyboard on a typewriter would write to fast and ended up jamming the keys, so they had to make a keyboard that limited this ability. I think the one I use is an AZERTY keyboard, even though I doubt that is the official name of it.
-The family is still all around nice. I came to a really interesting realization though. With the mother you know how I described her in western terms. Well after thinking it over with Rachel’s words in my head I found something out that is quite obvious, but that I just don’t think about often. Really, I know cognitively that it is a cultural difference that creates the difference in the way the mother acts in contrast to what I am used to viewing. I saw her as an overbearing person in America, but here it is a normal way to show that you care. It was not hard to cognitively think through that. Instead I find the hard part is having your emotions reflect the knowledge. For feeling that someone is overbearing is much different than knowing. So maybe that will be one of the greatest changes…. in eventually having my emotions and reactions change in accordance with the knowledge.
-Almost all of the cookies here are from Turkey. Don’t ask me why, but I would love to know the reason. Is Turkey secretly the cookie capital of the world? Was the cookie monster born in Turkey? Or now he is the Vegetable Monster anyways so it doesn’t matter. What has the world come to when the cookie monster now eats carrots? Appalling, just appalling.
-Bug spray kills ants. So there is always a huge amount of bugs in my room at night as the single light bulb that is on my wall entices them to crawl through the door crack. Then, by morning, for some reason around half of them end up dead on my floor. I’m pretty sure part of this is due to them flying through my fan. This creates an odd little buzzing sound for a couple of seconds, which freaked me out when I didn’t know what it was. Now I just laugh a little bit. Anyways, it turns out that the ants then come down my door frame and act as little the little soldiers that they are and clean up the mess of dead bugs by carrying them off to the nest (I have no idea where that is). Anyways, it turns out that bug spray kills ants. I wonder if I sprayed a mosquito in mid air if it would die? Don’t worry, I sweep a lot.
-Chapstick is such a life saver here.
-A couple hypothetical/research questions that I’ve been thinking of: Note: I’m just throwing these out there as things I was thinking about. I have no proof of anything, only questions to be asked and answered.
Does poverty correlate to distance from the equator? Possibly there is a relationship to the long breaks necessary in the middle of the day because of the heat, and the relative poverty of many countries along the equator.
In Chinese culture ‘inventiveness’ was always a cherished quality. The inventions of gunpowder, silk, fireworks, etc. were always a huge source of pride for the Chinease. Coincidently many of their inventions involved heavy left brain thinking. Is it possible that from the old times left brain-mathematical-hard science types succeeded more passed on their genes more successfully, and has led today to a relative ease with these subjects for the modern Chinese person? Essentially did natural selection in south East Asia make mathematical sciences types more successful, which in turn has led to the current way that Southeast Asia dominates these fields?
-Does anyone remember the term for when something is transferred from one culture to another but it does not necessarily fit? It happened a lot in colonial times. For example, the French came to Senegal and put in place their education system. Or you can look at any of the Spheres of Influence. I just forgot the term. Something with mirroring maybe? If only I could go back to freshman year world history for a day.
-This all makes me sound much spiffier that I actually am. Do not be fooled
-I have continued with my culinary excursions here. I had a chawarma in Rufisque, which it turns out I had in Dakar too I just didn’t remember the name, but it’s basically beef( sawed off this massive pieces that is rotating in one of those keep-em-hotters), tomatoes, onions, and some type of pepper, French fries, and all of that put in a wrap. Actually really tasty-but it would be much better without the French fries. I found out that there is actually at point that the French fries are not sickly here, which is up to four minutes after they have been cooked. The problem is that they are usually eaten and hour or two after they are made. Humph. I’m currently eating cookies with the name of Karsa, from Turkey. I had the chocolate ones, and am currently trying the Hazelnut ones. Nothing special though, it’s like a cracker on the outside and a bit of cream filling on the inside.
-I found a store in Rufisque that sells the English butter-sugar cookies in the blue tin. I believe that will be my Christmas present to myself.
-And now I’m a bit exhausted, which really is pitiful, as the only things that have really been moving are my hands (and possibly a few brain cells). Currently on the miss list are:
Hot water-honestly cold water does not cut it when you are sick and want to take a shower. Shiver me freaking timbers
Cold weather-at least when it’s cold outside you enjoy the fact that you are nice, warm, cuddly, and have tea inside. Summer sickness is the pits.
Soup-mmm. French onion soup with mozzarella. I also will be trying to make a dish called peposo when I get back, which I am thoroughly excited about. It is not in the least bit Senegalese, and it is authentically Italian.
Non-concrete walls as I just hit my head on mine. Ouch.
Okay, off to read, nap, eventually eat something if I get my appetite back (grapefruit or rice, and such things. I also finally put something up on my wall so the room is a bit less like a concrete chamber and more room like. With love,
-Ananda
I just skinned a freaking Chicken
Note: seriously, just seriously. a whole freaking chicken. freak out a little bit for me. Okay, moving on
The book Heat by Bill Buford is about his culinary education as he runs through an intense number of first class culinary jobs. He was first an understudy at Mario Batalie’s Babo, then a pasta student in Italy, and finally shadowing arguably the most famous butcher in the word, Dario Cecchini. This past Saturday I underwent a similar first hand education. I can now certainly tell you that I will never be a butcher. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
My mentor Awa,20 years old, and I had our day planned out as we were going to visit her new husband,30 years old, and his family a couple towns over. When I arrived in the morning ready there was a new plan: cook for the husband and his whole family by the time they visit this afternoon. On the menu were chicken, French fries, and yassa. Yassa is simple. It’s only onions, MSG, and Magic powder which is basically chicken stock. French fries are even easier as you only need potatoes, salt, and a Paula Dean butter-size-amount of vegetable oil. The tricky part had just come through the door, flapping away and trying to escape Awa’s fathers hands. So I watched those three white chickens pecking away as I cried over my onions, oblivious to their imminent fait.
Now it should be made clear that I am neither a vegetarian nor against vegetarians. I am of the opinion though that people know what they are eating. Most people think, “oh, I’m going to eat a hamburger tonight.” They don’t make the connection between those happy cows in California and what is on their plates. Already in Dakar we had gone through the process of preparing a meal completely. For with ceeb u jeen you start with the fish that have just been yanked out of the ocean and are definitely not already laid out in nice fillets. I’m not really a fish person (even though oddly enough I love to fish), so dealing with the smell was the hardest part of that meal. Chicken is a whole different deal though because I actually like to eat it. They are also a lot bigger and quite more alive than the fish were. I guess you could say that Saturday was my chicken baptism. For the squeamish, I might advise skipping the next paragraph.
Step One: Awa’s brothers killed the chickens. Two: pour boiling water over chickens (as they breath their last breaths, I had a bit of a problem with this part) in order to start plucking them. I avoided the neck area till I wasn’t squirming on the inside completely… and then I squirmed some more. I obviously was not as practiced as Awa, but my at least my chicken only needed five minutes of extra help to move on to the next stage. Three: put naked chicken over gas flame to burn off little feathers that you didn’t get by hand. Try not to crisp it. Four: Get all the gooies out from inside. Its important that when cutting the skin that you do not pop the stomach, which I miraculously did not do. Watch gooies float in the bucket that is filled with water, all the feathers, blood, and now the gooy bits. Five: cut off hind leg and feet. Wash chicken with hand soap and salt. Rinse. Ready for cooking.
My first Senegalise chicken lesson: check. Bear Grils would be so proud of me. For now, if I just happen upon a chicken in the wild I have the ability to not completely freak out and to actually make it edible. I will return to the fact that I will not be a butcher in my future, but I decided to be one, if just for a day. I could have opted out of this whole experience, but to me that would have been taking the easy way out- the easy way out of eating meat and of learning about the culture here. There are no supermarkets where I am. Most of what we eat is made by my family or the people we see every morning. Just like Mr. Buford, I am not going to be a butcher. Yet like him, I find a sweet knowledge in the casalinga, the home and hand made food that I live off of here.
The book Heat by Bill Buford is about his culinary education as he runs through an intense number of first class culinary jobs. He was first an understudy at Mario Batalie’s Babo, then a pasta student in Italy, and finally shadowing arguably the most famous butcher in the word, Dario Cecchini. This past Saturday I underwent a similar first hand education. I can now certainly tell you that I will never be a butcher. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
My mentor Awa,20 years old, and I had our day planned out as we were going to visit her new husband,30 years old, and his family a couple towns over. When I arrived in the morning ready there was a new plan: cook for the husband and his whole family by the time they visit this afternoon. On the menu were chicken, French fries, and yassa. Yassa is simple. It’s only onions, MSG, and Magic powder which is basically chicken stock. French fries are even easier as you only need potatoes, salt, and a Paula Dean butter-size-amount of vegetable oil. The tricky part had just come through the door, flapping away and trying to escape Awa’s fathers hands. So I watched those three white chickens pecking away as I cried over my onions, oblivious to their imminent fait.
Now it should be made clear that I am neither a vegetarian nor against vegetarians. I am of the opinion though that people know what they are eating. Most people think, “oh, I’m going to eat a hamburger tonight.” They don’t make the connection between those happy cows in California and what is on their plates. Already in Dakar we had gone through the process of preparing a meal completely. For with ceeb u jeen you start with the fish that have just been yanked out of the ocean and are definitely not already laid out in nice fillets. I’m not really a fish person (even though oddly enough I love to fish), so dealing with the smell was the hardest part of that meal. Chicken is a whole different deal though because I actually like to eat it. They are also a lot bigger and quite more alive than the fish were. I guess you could say that Saturday was my chicken baptism. For the squeamish, I might advise skipping the next paragraph.
Step One: Awa’s brothers killed the chickens. Two: pour boiling water over chickens (as they breath their last breaths, I had a bit of a problem with this part) in order to start plucking them. I avoided the neck area till I wasn’t squirming on the inside completely… and then I squirmed some more. I obviously was not as practiced as Awa, but my at least my chicken only needed five minutes of extra help to move on to the next stage. Three: put naked chicken over gas flame to burn off little feathers that you didn’t get by hand. Try not to crisp it. Four: Get all the gooies out from inside. Its important that when cutting the skin that you do not pop the stomach, which I miraculously did not do. Watch gooies float in the bucket that is filled with water, all the feathers, blood, and now the gooy bits. Five: cut off hind leg and feet. Wash chicken with hand soap and salt. Rinse. Ready for cooking.
My first Senegalise chicken lesson: check. Bear Grils would be so proud of me. For now, if I just happen upon a chicken in the wild I have the ability to not completely freak out and to actually make it edible. I will return to the fact that I will not be a butcher in my future, but I decided to be one, if just for a day. I could have opted out of this whole experience, but to me that would have been taking the easy way out- the easy way out of eating meat and of learning about the culture here. There are no supermarkets where I am. Most of what we eat is made by my family or the people we see every morning. Just like Mr. Buford, I am not going to be a butcher. Yet like him, I find a sweet knowledge in the casalinga, the home and hand made food that I live off of here.
Legos
When I first arrived in my new family all I had to go off of were first impressions. In my head I tried to decide how I would describe these people who I would live with for the next six months, both to myself and to others. So that is what I did, I described them with words and examples of what I already knew. A mix of Mrs. Weasley and Cinderella’s step mother, jolly like Santa and his elves but a little less organized, overbearing, honestly naïve, structured, socially concerned, overtly open, all different impressions of different people. Going into my first weekly meeting with Rachel I figured that these descriptions would at least give her a view of what I was seeing, or at least what I thought I was seeing.
That was not the case though, for I was given a quick reminder of something that I knew but didn’t contextualize: all of my views are those of the west, of what I have known for the few eighteen years of my life. My mental models are unmistakably American, which I know, but it is easily sectionalized. For example, here everyone holds hands but it carries no implication save friendship. Clearly this is something specifically different than my culture where hand holding carries romantic implications. From here, I can make it a mental point not to judge this, not to think of anything but that which I am learning. My purpose can be to sit and absorb, much as a sponge does.
A problem lies in the things where at once I am obviously affected by my past knowledge, yet am unaware of it. Feelings are deeply rooted things; they are unconsciously and instinctually built within us. All reactions and judgments have their basis in our feelings in some way or another. While awareness that my descriptions were western was an easy cognitive rectification on my part, I realize that my real challenge lies in adapting how I feel in response to the new culture, not only how I think. What I first thought of as overbearing, was just a good show in how to be a good senegalise parent. As I first thought this through, it took away my feeling of resentment, and left wonder. I am still wondering and discovering, for now in this moment I don’t know how I feel or even how I am supposed to feel. Using a classic western example, I think of myself as Lego’s. I started out bits and pieces, was made into a spaceship maybe, and have been broken down again. Only right now, I am building with no premonition of the final product. A castle? Wagon? The White House? The one thing I know is that it is not what I began as.
That was not the case though, for I was given a quick reminder of something that I knew but didn’t contextualize: all of my views are those of the west, of what I have known for the few eighteen years of my life. My mental models are unmistakably American, which I know, but it is easily sectionalized. For example, here everyone holds hands but it carries no implication save friendship. Clearly this is something specifically different than my culture where hand holding carries romantic implications. From here, I can make it a mental point not to judge this, not to think of anything but that which I am learning. My purpose can be to sit and absorb, much as a sponge does.
A problem lies in the things where at once I am obviously affected by my past knowledge, yet am unaware of it. Feelings are deeply rooted things; they are unconsciously and instinctually built within us. All reactions and judgments have their basis in our feelings in some way or another. While awareness that my descriptions were western was an easy cognitive rectification on my part, I realize that my real challenge lies in adapting how I feel in response to the new culture, not only how I think. What I first thought of as overbearing, was just a good show in how to be a good senegalise parent. As I first thought this through, it took away my feeling of resentment, and left wonder. I am still wondering and discovering, for now in this moment I don’t know how I feel or even how I am supposed to feel. Using a classic western example, I think of myself as Lego’s. I started out bits and pieces, was made into a spaceship maybe, and have been broken down again. Only right now, I am building with no premonition of the final product. A castle? Wagon? The White House? The one thing I know is that it is not what I began as.
Beyond Turtles
Up until this point its been all about turtles. French turtle vocabulary, cleaning, feeding, and picking up after turtles, turtle facts (Sulcatar turtles can grow up to 100 kilos and 150 years old), and even a turtle shirt with the eleven specials of Senegalese turtles on it. This past week I finally more than turtles as I received my tour of the whole reserve. Ousman, one of the two tour guides, and I started our walk on the official paths and he taught me about all of the medicinal plants protected here. Curing maladies from gallstones to appendicitis’s, some of the plants have more than three-hundred known uses. While people don’t come here every day to pick leaves or bark, the protected fauna here acts as a hospital and pharmacy for many that cannot and could not afford official medical care.
We then reached the brush. While it was not exactly clear, there seemed to be a fairly wide path which was about ¾ of a foot wide. Yep, it wasn’t a path, just the trail left by some flipping massive snake. No big deal or anything, right? At least it explained why Ousman was basically hopping. I thought he had just slid off his rocker a little bit, but he was quite justified in the hopping I think.
When we got to the edge of the reserve, the first of two struggles with the towns people was obvious-the fence. First, some people had cut through it so that they could dump their trash somewhere… on reserved land. Yet others had tried to reinforce the fence in places because they fear some of the things that are protected might cross onto their homesteads. Giant snakes perhaps?
Nearing the place where the reserve boarders the local soccer pitch, the fence simply disappeared, and it was obvious why as I saw sheep and goats being herded off the reserve land after they had finished grazing. Being a complete outsider it was interesting to hear how these people were breaking the laws of the reserve from Ousman, and then to listen to him talk to them about the coming holidays as we passed them Not even a single reprimand from Ousman nor an explanation from the shepherds. Is it a lack of ability to enforce the rules, or just something that is tolerated Either way, it was sad to see one of Senegal’s premier reserves trampled from herds and littered with massive trash piles (some of which were burning). But who am I in this situation, for I don’t even know what other options these people have, if there are any for that matter.
For a first impression, I’m struck by the juxtaposition of views held by the people of Noflaye. At once the town loves the reserve for its plants, educational functions, and the pristine land it saves for their enjoyment. Yet the people disrespect the purpose of the land and fear it for what it protects.
We then reached the brush. While it was not exactly clear, there seemed to be a fairly wide path which was about ¾ of a foot wide. Yep, it wasn’t a path, just the trail left by some flipping massive snake. No big deal or anything, right? At least it explained why Ousman was basically hopping. I thought he had just slid off his rocker a little bit, but he was quite justified in the hopping I think.
When we got to the edge of the reserve, the first of two struggles with the towns people was obvious-the fence. First, some people had cut through it so that they could dump their trash somewhere… on reserved land. Yet others had tried to reinforce the fence in places because they fear some of the things that are protected might cross onto their homesteads. Giant snakes perhaps?
Nearing the place where the reserve boarders the local soccer pitch, the fence simply disappeared, and it was obvious why as I saw sheep and goats being herded off the reserve land after they had finished grazing. Being a complete outsider it was interesting to hear how these people were breaking the laws of the reserve from Ousman, and then to listen to him talk to them about the coming holidays as we passed them Not even a single reprimand from Ousman nor an explanation from the shepherds. Is it a lack of ability to enforce the rules, or just something that is tolerated Either way, it was sad to see one of Senegal’s premier reserves trampled from herds and littered with massive trash piles (some of which were burning). But who am I in this situation, for I don’t even know what other options these people have, if there are any for that matter.
For a first impression, I’m struck by the juxtaposition of views held by the people of Noflaye. At once the town loves the reserve for its plants, educational functions, and the pristine land it saves for their enjoyment. Yet the people disrespect the purpose of the land and fear it for what it protects.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Coming to Terms
By all means today should not have been an encouraging day. I got to work and did an hour and fifty minutes worth of raking turtle feces, feed, and pathways. I then walked home and commenced to do three hours worth of hand washing laundry. It was incredibly hot and it didn’t help that every person walking by gawked like a three year old in a candy shop. Then while hanging up my laundry I managed to get sand on about half the clothes in the bucket… meaning that I am looking forward to some exfoliating clothes. The best part is I still have to do my whites. Oh, and my hands are rawer than fish in a sushi roll. I finally got to work and was half way through putting up my last blog when the power went out for fifteen minutes, and then I started the process all over again.
Throughout all of these things I was not ecstatic, but the surprising this is that I wasn’t dying of anger or annoyance. Is it possible that I’m slowly starting to think “n’shallah” unconsciously?
The real capstone came after everything thought. After finally posting my blog, my boss Benoit and I took a clando (clandestine taxi) to Bambilor. He went to get Coca Cola for the Village boutique, and I went to pick up ten liter water bottles (since they don’t sell them in my town). I’m sitting squished in between someone who has gumbo scented BO, and a standoffish woman with five ear holes, and it hits me like the door I ran into today (yes, I do have a bruise, no, I have no excuse)-“oh my, this is that beauty people talk about their whole lives”. Crazy “Touba” and “Alhamdulillah” tagged diang diaye vans veering around pot holes, my driver steering in swerves as his steering column is obviously off, crumbling concrete buildings next to others that are painted like Rainbow Bright sets which are next to thatched huts, the sun glistening off of the red sand creating millions of little mirrors as it sets, the trees so green you can’t believe they are in Africa and not England, and the stunningly dress people walking in between the red and green spheres with dinner resting on their heads.
In most of the terms that have defined my life, I didn’t accomplish much today. And for now, it really is okay. Last year when I was with a very wise friend I was reminded that when you’re happy, you don’t have to question it or justify anything. Perhaps my terms are changing, or maybe I’m just finding perfect moments in new things. Either way, it seems as if that setting sun has finally my soul and heart here in Senegal.
Throughout all of these things I was not ecstatic, but the surprising this is that I wasn’t dying of anger or annoyance. Is it possible that I’m slowly starting to think “n’shallah” unconsciously?
The real capstone came after everything thought. After finally posting my blog, my boss Benoit and I took a clando (clandestine taxi) to Bambilor. He went to get Coca Cola for the Village boutique, and I went to pick up ten liter water bottles (since they don’t sell them in my town). I’m sitting squished in between someone who has gumbo scented BO, and a standoffish woman with five ear holes, and it hits me like the door I ran into today (yes, I do have a bruise, no, I have no excuse)-“oh my, this is that beauty people talk about their whole lives”. Crazy “Touba” and “Alhamdulillah” tagged diang diaye vans veering around pot holes, my driver steering in swerves as his steering column is obviously off, crumbling concrete buildings next to others that are painted like Rainbow Bright sets which are next to thatched huts, the sun glistening off of the red sand creating millions of little mirrors as it sets, the trees so green you can’t believe they are in Africa and not England, and the stunningly dress people walking in between the red and green spheres with dinner resting on their heads.
In most of the terms that have defined my life, I didn’t accomplish much today. And for now, it really is okay. Last year when I was with a very wise friend I was reminded that when you’re happy, you don’t have to question it or justify anything. Perhaps my terms are changing, or maybe I’m just finding perfect moments in new things. Either way, it seems as if that setting sun has finally my soul and heart here in Senegal.
Monday, November 9, 2009
First Photos
These are pictures from the night of when I gave out my greeting gifts to the family-this past thursday. The skinny one is Abdoulaye, the square jaw one is Thomas, and then theres Awa and I. Enjoy. I will also be sending these to IDEO to show them the joy their Finger Blasters bring on the other side of the world.
Week One
For the record, Im writing my Christmas letters now... before Thanksgiving has even passed. But anyways...
Wow, I am completely exhausted. Last Sunday (the 1st), we met my host parents Lamine and Aida at the Village des Tourtues, where they both work. We went to the house, which is about a five minute walk down the road, dropped off my bags, and then I started work. I had my first day off yesterday. All the others had their first week off so that they could get to know their families and villages. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love working. I love the feeling of being completely spent at the end of the day because you know that you did everything you could have, of going to bed with that happy exhaustion. But I am pretty darn spent. So heres the intro.
Family:
Pap Lamine- Really, really nice. He knows a ton about turtles. He actually works for the NGO SOPCOM (and I know that’s the wrong acronym) that supports the turtle village. Hes also really into politics, is trying to start a reptile reserve near the Casamance region, and is also trying to start a library in a rural town (almost a la Room to Read).
Aida- Is interesting. I decided that the perfect way to describe her is a mix between Mrs. Weasley and the stepmother in Cinderella. Shes really nice to me and always makes me eat tons (as every Senegalise mother does). But she also gets jelous really easily, gossips about the people at work, and is a slight swindler/stingy person. Her French is also rougher which makes it hard.
Penda-18, really nice, speaks a bit of French.
Thomas, 11, and Abdoulaye,9, are adorable. They play soccer. We have fun playing games, but they wear me a out a bit. And their French is really rough so there is a ton of miscommunication.
Mouhammed- Is 1 years old. Is really adorable with huge eyelashes, but also the bain of my existence as a constant 7am wake up call. I also think he’s the reason I have woken up at exactly 3:30am every single day this past week, but that is just a guess. They also let him eat dinner once day without pants on. And let me say, when you eat from a giant bowl, and there naked boy bits (that he acknowledged fully) right up by the food, it is beyond unappetizing.
Penda- around my age, Aida’s sisters daughter that they helped raise. She cooks a lot and helps run Aida’s restaurant.
Awa-shes the maid/friend. Shes kind of a baller. Her and Penda speak zero French, so our communication is kind of funny. But its getting better.
We eat fish every lunch. Depressing my life.
Senegal has made breakfast my favorite meal of the day… because it doesn’t have oil in it. Also, I’ve taken to the English Black tea that Lamine got me for breakfast. Maybe because it tastes like England and the west, or maybe because it counters the chocolate paste that always goes on my bread.
So work. Heres a little recap from the first two days:
November 2nd: 2.5 hours of raking poo and leaves. 2.5 hours painting a sign. 1.2 hours helping to make things on the computer. It should be noted that everything I did this day, save the poo raking, was later nixed. They had told me they wanted something, but forgot about three essential elements for the computer documents. They then decided the sign, after I spend about four more hours on it, was not going to work because it caused to much discontent (it was promoting tipping the guides).
November 3rd: ½ hour handpicking baby turtle poo. There were 14 turtle sets mating. The turtles named Bill Clinton and Monica mated twice. I weighed and measured 53 baby turtles. Translated a tour for two Russians.
I also started with about three boses. So I would be getting a billion different sets of directions, and not know what in the world to do. Rachel and Babacar came to settle everything out, so its all good for the most part.
Okay, tons of experiences to share, but I’m so tired, and I want to try and sleep before I mysteriously wake up at 3:30 and then at 7. Promise I’ll get something up about the actual goings on though.
With Love,
Ananda
PS. It’s the day after I wrote this while I am putting this up. I just ate this fruit called a carasol and it’s a mix has the taste of a lemon with a little berry, and the consistency of a papaya. Actually pretty good.
Wow, I am completely exhausted. Last Sunday (the 1st), we met my host parents Lamine and Aida at the Village des Tourtues, where they both work. We went to the house, which is about a five minute walk down the road, dropped off my bags, and then I started work. I had my first day off yesterday. All the others had their first week off so that they could get to know their families and villages. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love working. I love the feeling of being completely spent at the end of the day because you know that you did everything you could have, of going to bed with that happy exhaustion. But I am pretty darn spent. So heres the intro.
Family:
Pap Lamine- Really, really nice. He knows a ton about turtles. He actually works for the NGO SOPCOM (and I know that’s the wrong acronym) that supports the turtle village. Hes also really into politics, is trying to start a reptile reserve near the Casamance region, and is also trying to start a library in a rural town (almost a la Room to Read).
Aida- Is interesting. I decided that the perfect way to describe her is a mix between Mrs. Weasley and the stepmother in Cinderella. Shes really nice to me and always makes me eat tons (as every Senegalise mother does). But she also gets jelous really easily, gossips about the people at work, and is a slight swindler/stingy person. Her French is also rougher which makes it hard.
Penda-18, really nice, speaks a bit of French.
Thomas, 11, and Abdoulaye,9, are adorable. They play soccer. We have fun playing games, but they wear me a out a bit. And their French is really rough so there is a ton of miscommunication.
Mouhammed- Is 1 years old. Is really adorable with huge eyelashes, but also the bain of my existence as a constant 7am wake up call. I also think he’s the reason I have woken up at exactly 3:30am every single day this past week, but that is just a guess. They also let him eat dinner once day without pants on. And let me say, when you eat from a giant bowl, and there naked boy bits (that he acknowledged fully) right up by the food, it is beyond unappetizing.
Penda- around my age, Aida’s sisters daughter that they helped raise. She cooks a lot and helps run Aida’s restaurant.
Awa-shes the maid/friend. Shes kind of a baller. Her and Penda speak zero French, so our communication is kind of funny. But its getting better.
We eat fish every lunch. Depressing my life.
Senegal has made breakfast my favorite meal of the day… because it doesn’t have oil in it. Also, I’ve taken to the English Black tea that Lamine got me for breakfast. Maybe because it tastes like England and the west, or maybe because it counters the chocolate paste that always goes on my bread.
So work. Heres a little recap from the first two days:
November 2nd: 2.5 hours of raking poo and leaves. 2.5 hours painting a sign. 1.2 hours helping to make things on the computer. It should be noted that everything I did this day, save the poo raking, was later nixed. They had told me they wanted something, but forgot about three essential elements for the computer documents. They then decided the sign, after I spend about four more hours on it, was not going to work because it caused to much discontent (it was promoting tipping the guides).
November 3rd: ½ hour handpicking baby turtle poo. There were 14 turtle sets mating. The turtles named Bill Clinton and Monica mated twice. I weighed and measured 53 baby turtles. Translated a tour for two Russians.
I also started with about three boses. So I would be getting a billion different sets of directions, and not know what in the world to do. Rachel and Babacar came to settle everything out, so its all good for the most part.
Okay, tons of experiences to share, but I’m so tired, and I want to try and sleep before I mysteriously wake up at 3:30 and then at 7. Promise I’ll get something up about the actual goings on though.
With Love,
Ananda
PS. It’s the day after I wrote this while I am putting this up. I just ate this fruit called a carasol and it’s a mix has the taste of a lemon with a little berry, and the consistency of a papaya. Actually pretty good.
Great Expectations
Everywhere I go I meet people along with their expectations. With one exception, I am always greeted with the French “Ca Va” instead of the ritual “Assalam Alekum”. I have no qualms with being viewed French, as most toubabs here are. Where my uneasiness comes in is how along with the Ca Va comes the undertone that I, because I am a foreigner, don’t care enough to learn the local language and greeting.
Then there is what I like to call Pere Noel Syndrome. When I meet some people they expect me to give out gifts and money like they come out of a bottomless red bag. Yesterday a fourteen year old girl who I met in the Village des Tortues calls me… and asks me to buy her credit for her phone. I greeted a respectable man today who was sitting outside of my house, and the first words he said after the greeting were “donnez-nous d’argent, or give us money. Promptly following this was the “mais tous les autres americains nous donnent d’argent” or “but all the other Americans give money”. Noflaye is a town with a steady influx of tourists due to the Village des Tortues. Is this then the image they end up leaving? Tourism brings money into a country simply through the food, transportation, and lodging that is used. Maybe handouts should be added to this list?
I used to absolutely loathe these moments. After all who enjoys even seeing people who really are in need of help, but are stuck in a time and place where they can do nothing about it? I have grown to see these as an opportunity though. I meet these people and they have the expectation of ignorance, and by the end of the conversation money is the farthest thing from their mind, and the situations of Senegal and the world are closest to it. Is it wrong then that I get a thrill in showing these people how much I am not the token tourist or eco-volunteer? If anything, the problem lies in the fact that these expectations exist. Foreigners come in, give money in some form, and then leave. Whether they are aid volunteers or tourists, the expectations and most of the outcomes are the same. Experts say that the money is good for the economy, which is true. Yet, it makes you wonder, is the impact, the help that one actually wants to do, really achieved?
Then there is what I like to call Pere Noel Syndrome. When I meet some people they expect me to give out gifts and money like they come out of a bottomless red bag. Yesterday a fourteen year old girl who I met in the Village des Tortues calls me… and asks me to buy her credit for her phone. I greeted a respectable man today who was sitting outside of my house, and the first words he said after the greeting were “donnez-nous d’argent, or give us money. Promptly following this was the “mais tous les autres americains nous donnent d’argent” or “but all the other Americans give money”. Noflaye is a town with a steady influx of tourists due to the Village des Tortues. Is this then the image they end up leaving? Tourism brings money into a country simply through the food, transportation, and lodging that is used. Maybe handouts should be added to this list?
I used to absolutely loathe these moments. After all who enjoys even seeing people who really are in need of help, but are stuck in a time and place where they can do nothing about it? I have grown to see these as an opportunity though. I meet these people and they have the expectation of ignorance, and by the end of the conversation money is the farthest thing from their mind, and the situations of Senegal and the world are closest to it. Is it wrong then that I get a thrill in showing these people how much I am not the token tourist or eco-volunteer? If anything, the problem lies in the fact that these expectations exist. Foreigners come in, give money in some form, and then leave. Whether they are aid volunteers or tourists, the expectations and most of the outcomes are the same. Experts say that the money is good for the economy, which is true. Yet, it makes you wonder, is the impact, the help that one actually wants to do, really achieved?
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Baby Steps
Hey Guys!
Well its all going pretty well here, just a whole other adaptation period again I think...which means another missing everyone immensely period. Ill write a good description of everything thats going on for you guys tonight and hopefully will get it up for you tomorrow. But know that I miss you guys bunchessss. Heres the first GCY blog that Ive written in the village.
With love
I sat watching baby Muhammad run (or waddle depending on your definition) across the courtyard and realized that while we are definitely opposites in almost every aspect, (I do no wake him up at ridiculous times in the morning each and every day); at this moment we are more alike than we ever will be.
See, we both want to do everything, and all at once. He wants to run up and down the stairs and tries to put his shoes on by himself. I already want to know every routine of ever day, what to do in all the different turtle situations, and how do things without asking everyone… just so that I can start learning and doing even more. Muhammad can now get in his rolly without falling, most of the time. So far I’m really good at raking turtle feces and feed for extended periods of time, weighing, measuring, bathing, and feeding baby turtles, and painting giant rusty metal barrels with oil paint.
We are both trying to figure out the world. Everything is new for him, something that hasn’t happened before, which is much the same for me. Except I come with a whole eighteen years of American baggage and experience. Even if I think I have ideas about how people work, they don’t really apply here. In a culture that is based on so many different things than the United States is, I, like Muhammad, have nothing to go off of. This week I tried to describe members of my host family to Rachel. But in doing this I used western constructs and references which came just from w hat I can see and understand (which is little at this point). These descriptions didn’t work because I didn’t know the reasons and history behind my family’s actions. What shocked and confused me was something that was normal, just not normal to me. If babies really are blank slates then, I must embody them and just take things in. Try not to judge, and only to see.
Then there is the language of course. While our vocabularies are different, we both talk in telegrams. In French I can talk about alleviating poverty, but I still forget to contract articles that a third grader would make fun of me for. In Wolof I can get basic ideas through, but the vast majority of my success relies on my fast improving hand motioning skills.
It’s a fact then: baby turtles, baby Muhammad, and baby Ananda. But hey, everything is easier the second time. Maybe that means I get to grow up faster too?
Well its all going pretty well here, just a whole other adaptation period again I think...which means another missing everyone immensely period. Ill write a good description of everything thats going on for you guys tonight and hopefully will get it up for you tomorrow. But know that I miss you guys bunchessss. Heres the first GCY blog that Ive written in the village.
With love
I sat watching baby Muhammad run (or waddle depending on your definition) across the courtyard and realized that while we are definitely opposites in almost every aspect, (I do no wake him up at ridiculous times in the morning each and every day); at this moment we are more alike than we ever will be.
See, we both want to do everything, and all at once. He wants to run up and down the stairs and tries to put his shoes on by himself. I already want to know every routine of ever day, what to do in all the different turtle situations, and how do things without asking everyone… just so that I can start learning and doing even more. Muhammad can now get in his rolly without falling, most of the time. So far I’m really good at raking turtle feces and feed for extended periods of time, weighing, measuring, bathing, and feeding baby turtles, and painting giant rusty metal barrels with oil paint.
We are both trying to figure out the world. Everything is new for him, something that hasn’t happened before, which is much the same for me. Except I come with a whole eighteen years of American baggage and experience. Even if I think I have ideas about how people work, they don’t really apply here. In a culture that is based on so many different things than the United States is, I, like Muhammad, have nothing to go off of. This week I tried to describe members of my host family to Rachel. But in doing this I used western constructs and references which came just from w hat I can see and understand (which is little at this point). These descriptions didn’t work because I didn’t know the reasons and history behind my family’s actions. What shocked and confused me was something that was normal, just not normal to me. If babies really are blank slates then, I must embody them and just take things in. Try not to judge, and only to see.
Then there is the language of course. While our vocabularies are different, we both talk in telegrams. In French I can talk about alleviating poverty, but I still forget to contract articles that a third grader would make fun of me for. In Wolof I can get basic ideas through, but the vast majority of my success relies on my fast improving hand motioning skills.
It’s a fact then: baby turtles, baby Muhammad, and baby Ananda. But hey, everything is easier the second time. Maybe that means I get to grow up faster too?
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Just Call Me Galileo
Sitting here listening to Shania Twain serenading me from the television-in Dakar, in Senegal, on my last day of my first month- I cannot help but notice an odd juxtaposition. All at once it feels like I have been here the longest time, yet it also feels like I have only been in Senegal for a few hours. Reflecting on this beginning of my journey that has stretched from the Institute of Noetic Sciences to the sewage lined streets in Dakar after the big rains, I feel like I am entering my own Renaissance, my own rebirth. Like those of old, it is not a rebirth that forgets everything that has happened in history, but one that is putting the puzzle pieces of the past in their place and building up from them.So I have not found huge new things to care about yet, but I have had the opportunity to shine a light on things that usually sit happily in the shadows. All that I have know of myself up to this point is centered, acknowledge, and there for the pondering. My renaissance is in its infancy, but now it is time for me to show everyone that, in fact, we are not the center of the universe.
Cuisine: I never quite realized how much joy cooking gave me, whether it was for myself or for others. Then there is the feeling of absolutely being alive when you have the perfect meal with the perfect ingredients. Aesthetic: I now see how being surrounded by beauty that lets in the world, and doesn't make you draw connections to prison cells, resonates with you, whether you notice it or not. To me, clothes are a form of personal expression but the different societal norms have brought in this freedom. Language: I've always loved books an absurd amount. Really, the smell of new books is a paramount thing in the world I think. Somehow though, I have never loved writing; I was always bored with my papers by the time I was finished with them. That is, until now. Even as I write this, I am secretly smiling. Writing something out makes me crystallize my ideas and thoughts, finding the flaws and the gems in them. The moment that I find the word that slides into the sentences perfectly is comparable to a tempurpedic mattress: it makes you feel comfortable and content with life. Living in a world that does not pass through my language has only furthered this idea, giving every word in every language more value. Lastly, academics. I'm a self professed nerd. I love every part of school-getting to know the people, the classes, the sports, rising to the challenges, and being surrounded by all of people that act as fountains of knowledge. Now for the first time I'm not in school. The training back in California was like fruit, sweet as candy and amazingly good for me. Here I am learning every single day, just of a different subject matter. It makes me realize how happy I am with days where there is so much to take in, no matter if its a presentation by Joel Segre or if I'm learning how to pour tea two feet above a cup from my friend Amadou.
I have not found the new thing to care about that will define my coming life, but I have had the opportunity to shine a light on things that normall rest happilly in the shadows. All that I have known about myself up to this point is centered, acknowledged, and there for pondering. My renaissance is in its infancy, and it is now time for me to set out and show everyone that, in fact, we are not the center of the universe.
Cuisine: I never quite realized how much joy cooking gave me, whether it was for myself or for others. Then there is the feeling of absolutely being alive when you have the perfect meal with the perfect ingredients. Aesthetic: I now see how being surrounded by beauty that lets in the world, and doesn't make you draw connections to prison cells, resonates with you, whether you notice it or not. To me, clothes are a form of personal expression but the different societal norms have brought in this freedom. Language: I've always loved books an absurd amount. Really, the smell of new books is a paramount thing in the world I think. Somehow though, I have never loved writing; I was always bored with my papers by the time I was finished with them. That is, until now. Even as I write this, I am secretly smiling. Writing something out makes me crystallize my ideas and thoughts, finding the flaws and the gems in them. The moment that I find the word that slides into the sentences perfectly is comparable to a tempurpedic mattress: it makes you feel comfortable and content with life. Living in a world that does not pass through my language has only furthered this idea, giving every word in every language more value. Lastly, academics. I'm a self professed nerd. I love every part of school-getting to know the people, the classes, the sports, rising to the challenges, and being surrounded by all of people that act as fountains of knowledge. Now for the first time I'm not in school. The training back in California was like fruit, sweet as candy and amazingly good for me. Here I am learning every single day, just of a different subject matter. It makes me realize how happy I am with days where there is so much to take in, no matter if its a presentation by Joel Segre or if I'm learning how to pour tea two feet above a cup from my friend Amadou.
I have not found the new thing to care about that will define my coming life, but I have had the opportunity to shine a light on things that normall rest happilly in the shadows. All that I have known about myself up to this point is centered, acknowledged, and there for pondering. My renaissance is in its infancy, and it is now time for me to set out and show everyone that, in fact, we are not the center of the universe.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Movvieeess!
SO here are some fabulous new movies for you.
The one below these is a video of my friend Boxie James Rapping. Here are:
A video of the HLM Marche, where we bought fabric for Tabaski (huge holiday). With that comes some beautiful trafic footage.
Then there is the video of us all making Ceebu Dieen?(sp) which is basically fish and rice.
Lastly, there is the video from the soccer game.
Right now I'm just getting everything done before I have to pack up final things. Shipping out at 8:30 am to the village tomorrow. I also just wrote a new GCY official blog too. Love you all!!!!
-Ananda
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The one below these is a video of my friend Boxie James Rapping. Here are:
A video of the HLM Marche, where we bought fabric for Tabaski (huge holiday). With that comes some beautiful trafic footage.
Then there is the video of us all making Ceebu Dieen?(sp) which is basically fish and rice.
Lastly, there is the video from the soccer game.
Right now I'm just getting everything done before I have to pack up final things. Shipping out at 8:30 am to the village tomorrow. I also just wrote a new GCY official blog too. Love you all!!!!
-Ananda
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Thursday, October 29, 2009
Sorry all for the lack of blogging the past few days, others have had the netbook and I have been catching up on certains stuffs.
First things first. I have decided that the real metahpor for my stay is this: bugspray & deet are my perfume. And I may have already said that, but I feel its necessary to restate it. Now to a good update of which your probably tired of the bullets.
-Grapefruit Fanta (why dont they have good flavors, ie. pomplemouse and lemon in america?? is second only to the original lemon fanta in greatness. almost the drink of the gods.
-I had a Senegalise orange for the first time. Ironically, it is green on the outside, and yellow on the inside. IT tastes like an orange, but a lot less strongly, and it has a hint of fruit punch mixed in somehow.
-I wore a dress on the 26th. And I enjoyed it.
-I'm stocking up on fabulous books to take with me so that I will have some form of english with me in the village. Plato, Carl Hiassen, Doris Kearns Goodwin, Harold Bloom, DH Lawrence, and some french guy. Maybe I'll come back super super smarty pantsy?
-I'm still amazed every day how much American music is listen to here- In the courtyard a few days ago we were all eating peanuts, and they turned on the computer speakers and it went from Akon, to Lil Wayne, to some Senegalise man, to Rihanna. And yesterday the Backstreet Boys 'I want it that way' came on, and everyone, including me, was jamming out. Music really does cross boundaries.
-We made Chebu Jen yesterday at Rachels house with the Walof teacher (as part of our Walof lesson). Yum, more fish and rice. I took some fabulous videos though, and hopefully those will get put up soon. The videos from the other day are getting up soon too, on the GCY website. I just had to send Wil the files because they were so big, so I'll past the youtube link as soon as I get it. As a side note, I think I eat less when I am eating with my hands. Or maybe I just really not a seafood person. And I am a pro at making rice balls with my hands now.
-You fry the fish in exactly 1 liter of sizling vegetable oil, then take out the fish. then you put the vegetables, water, and tomatoe paste (that is brown) in the left over oil. You steam the rice in a collander above the vegetable oil mix. We had plastic bags wrapped around the collander and pot, and underneath the collander, to stop the rice from falling out ( you are supposed to use fabric but Umul forgot it). When asked about the bags melting, the answer was nshallah- God willing. The melting was not so supreme. Then then you take out all the vegetalbes, and put all the rice into the sauce, letting it soak it all up. Divide into bowls, and put back the vegetables and fish. Enjoy making rice balls with your hands, fish (I defered the eating of it), vegetables, and massive amounts of oil that you are eating.
-We got to go to the beach right by Rachels house, and oh how amazing it was. The sand goes out forever- at least a 100 yards. So that you have waves crashing the whole length! When the tide would go back in there was a good 45 yards of damp sand, that would be quickly washed over again with a incoming wave. While it was supremely beautiful, it was another disaster. There was an amazing amount of trash- plastic bags, rags, a broken dish? And then every inch of beach was lined with thatched cabannas which are rented to people who want to leave their bags on the beach-because it is the only space that is not reached by the waves.
-Today was french class and our walof evaluation. I can honestly say that for the Walof test I knew how to answer about four questions out of the whole thing. I've just been focusing on french a lot for the whole time, so I havent really had the time to study walof. No worries though, I have six months to get better at it. And I got to talk to Mrs. Lyn on Skype, which made me super super happy!!!
-Tomorrow: french evaluation in the morning, group debriefing with Rachel, and then we are visiting an NGO.
-Saturday- In the morning Gaya and I are going to the book store. Then we have individual debriefings with Rachel to talk about everything we are about to be dropped into. Lots of packing, as its the last day with our current host families.
-Sunday we ship out to our villages. I hope to at least recap the weekend before I leave. I am super excited, and a bit nervous. I had a bad dream about the turtle poo. I also had a dream that Caroline and I were adopted together, but that is besides the point.
With love,
Ananda
First things first. I have decided that the real metahpor for my stay is this: bugspray & deet are my perfume. And I may have already said that, but I feel its necessary to restate it. Now to a good update of which your probably tired of the bullets.
-Grapefruit Fanta (why dont they have good flavors, ie. pomplemouse and lemon in america?? is second only to the original lemon fanta in greatness. almost the drink of the gods.
-I had a Senegalise orange for the first time. Ironically, it is green on the outside, and yellow on the inside. IT tastes like an orange, but a lot less strongly, and it has a hint of fruit punch mixed in somehow.
-I wore a dress on the 26th. And I enjoyed it.
-I'm stocking up on fabulous books to take with me so that I will have some form of english with me in the village. Plato, Carl Hiassen, Doris Kearns Goodwin, Harold Bloom, DH Lawrence, and some french guy. Maybe I'll come back super super smarty pantsy?
-I'm still amazed every day how much American music is listen to here- In the courtyard a few days ago we were all eating peanuts, and they turned on the computer speakers and it went from Akon, to Lil Wayne, to some Senegalise man, to Rihanna. And yesterday the Backstreet Boys 'I want it that way' came on, and everyone, including me, was jamming out. Music really does cross boundaries.
-We made Chebu Jen yesterday at Rachels house with the Walof teacher (as part of our Walof lesson). Yum, more fish and rice. I took some fabulous videos though, and hopefully those will get put up soon. The videos from the other day are getting up soon too, on the GCY website. I just had to send Wil the files because they were so big, so I'll past the youtube link as soon as I get it. As a side note, I think I eat less when I am eating with my hands. Or maybe I just really not a seafood person. And I am a pro at making rice balls with my hands now.
-You fry the fish in exactly 1 liter of sizling vegetable oil, then take out the fish. then you put the vegetables, water, and tomatoe paste (that is brown) in the left over oil. You steam the rice in a collander above the vegetable oil mix. We had plastic bags wrapped around the collander and pot, and underneath the collander, to stop the rice from falling out ( you are supposed to use fabric but Umul forgot it). When asked about the bags melting, the answer was nshallah- God willing. The melting was not so supreme. Then then you take out all the vegetalbes, and put all the rice into the sauce, letting it soak it all up. Divide into bowls, and put back the vegetables and fish. Enjoy making rice balls with your hands, fish (I defered the eating of it), vegetables, and massive amounts of oil that you are eating.
-We got to go to the beach right by Rachels house, and oh how amazing it was. The sand goes out forever- at least a 100 yards. So that you have waves crashing the whole length! When the tide would go back in there was a good 45 yards of damp sand, that would be quickly washed over again with a incoming wave. While it was supremely beautiful, it was another disaster. There was an amazing amount of trash- plastic bags, rags, a broken dish? And then every inch of beach was lined with thatched cabannas which are rented to people who want to leave their bags on the beach-because it is the only space that is not reached by the waves.
-Today was french class and our walof evaluation. I can honestly say that for the Walof test I knew how to answer about four questions out of the whole thing. I've just been focusing on french a lot for the whole time, so I havent really had the time to study walof. No worries though, I have six months to get better at it. And I got to talk to Mrs. Lyn on Skype, which made me super super happy!!!
-Tomorrow: french evaluation in the morning, group debriefing with Rachel, and then we are visiting an NGO.
-Saturday- In the morning Gaya and I are going to the book store. Then we have individual debriefings with Rachel to talk about everything we are about to be dropped into. Lots of packing, as its the last day with our current host families.
-Sunday we ship out to our villages. I hope to at least recap the weekend before I leave. I am super excited, and a bit nervous. I had a bad dream about the turtle poo. I also had a dream that Caroline and I were adopted together, but that is besides the point.
With love,
Ananda
Sunday, October 25, 2009
I Oublie my nourriture!
Okay, so I totally forgot about food
-I ate these things called Lunnga. When I asked Ama what they were, she said they were like strawberries. So I took a bit out of one. Sure enough they taste nothing like strawberries. A lot closer to fermented or wine soaked nuts
-I ate some combination of Hear, liver, and lung today. Let it be noted that they are all revolting and that if I have my way, I will not be eating any of them again. That being said, I probably will be eating them again at some point.
-They have grapefruit Fanta here and I am extremely excited to have some tomnorrow.
-Walof class begins again this week and I am epicly bad.
Finally, here is a link to the guy I heard sing before Yousse N'Dour (sp). His name is Mame Balla, but I have to say, he is way better live.
-I ate these things called Lunnga. When I asked Ama what they were, she said they were like strawberries. So I took a bit out of one. Sure enough they taste nothing like strawberries. A lot closer to fermented or wine soaked nuts
-I ate some combination of Hear, liver, and lung today. Let it be noted that they are all revolting and that if I have my way, I will not be eating any of them again. That being said, I probably will be eating them again at some point.
-They have grapefruit Fanta here and I am extremely excited to have some tomnorrow.
-Walof class begins again this week and I am epicly bad.
Finally, here is a link to the guy I heard sing before Yousse N'Dour (sp). His name is Mame Balla, but I have to say, he is way better live.
Some Bits
Lets see. So this weekend:
- I went to the Marche HLM to buy fabric for the holiday Tabaski. I am now a champion bargainer as I obtained my fabric for the local price of 1300cfa- about 3 dollars- per meter. Its a fabric called basain, which is not really cottony at all, and actually kind of feels like wax. But that will go to the tailor, and I'm thinking silver embroidery? Promise I'll put the pictures up when I get it, although that will probably be when I am in Sangalkam, so maybe just soon as possible. I also got some vaux (pronounced wax, and it may be spelled wrong) fabric to be made into a dress (gasp, I know).
- I went to the Sandaga market to get a cassette made into a cd. Here we went on a wild goose chase as one of the people we were with, Samba, decided we shouldnt just let the heckling sellers go. Instead we should follow them all the way to the other side of the market, and then find out that what we want isnt there... even though we never expected it to be. Due to this I was also not allowed to find a nut seller who had salted cashews-which do exist, as I have already had them here.
- Depressing: there was a parapalegic at the HLM market- he didnt even have a stool to sit on. Instead, he was just on the ground next to everyones feet.
- Joel: A young boy with a cateract was asking for money at the bus stop. We all wished you were there with the super thin lenses.
- On the bus, a lad got on with a baby. Seeing that there was absolutely no room to sit down (as if), she promptly ejected said baby into some mans lap. And he was totally cool with it, and so was the baby. Victoria and I equated this to handing of a football- except the football was alive. Its slightly crazy to think of anyone doing this in America- from fear, from the fact that the baby would be wailing, from the person not actually holding onto the baby once it is dropped into their lap.
- At Sandaga there was a man who had something wrong with his legs. So he rolled around on this 2x2 plastic square with wheels. He then decided to come down hill strait at me with a speed that was unbelieveable (litterally, I didnt know he would be able to go that fast). Due to this fact I had two options: get obliterated by this man, and probably end up hurting him. Or jump. So I jumped. Quite surreal.
- Four (maybe five if I understood the Senegalise accent better) people thought I was spanish this weekend. Either I'm a little bit tanner, or I look less out of place. Score.
- I'm up to 9 marriage proposals
- I went to my first soccer game. It was incredibly cheap- about 75 cents to watch two games. Sadly I only got to see about half of each of them, and I only got to see one goal. But the people there were crazy. There was one man who sat ontop of the passageway that led to a stairwell and he would dance, and then lift up his shirt to show an undershirt that said something in walof, and then he would yell at one of the team managers. Supposbly he was a big supporter.
- Here are some real summaries of what the other fellows will be doing:
- Matt: he gets to work with the local agriculture programs in production, harvest, and comericilzation. He also get to check out sal harvesting and trading at this place called Lac Rose-which is a lake that is bright pink from the amount of salt in it. Then he gets to look at the relationship of development of socio cultural elements (music, oral tradition, ect).
Alec- He is working in a local western hospital, and then once a week he is going to this tradition hospital. He also gets to follow ome Red Cross people around. Also, he gets to go with some of the staff on field visits to super rurual villages- I will definitely be tagging along on one of these trips. He gets to research the impact of Rachels program Smiles for Senegal, and helps decide what to do with it in the future (is it worth it?)
Hilary- shes working at a western health clinic too, but also at a Maternity/midwife center. she gets to look at the relationships between healthcare and a devoloping country.
Gaya- will be working in a large elementary school- helping with librarires, computer labs pta, community garden, and classroom participation. She also will try and find out what it is lacking in the education, and try and create a project to fil that gap (ex. drawing class). She will also look at education in a developing country.
Victoria- will work at a NGO called the Program of Devopment of Infants and the Family (translated)- which is basically a childhood center. She gets to do all the preschool activities, and gets to investigate links between early development and local development.
Then Gaya, Victoria, and Hilary will identify all the local womens organizations, and profile them ( membership, leadership, economic activities, ect.). And then they will al be doing the same thing with english speak clubs and such - My friend Amadou taught me to make tea the Senegalise way last night. So wach out, I am now a master and can make it for all of you.
- Today everyone came over to learn how to make beneighs(sp, they are basically donught holes).
- And currently I am struggling with youtube as I try to put up the videos from this weekend
- Oh and I forgot to put on bug spray before breakfast- three mosquito bites just on my right foot in the span of three minutes. Humph.
- Overall its going swell, I will be glad not to have the talkative walof speaking men outside my window in Sangalkam. I mean, they must be hilarious, because they laugh all the time. But its just not that funny at 1 30.
- Must now go eat dinner. Fabulous. Its 9 by the way.
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