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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
