I had a dream the other night. I typically don't remember my
dreams, but I remember this one pretty well. That might be because I
woke up at 6:30 that morning; a half hour before my alarm. I'm
waking up earlier and earlier these days.... Anyway, about the dream.
It almost certainly takes place in America. The type of quiet
neighborhood we're walking through only exists there. Evenly spaced
out two story houses, each with its own driveway and little patch of
land. There's at least one person here beside me, but I think there
were two more walking shortly behind us as well. Based on how we're
dressed, I'd say it's a cool fall day. Certainly not summer, but
also not so cold that we couldn't go for a walk. As we're walking,
I'm in a very casual conversation with the person next to me. I
obviously knew the person quite well, but I don't remember who it was
in particular. In any case, we're talking candidly about a common
interest: basketball. We talk about the newly opened NBA season for
a spell and eventually reach our destination. When I first woke up,
I believed it to be a church. The large entrance and decorative
carvings around the frame of the door resembled the type of old
architecture you might find at a church. I didn't get a chance to
look inside, but it felt like we were stepping into a solemn
occasion. I've thought about the dream for a few minutes now and I
don't think that building was supposed to be a church since I have
had little exposure to one recently and it would hold little personal
meaning to me. Instead, I think it was supposed to be a lodge; more
specifically, a Masonic lodge. As an aside, for those of you who
have only come to know me over the past two years or, potentially,
those who do not know me at all, I spent a lot of time at Masonic
lodges throughout high school not as a Mason, but as a member of the
branch or their organization targeted at youth called DeMolay. The
lodge is where I met some of my closest friends and was a major
player in my development from an adolescent to an adult. Anyway,
these are some of the things I'm missing about America right now.
Casual conversations, the quiet neighborhoods, meetings among close
friends, the familiarity of it all. Who would have guessed that I
would come to Senegal and miss the quieter, slower pace of American
life?
On to one of the more infuriating experiences I've had thus far in
my service. As some of you may not know, my “territory” (i.e.
the area in which I am the closest Peace Corps volunteer in my
program) covers a fairly large chunk of land and nearly a quarter of
the Senegalese population. I've tried not to preclude myself from
working with people simply because of distance, so, every now and
again, I find myself having to commute for a couple hours to be able
to work with a certain group or individual. These trips typically
take up my whole day due to the distance I have to travel and are
often set up about a week in advance in order for both parties to
ensure their schedules are clear. To this point, I've had no
problems doing this besides spending 4+ hours of my day on a bus that
is often standing room only. This day was different. I got to my
destination (Zac Mbao if any of you are curious and want to google
map how far I actually travel) at about 11am to meet the
chicken/money transfer/paper store lady that I've mentioned in a
previous post. We hadn't set up a time, but I had been to see this
individual enough times that we both knew the drill. I hadn't
discussed a time with her the previous couple times I came out and
had no problem. I arrive at her store to find it closed and locked.
Curious, I knock on the door of her house and find it unlocked and
open. This is a very bad sign and potentially the beginning of a
horror movie in America. It means absolutely nothing in Senegal. I
ask the old woman watching TV where my friend had gone and she says
she had just stepped out and would be back soon. Satisfied, I find a
patch of shade, sit down, and start organizing my schedule for the
upcoming week. After about 20 minutes, a man walks by and asks who
I'm waiting for. I explain the situation including that my friend
lost her phone and that's why I couldn't call her to see where she
was. He says he will call her for me. I'm slightly confused that my
friend had neglected to tell me that she got a new phone, but am
otherwise unfazed. He gets off the phone and gives me the news:
she's out for the day, won't be back until late that evening. At
this point, I'm not sure if she was ever planning on telling me she
wasn't coming or if she was just going to let me wait there
indefinitely. I thank the man and wait until I'm a safe distance
away before becoming furious and unleashing a tirade of hate at the
imaginary ghost of my friend in front of me. Holy cow, I was angry,
not just because I had just wasted over 2 hours to wait by a closed
shop for 20 minutes, but also because I was going to have to spend
another 2 hours to get home. Keep in mind, ladies and gentlemen,
that these are not a quiet, pleasant 2 hours. These are 2 hours of
stop and go traffic, horns blaring for no apparent reason, and
standing room only with 60 of your closest friends in a bus designed
to hold 40. You can't read or write because there's nowhere to sit
or hold the paper or notebook. You can try to listen to music, but
you'd have to turn it up to an eardrum bleed-inducing level to drown
out the rumble of the diesel engine, car horns, crying infants, and
street vendors. Also, if you have loud music in your ears on a
crowded bus, you might as well paint a target on your shirt because
you're just asking to be pickpocketed. That's not a Senegal thing,
either. Just a big city thing. You basically just have to grin and
bear it and stand there watching the world go by.... slowly.... for 2
hours. And that is why I found myself wanting a drink of something
strong enough to disinfect wounds at 11:30 that morning.
Despite that horror story, things are moving right along. I'm
making some good progress on some fronts that I'll detail next time
and am really starting to learn about the nuts and bolts of the work
(i.e. planning projects, monitoring, evaluating, etc.) I'm thinking
that by this time next year, I might just be able to get the hang of
this whole thing. Then again, I'll also be less than 6 months from
the end of my service at this time next year. Such is Peace Corps.
Such is life.