Inch'Allah Sunday

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.