A Fistful of Dollars

A lot has gone on since we last spoke.  Instead of breaking down my work in detail and telling you step-by-step what has happened, I'm going to boil it down into two stories.  I believe these two stories say a lot about not only the past two months of my life, but also what I think will define my two years of service when I'm looking back on them years from now.  The first one takes place over Thanksgiving and the other a few days before Christmas.  The road is long and might get a little bumpy, but this is one post that I really hope you read in its entirety because I might not get any closer to summing up my service in one post than I do right here.

Thanksgiving is a special time of year for volunteers here in Senegal.  It's one of the events for which people who work at the Embassy choose to open up their homes to volunteers emerging from the deepest corners of the Senegalese bush.  To participate, those who want to host say how many people they would like and volunteers submit their name and any lodging preferences or requirements.  Volunteers are matched with hosts by a branch of the Embassy called the Community Liaison Office or CLO.  

Last year, I chose not to participate in this event.  I figured that I already lived in Dakar, why would I need an American homestay family?  On top of that, one of the groups I was working with at the time had requested a meeting the evening of Thanksgiving.  I ended up doing the meeting and skipping Thanksgiving 2014.  You can go back to my first post of December 2014 to refresh your memory on how that turned out.  Determined not to make the same mistake again, I figured I would at least sign up this year.  

Sometimes, there is a shortage of homestays available compared to the amount of volunteers who want to come to Dakar to celebrate.  Considering that nearly 100 volunteers were expected to be in Dakar for the event, it's not surprising.  I signed up expecting to be politely asked to drop the homestay idea and find other lodging (i.e. stay with my Senegalese family) for the duration of the holiday.  That's fine.  After all, most volunteers live much tougher day-to-day lives at site than me.  When an opportunity like this comes along, it's only fair that they should get the spots before me.  I was prepared to take the rejection with grace.  

A couple weeks before Thanksgiving, people started receiving their e-mails introducing them to their American homestay family or visiting PCV.  One by one, the people that I asked informed me that they had been successfully placed.  I, however, continued to wait.  One week before, on November 18th, there was an e-mail from the CLO. The e-mail read "This email serves as the introduction between our wonderful Peace Corps volunteers and our generous homestay hosts." Great!  I did get placed.  That's good news.  It continued, "Due to the fact that the host in this case is Ambassador Zumwalt, please note that the communication will be between you and the house manager."  Wait.  What was that?  "The host in this case is Ambassador Zumwalt" I'm staying with the U.S. Ambassador to Senegal? I, admittedly, initially felt a bit of apprehension.  It just seemed like more responsibility than I wanted at the time.  I just wanted to have a relaxing few days away from stresses like work and public transportation not worry about making a good impression for all of Peace Corps Senegal. The forces of the universe also seemed to conspire a little bit to offer me a way out as there was a work conference in a fancy beach town called Saly that I could have gone to.  At the end of the day, the opportunity to stay at an Ambassador's residence was simply too good of a chance to pass up.  I made plans to go over on Wednesday and leave Saturday and spend some quality time with friends in between.

I arrived on Wednesday with 4 bags in hand.  Two were my personal bags.  One was full of potatoes and other ingredients that I would use for the dish I was bringing to the potluck on Thanksgiving day.  The final was full of fruit that was a gift for the host as is custom in Senegal.  I stepped into what is, by American standards, a very nice house.  By Senegalese standards, though, it is a mansion.  It includes a back yard and front yard both with grass, an outdoor pool, a piano, a massive kitchen with 3 ovens, satellite TV, and 3 floors of bedrooms, living areas, and bathrooms fit for any foreign dignitary that might be passing through.  After being greeted by the house manager and the ambassador himself, I was told that we would be going out to dinner in a few hours with a couple other people from the Embassy and that I should take a few moments to unpack and settle in beforehand.  I was led up to the roof and shown an apartment that would be mine for the next 3 days complete with a washer and dryer, 2 beds, a kitchen, and a heated shower.  Even though I live relatively privileged lifestyle compared to other volunteers, each of those was a rare treat to me.  

Fast-forward to dinner, we end up going downtown to a place I hadn't even heard of called La Parilla. It's an Argentinian Steakhouse.  I get steak, medium-rare.  It's cooked perfectly.  The owner comes out to greet our table.  I feel like I'm living a head-of-state life.  Thanksgiving the next day is more great food and more quality time with other volunteers.  I feel like this is unfair.  Maybe I'll feel less guilty if I invite some folks over, I thought.  I spoke to the house manager and inviting a few friends over the next day to use the pool seemed doable.  It ended up being cloudy and cold, but we had our own private pool party at the Ambassador's residence stocked with bottles upon bottles of leftover juice from the party.  On Saturday, it was time to leave already.  I exchanged one more gift with the Ambassador.  I gave him a pencil case made of horn that one of my friends at the artisanal village gave to me.  He gave me some pastries and an invitation to return someday.  

Just chalk this up to another experience that I never thought I would have when I signed up for this.  My service, even now that I'm near its end, continues to surprise me.  In this case it was a very pleasant surprise.  In other cases, not so much.  My next story takes place several weeks after this one upon returning home from a vacation in Spain and Italy.

From December 6th until very early in the morning on the 20th, I was on vacation with my mother.  We first stopped for a few days in Barcelona, then hopped on a cruise ship that would take us to Sardinia, Sicily, Naples, Rome, and Florence or rather the nearest port to each of those places.  Cruising does have a few drawbacks that makes it not my ideal form of travelling, but it certainly has its perks as well.  We saw a lot, ate well, and had access to great facilities and activities on the boat.  It's a trip that I know neither of us regret taking.  

Alas, at around 1AM on December 20th, my plane touched down in Dakar.  The vacation was over.  I breezed through the passport check with ease.  There aren't really customs to speak of in Senegal, so getting off my plane and getting through security was easier than in the States.  I arrived in the baggage claim area to find that the previous flight was still waiting on their bags.  There were only two belts in the relatively tiny and cramped airport of Dakar and one of them was already full of bags going around that nobody seemed to want.  By the time my flight had trickled into the room and our bags started to come out about 10 minutes later, the area was positively cramped.  

For what seemed like hours, people kept filing in and bags kept emerging, but nobody would take them.  With every bag that fell on the conveyor belt, it became more and more full until each bag that slid on would simply knock another one off.  Time keeps going by and nobody is taking any bags.  I look at the clock.  2 AM.  I start to wonder if there was some major problem.  Did they load the Dakar bags on the Banjul flight and vice versa?  Why were so few people successfully retrieving their bags even after an hour?  We continue to wait in this cramped room with 2 conveyor belts and no seats.  I look at the clock again.  2:20.   Something's wrong.  I look up again.  There's some commotion.  The right bags are finally starting to come in.  Some people I recognize from my flight are receiving theirs.  A few minutes later, I see one making its way around.  Then, the other.  It's past 2:30 am and I'm exhausted, but I have all of my bags.  I leave the airport and slump into the first taxi I can find.  He quotes me a price over three times what it should be.  Oh, right, I thought, the airport sucks.  I quickly wise up, gather my bags, and leave the airport parking lot in hopes of finding a more reasonable deal.  Fortunately, the first guy I find doesn't argue much and motions for me to hop in.  I throw my bags in the back and we're on our way.

Almost immediately, I smell something all too familiar.  I look at the driver and see the blank expression on his face and I know immediately.  He is very, very drunk.  Due to it being past 3am and him not saying much during our negotiation, I hadn't noticed it until we were on our way.  By the time I did notice it, he was speeding down the open road and I no longer had a chance of getting out.  Welp, I figured, I'm in this for the long haul.  I point out cars and barriers that he's about to hit hoping that he's paying attention to me.  I do my best to get him to slow down without angering him as his behavior becomes more and more erratic.  As soon as I can, I ask him to turn down a side street.  If he's taking me home, I figure, we'll do it this way so he can't get going too fast.  The strategy, miraculously, works.  We make it home without injuring ourselves or anyone else.  I throw the money at him and practically sprint inside.  I open the door, put my bags down, and collapse on the bed as my adrenaline high wears off.  I muster the energy to get changed into some more comfortable clothes and plug in my computer so it would be ready tomorrow morning.  I find both of my checked bags, but as I'm checking the corners of my room I realize, my backpack is not there.  I left it in the drunk man's taxi.

In my haste, I figured I must have forgotten my backpack in the car.  I literally sprint out to an open square where taxis hang out near my house hoping to find him there.  I see a car that seems to acknowledge me, honk, and drive away.  It's past 3:30am at this point, I'm on my second adrenaline rush of the past hour, and I have no idea what to make of this situation.  Is he messing with me?  Does he know that I have my bag and is egging me on to chase after him?  I tell the other folks hanging around the area what happened and they say, 'you have to hire another taxi and chase after him!'.  Am I about to get into a car chase at nearly 4am with a drunk guy who could pass out at any moment?  At that moment, we see the car slow down and turn around.  Thank goodness.  Maybe he's wising up.  He comes back and pulls up in front of me.  I open up the door.  The bag isn't there.  The driver isn't there.  It's not the right car.  I've lost him.  I slink back to my room fully aware of what this means.  The people helping me told me to file a police report and make some announcements.  They were sure it would come back.  I think we both know, though, that bag is gone.

Just to give some context of what is in this bag and why it's so important, I'll highlight a few of the most important items in the bag.  First, my wallet.  There was no money in there.  I keep the money separate.  There was, however, my driver's license, social security card, and a couple credit cards.  There were various souvenirs and documents from the trip with sentimental value.  The big one, though, was my computer.  It wasn't just my computer, but also my backup hard drive.  Both were in the backpack, both gone.  Those two hard drives held not only a lot of personal information,, but also all of the work that I was doing for Peace Corps at the time.  The artisanal village catalog was backed up nowhere else.  In losing that bag, I basically go back to square one in a lot of my work for Peace Corps which, with only 4 months left, simply did not seem to make sense.  Coming back to my room at that point was probably the lowest point in my service.  I wanted nothing more to do with this country.  I was prepared to leave as soon as possible.  Before going to bed, I figure, however, that I need to cover all of my bases before making such a decision.  There was the first taxi that I got into that I could check.  Perhaps it had gotten turned back in to the airport somehow.  There was also a police report to file to attempt to find it.  I go to sleep around 4 am with all of these thoughts and the threat of my service being abruptly ended in my head.

I wake up peacefully for a moment.  I look at the clock.  6:45.  The wave of terror slowly comes back over me.  I couldn't sleep any more than that.  I do the only thing I could do.  Go to the airport and do my due diligence before filing this report.  I arrive at the airport around 8:30 and ask around until I find the place to claim lost baggage.  I get there and see nothing resembling my bag.  I am asked where exactly I left it.  Well, I thought, I had it when I picked up my two checked bags because I remember how heavy it was feeling after waiting for an hour and a half.  The only other time I could have left it is the final scanner before you leave.  In this airport, you must put all of your bags, checked and carry-on, through one final scanner before leaving the airport.  Perhaps, in my dazed state, I simply didn't pick up the backpack.  I am led to the room where they keep the bags claimed by customs or left at the customs station.  No dice.  The bag isn't here.  I thank the men for their help and, downtrodden, turn to leave the airport when the man stops me and points another bag out that is sitting behind a desk.  For some reason, they had pulled it aside and kept it in a separate place.  I open the front pocket and take out what's inside.  My ID.  This is it.  I could have collapsed right there in the airport the sense of relief was so great.  That is how, in the case of about 8 hours from 1am to 9am on Sunday, December 20th, I went to the brink and back.

This second story reminds me of many other low points in my service.  At times, this country has beat me down until I couldn't handle it anymore, then failed to deliver the deciding blow.  When you are a volunteer here, you get broken down and built up so much.  Senegal has the power to do this rapidly, even within the same week, within the same day, or within the same breath.  I can't help but think that it's the same for other Peace Corps posts.  However, Peace Corps Senegal also offers so many opportunities.  Just about anything is possible.  There is one thing that isn't possible, though.  That is leaving this country as the same person that came here.  If you stay here for an extended period and especially if you do your full term in Peace Corps, you will get broken down.  You will get rebuilt.  You will change.  For every story that terrifies you, though, like mine with the hours in baggage claim and the drunk driver and almost losing my bag, there's another one like mine with the Ambassador.  Unforgettable, irreplaceable, and only possible in a place like this.  While the good times don't always help you get through the bad ones, the bad ones always help you appreciate the good ones and appreciate how many good ones there were back home.  

These two stories are so representative of my service because they represent nearly the full range of emotions one experiences here.  There are the highs like wonderful vacations, great food, and meeting your ambassador.  There are also the lows of horrible overcrowding (this, I admit, is a Dakar specific criticism), isolation, and lost bags.  There are frustrations when you think the hard part is over (getting away from the drunk driver) and quickly realize it has just begun (realizing the bag was gone).  Above it all, though, there's the sense of relief, of overwhelming relief and accomplishment, when, somehow, against all odds, everything turns out OK.  Maybe not everyone will agree with me on this assessment, but, to me, this is the closest I can come to summing up my experience in two stories.

The Station Agent

When I started this blog, I noticed most of the other Peace Corps blogs hit a point where the owner seemed to hit a roadblock.  Posts became infrequent or stopped altogether.  For some, this happens almost immediately after just one or two posts.  For most, it happens after about a year.  For some resilient few, it takes most of their service for the blog to fall behind.  Sitting here having lived now 19+ months in Senegal, I think I've hit that roadblock.  I said to myself at the beginning that I would keep up with it, that I wouldn't be like all the other blogs.  At a certain point, though, a blog about "My life in Senegal" becomes simply a blog about "My life".  Senegal drops from the equation because it becomes the norm.  When you first start living in a foreign country, it's a whirlwind of new experiences that you want to share with the people of the country you recently left.  After some time, things become normal.  You don't feel the need to share experiences that might interest, surprise, or even shock people in your old home because they feel normal to you, nothing special.  The world around you slows down, but time seemingly speeds up.  Next thing you know, you've blinked and it's been nearly 2 months since your last blog post.  I suppose this is what happens when you fall into a rhythm and stop encountering new things every day.  Life might be a little less stressful and scary, but time also seemingly goes by much quicker.

I'm squarely in the process of looking for what I'm going to do after Peace Corps except that I'm not looking for anything right now.  I'm not applying to graduate school anymore, something that I had been planning since January.  After working through a list of over 20 schools and narrowing it down to 5 where I felt like I had a decent shot of getting accepted at, I just realized that none of the schools felt right right now.  I decided to wait.  For jobs, I can't really apply for jobs that are looking to fill the position right now.  I've kind of resigned myself to coming to the States with no job prospects, although, I'm not without a backup plan.

It's been another fun and interesting couple of months.  I participated in the Girls' Camp that you may have seen pictures of in early September.  I took a brief trip to Toubacouta to see the beautiful river scenery there and the plankton that light up the water at night.  I survived my second Tabaski in country.  After Tabaski, I was in a haze of not wanting to do any work, basically like the rest of the country, that delayed several of my projects by a couple weeks.  I don't really regret that, though.  My philosophy with funks like that has been to just allow myself to go through them and trust that I'll come out on the other side in tact.  I think that mindset has served me well again.  I'm back in the swing of things in Dakar, working in the mornings, returning home for lunch around 1:30 and working out in the evenings.  I am trying, however, to break this routine as much as possible mainly in the name of this city guide that I'm updating along with several volunteers that should provide vital information to future volunteers on transportation, shopping, restaurants, and more.  It's basically like a travel guide for Peace Corps Volunteers.  There was a version created in 2009, but Dakar changes so rapidly that a lot of things already need to be updated.  This means that there are many new restaurants to try and places to go.  Already in the past couple of weeks, I've found an American-style restaurant that does good Mexican food kind of like a Chili's and an Ethiopian restaurant wonderful for vegetarians.  There are a lot of hidden gems out there as Dakar is a very multicultural city and I intend to find as many as I can in the name of the city guide.

I have a vacation planned from December 9th to the 19th and I'm planning on spending Christmas on some beach here in Senegal.  Until then, I don't have much planned, although I'll try to get out of Dakar once or twice during that time.  In a few weeks, another group of volunteers will finish their service and then it won't be long before my very own replacement stumbles off of the airplane into his/her new home.

Walk the Line

Love.  Freedom.  Knowledge. Change. These are the 4 main pursuits that make up my pursuit of happiness.  Every so often, I must check to make sure I still have these things.  Are people, activities, or things that I love present enough in my life?  Am I free to pursue my own areas of interest and shape my own life?  Am I continuing to seek practical and recreational sources of knowledge?  Am I still being presented with new situations and challenges?  If I answer no to one or more of these questions, I must reconsider my situation and wonder if it is time to make a change.  That is the question I'm currently faced with.  Is it time?  I must say that, at this point, I truly don't know.

When I last left you, Ramadan was winding down and I was preparing for a long stretch of travel to both Thies and Ziguinchor.  Now, I find myself on the other side of all that travel with a huge pile of laundry to do and a camera full of photos.  Fortunately for you, I'll only be able to share one of those things with you, so let's get down to business and talk about my stay in Thies for PST2.

PST2 is the second of two main "pre-service" trainings that new volunteers receive.  PST2 was formerly (and more accurately) called IST or In-Service Training as it takes place approximately 3 months after volunteers are installed at their sites.  PST2 is typically a more technical training focusing less on language and culture and more on preparing for work.  PST2 lasts about 2 weeks and I was there for all but one weekend of it this year.  I lead a class on Business Etiquette and another on Marketing, but I suppose the bulk of my responsibilities there involved providing insight on how to teach the entrepreneurship training curriculum we use and helping grade the volunteers' practical examinations which involved teaching mock classes and writing fake business plans.  The training went well, I suppose, but it's certainly not something I'd like to be in charge of.  Regardless, it was good to get to know the newest group of volunteers and help them prepare for work in their communities.

After PST2 ended, I had 4 days in Dakar before embarking on a journey due south to a city few volunteers are able to see, Ziguinchor.  This trip was completely paid for by the US Embassy through a program called Access English.  Every summer, the Access English program holds 5-day summer camps for the best English students in particular areas.  In addition to Ziguinchor, camps were also held in places like Thies, Louga, and several neighborhoods in Dakar.  Camps are led by a combination of Peace Corps Volunteers and local English teachers and run campers through a variety of activities conducted entirely in English.  For this camp, I worked with another Peace Corps Volunteer, a Fulbright Scholar, and 4 local English teachers and we accommodated about 60 students. 

Our work began on Friday morning with a meeting in Dakar of all of the teachers and PCVs involved in the camps from all the regions.  This camp involved some discussion of logistics, but mainly was our first chance to meet the teachers with whom we would be working.  For most of the day, we shared ideas on what the camp would look like and heard about what the camp was like last year.  By the end of the day, we had a solid idea of what to expect and had a rough outline of what each day of the camp would hold.  We didn't have much time to relax and catch up with our friends in town for the meeting, though, as the boat departed that night.

The boat takes about 15 hours to get from the port in Dakar to the port in Ziguinchor and, as this one was scheduled to depart at 8pm, it was inevitably going to be an overnight trip.  Fortunately, the Embassy purchased us a cabin seat instead of a regular seat which means we got our own bed for the journey in what can be described as a dorm-style room.  There was just enough room for 2 sets of bunk beds and a bathroom.  It might sound quaint for you American travelers, but for us used to traveling in Sengal, it was truly upper-class living.  The night on the boat was restful and the morning was, sadly, dull and gray which meant no sunrise.  With a slight amount of disappointment and a heap of eagerness, we departed the boat at about 10:30 AM on Saturday and quickly headed to the house of a teacher who would be hosting us for the week.

We had a planning meeting with the rest of the teachers the next day and prepared to begin welcoming campers at 9am on Monday.  I woke up at about 7am on Monday and it was raining.  I get ready, read a bit, and grab some breakfast and it's still raining.  I get ready to walk to the high school at 8:30, but the teacher insists we wait a bit because it's still raining.  At 9:10 we leave the house and walk over arriving 10 minutes later.  Rain in Senegal, unlike rain in America, is impactful enough to cancel many activities and, at the very least, slows them down.  As much as I didn't like being late, I just had to accept that I wasn't in control and grin and bear it. 

Day 1 eventually did get rolling and we focused mainly on icebreakers, dividing the students into 5 teams, introducing the camp, and establishing the rules.  We decided that we'd be able to get more done the next day since it rained so much on Day 1.  I woke up at 7am on Tuesday and it was raining.  Such is life in the Casamance.  Day 2 was similar to Day 1 although we weren't quite as late.  We played a Jeopardy!-like game with them and the teams made their first round of presentations which included an explanation of their team names and mottos.  At the end of Day 2, we decided that we had better make 2 lesson plans for the next day.  One if it's raining and one if it's sunny.  I woke up at 7am on Wednesday and the sun was shining through the window.  On Day 3, we finally got to leave the classroom and do some outdoor activities which were essentially the same activities that you'd see at a field day in elementary school.  This day in the camp focused more on fun than English, but really both were important to this camp.  On Day 4, it was again sunny, so we split the time between indoor and outdoor activities.  On Friday (Day 5), it was time for the students to make 2 sets of presentations that they had been preparing.  The first was a cultural presentation that talked about some aspect of the culture of Senegal or their particular ethnic group.  The second was a talent show with the theme "He who speaks many languages is never lost" which is simply and English translation of a Wolof proverb.  These performances were followed by a brief party and good-byes.  By the end of camp, I know I was emotionally worn out from dealing with 60 kids despite the fact that I had a lot of people working with me.  Looking back, that camp was one of the cooler and most fun things I've done as part of my Peace Corps work.  I'm very glad that I decided to participate.

Our boat didn't leave until Sunday morning, so we decided to spend Saturday in a nearby touristy beach town called Cap Skirring.  The ride to and from Cap Skirring is stunning as it's filled with little villages, rice fields, and tons of trees.  Once we arrived, we set up shop at the beach in front of one of the hotels and spent the morning relaxing by and swimming in the water.  We returned to the hotel for lunch and relaxed a little more discussing the happenings of the previous week. After a wonderful, relaxing day, we returned to Ziguinchor that night.  Our boat left at noon on Sunday and we arrived back in Dakar early Monday morning tired from another long journey, but satisfied with how the week had turned out.

Overall, Ziguinchor is a nice little Senegalese city.  I must say that there's not a ton to do there besides going to a hotel on the river and having a drink or a bite to eat unless you're staying with a host family.  Those restaurants on the river are pretty nice, though, and I'd probably be willing to make the trip back from Dakar just to enjoy the ample foliage and beautiful river sunsets.  Cap Skirring is on the ocean, which is a plus, but is also really touristy.  I think I would certainly rather stay in Zig and take a day trip to Cap than the other way around.  Anyway, that was my trip to Ziguinchor.  I've thrown a few pictures at the end of this post to give you an idea of what I was looking at.  After so much time away from Dakar, I actually found myself eager to return to the city and my room and eager to get back to work.  We'll see how long that lasts.  Talk to you soon.

 A boat sails towards the sunset after a day at work on the Casamance River.

 This is the neighborhood we stayed at while in Ziguinchor.

 Class photo on the last day of camp.

 Patio at a hotel overlooking the ocean in Cap Skirring.

 The road from Cap Skirring to Ziguinchor.

500 Days of Summer

It's been (approximately) 500 days since I arrived in Senegal.  It's not quite time to start worrying about post-Peace Corps life, but it's time to start weighing my options.  It's not quite time to start thinking about how to wrap up my work and what impact I had, but it's time to start making an exit strategy and setting deadlines.  The end isn't quite in sight, but I know that it's just over the next hill.  I think I wrote in a post several months ago something along the lines of "I need to finish my service, but, when it's over, I'll be ready."  I find that that still holds true for me.  There are still things for me here, but when my time's up, I'm going to be ready to go home.

Lots of things have happened over the past couple months as my work has shifted from that of a consultant, advising business owners on certain problems and situations, to that of a trainer, teaching prospective entrepreneurs the skills they need to start and manage their own business.  It's been an interesting, but welcome transition as I don't need to gather and organize groups of students for the classes anymore.  That's all done by the local Youth Employment agency called ANPEJ.  All I do is coordinate with them on details and teach.  It's not ideal and there are some negative consequences, but it's overall a decent situation.  Other than teaching, I'm still planning on resuming English activities and activities with the Artisanal Village once Ramadan is over and I also have some training/internal responsibilities as Work Zone Coordinator, so I'm still keeping some other work besides teaching.  There's certainly not as much freedom as I once had, but a little bit of stability isn't a bad thing either.

In other news, I'm (partially) fasting for Ramadan this year.  The typical rule is no food, no water, sunup to sundown.  For my own health and sanity, I adjusted that a bit.  Basically, my rule is no caloric intake between 5:30 AM and 7:30 PM.  That means water is OK.  I'm finding that it gets easier if you stick with it and either stay busy or commit to sleeping all day.  I'm typically not able to do the latter, so staying busy works on most days.  It's not exactly fun, but I feel like it does change your body in some way.  It had me looking up the benefits and theories behind intermittent fasting.  I doubt I'll be trying it, but I at least have some perspective on it now.

Over the past 2 months, I've felt at times very much a part of the volunteer community, like I'm part of the family.  At other times, though, I've felt like my service will always have an asterisk next to it. 

* But he lives in Dakar.

During my VV in April 2014, the volunteer that I replaced warned me about this feeling.  He said people might not respect my service.  They might say things like "Posh Corps" or might assume that you're all play and no work.  I find that people aren't that direct with those types of criticisms.  Instead, I can feel that people just attach that little asterisk on everything I do and everything I say.  It's rarely, if ever, a malicious thing.  For some, it doesn't mean much at all.  For others, it means I can't relate to their life or the lives of other volunteers.  I suppose there's a certain amount of truth to it in that regard.  In Senegal, volunteers live in work at sites at varying levels of urbanization but Dakar stands alone.  Does that mean I should put an asterisk next to my Peace Corps service on my resume?  I'm not sure if I need to go that far, but I think it does mean that I can never really relate to other volunteers on a certain level.  There are simply some things that I don't get to experience.  That's an unfortunate truth, but I still feel like I have a lot to offer the Peace Corps Senegal community.  Even if an asterisk is put next to my name, I hope that I'll still be able to have my thoughts heard and not be judged based on where I was placed.

Other than that, lots of exciting things coming up.  Ramadan will be over soon, then I help out with training the Health/CED stage that arrived 4 months ago.  After that, I'm in Ziguinchor for an English camp that I'm very excited about.  All the while, I'll be working on the artisanal goods catalog, starting work on my grad school applications, and doing whatever other odd tasks or opportunities come my way.  We're coming down the home stretch now and I plan to make the most of the time I have left. 

We're No Angels

Things have continued to roll along over the past month and change.  The biggest development is that my father came to visit me for 8 days over June 1st to the 9th.  Rather than me telling you about what we did, I figured we'd get a new perspective.  I asked him to write a little bit, about 500 words or so, on his experience and observations.  He gave me over 4000.  In the end, my desire to post his unedited, unabridged thoughts overrode my desire to keep these blogs to a manageable, readable length.  Below is exactly what he sent me.




"As I worked my way off the plane and through customs, there was no way I could have realized what I was about to experience, although I was certain I did know. I had turned 60 in the air over the Atlantic Ocean, on my way to Dakar, Senegal to visit my son. At that age, one thinks he knows much about life.


Seeing Eric for the first time in over 5 months was thrilling! I was looking forward to him showing me the sights and sounds as he experiences life in Senegal in general and Dakar in particular. He told me that we would leave the waiting area there to hail a cab at a place that would be more reasonably priced. My first experience there was to watch him negotiate with a cabbie in Wolof and agree on something, none of which I understood. “Get in”, he said, and off we went. Early on a Monday morning, we went from the airport to Yoff, where he lives. Traffic was not too bad, but I couldn’t help but notice the lack of stoplights.


Upon arrival, we decided to go to La Brioche Doree, a bakery chain, to get some breakfast. While walking, I started to get a better feel for the life people live there. Several people exclaimed, “Gouda” as we walked along, and my son greeted them. This is his Senegalese name. I am not sure what I expected, but I know that as I walked with him and watched him communicate with people, I was amazed at how easily he talked in Wolof and French to help us accomplished what we came to do, all the while, explaining to me in English what was said and expected. His talent in languages is undeniable. My first experience with Senegalese food was two cinnamon twists, and they were very, very good.


We returned to Eric’s apartment, two rooms and a bathroom (rustic is a good description) to rest up in preparation of meeting his current host family for lunch. I napped while he worked. When it was time for lunch (2p.m. is typical), we went upstairs, and I met the family, Mdme. Cisse, Msre. Diop, Bitee, Pop, their baby, and some others. (a disclaimer for Eric – I know I probably spelled every name wrong! – please forgive me! Eric has complete respect for his hosts and their culture to the extent that he expects to communicate with them correctly. I do not know how to do so right now, beyond what I have written). We sat in a circle around a communal bowl of (again I hope I get this right), Thiebba – jen (pronounced Chebba-Jen), the national dish of Senegal. On a bed of flavored rice, there is fish, vegetables, spiced dip and other things that I cannot remember. You reach in with your spoon and eat as much as you wish in your area of the bowl. Always eat with your right hand. It was delicious! All the while, there was talk and discussion, with Eric in the middle translating for me and communicating with them. How does he do that???!!!!??


The plan was for us to stay the night in Ngor, which is closer to the ex-pat area of Dakar. We got a cab and off we went. Now until this point, we had travelled early in the morning or walked. It was now evening, and life’s intensity had picked up considerably. This cab ride was a step up in what I was to realize was an ever increasing challenge in transportation challenges. More on this later. We walked down an extremely busy road looking for some place to eat. We got dinner at Planet Kabob. A fast food place. I had a Big Mac type burger and fries that McDonald’s could have produced, and then we walked back to our hotel. Accommodations included a mosquito net, which was inconvenient, but essential. So far so good! My first day was complete! One observation – during our morning, I noticed the horse drawn carts, two wheeled apparatuses that tended to carry goods everywhere. One in particular caught my eye. The driver had jury-rigged a rearview mirror on the horse’s head so he could keep an eye on traffic coming up behind him. This was the only one I saw on a horse, and as I witnessed throughout my travel, I do not believe I would have wanted to know what was coming up behind me if I was driving one. They are slower, thus always in the process of being passed…closely!!!


The next day, we were to meet a driver and travel to Zebrabar near St. Louis, with a break midday in Thies (Chez), so I could see where Eric had trained. St. Louis (San Louis) is in the northern coastal region of Senegal, and it was to take ~4 hours not including the stop. Again, travel observations were to dominate my thoughts. We headed for the toll road, but to get there we had to go through a place where a bridge was being replaced. This meant going through a roundabout that was PACKED! Cars were so close, it would have been difficult to open the door. People, nonetheless, walked in between the cars offering items for sale. This is a main road…..imagine a traffic jam on Broad St. with pedestrians walking in between lanes of traffic…..it was insane in my view, but apparently quite normal here. There were some pedestrian bridges over the roadway, but people still walked/ran across the road.


As we moved along, eventually we got to the toll road and travel was much more like what we experience in the US….high speed, little traffic and open spaces! We got to the end of the toll roads and headed up the N2, a major north/south highway, and went north. Before long, we came to a speed bump. Signage looking like a pregnant snake warned us about the bump ahead. All along the route in strategic areas, there was the speed bump, over and over, keeping us from traveling at maximum efficiency, making us slow down for pedestrians and market areas along the way. The road is a two (and a half) lane highway shared by busses, cars of varying capabilities, trucks and horse carts…..and pedestrians too. Passing is something done often and is essential to helping the car move forward at a reasonable rate of progress. Passing is done at any time it is safe to do so. It appeared to me that it was always safe to pass. I am sure the driver was being careful though…..hey, we didn’t hit anything or anyone, even though it was quite close, particularly in the villages/towns along the way.


On the way to Thies, we passed “Mango Row”, where there were what seemed to be 50 separate vendors along the side of the road. ALL of them were selling mangoes. Talk about competition! Something I forgot about regarding the driving in Dakar…..lanes are a suggestion. The direction you are driving in can, at times, be optional if you are stuck in traffic. On occasion, we witnessed cars going the wrong direction in a particular lane. One of those times, we were almost in the car doing so. We were also in a small bus that had no issue driving in the dirt area on the side of the main road because the road was packed and it was the only way to get ahead. More on those busses later.


We got close to St. Louis and started looking for the signs to Zebrabar, which was to be our stayplace for the next three nights. We turned off the main road, turned off that road to a dirt/sand road, turned on another similar road, and another……..we finally came to a village named Mouit, took a right, went over a “bridge” and pulled into Zebrabar. It was everything as advertised. We had a building overlooking the river with a front porch and two “lounge chairs” (quotes because one was cobbled together from a sling chair and a table.). We were told, “do not feed the monkey.” As we checked in. Dinner, they said, would be around 7 – 8. As I was a bit hungry, I decided to eat a snack while Eric took some time to explore our surroundings. The very second I opened the snack, who should appear there on the front porch with me but a monkey the size of a large dog. He was not particularly aggressive, but he was not concerned with me either. He did like my snack…..but he wasn’t getting any….. This was my first encounter with him.


The next day, we wanted to see the local area around Zebrabar, so Eric negotiated a boat trip to Bird Island and to the land area across the river, which was a barrier island of sorts. After a ride of about 30 minutes, we got to the “island”. It was not too big, and I could then understand why we had been told we would not be able to get out and walk on the island…..it was barely above water level and full…..full of birds. There were pelicans, sea gulls, king fishers and others I did not recognize. I had hoped to see pink flamingos, but they were not around. We then went up the opposite shoreline and walked a wide, deserted beach for about 10 minutes. No people……none anywhere. Strange to me.


At dinner the night before, we had met Sebastian Von Zul (I think I have his name right- there should be two dots over the u in his last name). He was from London, but his heritage was from South Africa. He was biking from Morocco to as far as he could get with the money he had, and he was blogging as he went. I wondered what kind of motorcycle he was riding, and asked. Turns out he was riding a bike. I tried to fathom him doing so, and he told us about his trek so far, in particular through some areas where he had to make it from town to town each day and camp out at the police stations for safety. It was really nice to have someone to communicate with in English, and I think Eric was glad he did not have to translate for me for a while. Sebastian shared a bit of his edited blog film. It was very well done and set to the music of Bob Dylan! It struck me that he and Eric were both on adventures and enduring things I had not ever considered so they could experience the continent of Africa.


The next day we went into St. Louis by Car Rapide, which is a bus-like creature designed to provide relatively inexpensive travel between points. Those of you who have read Eric’s blog have gotten a description of these modes of transport, so I will not go into detail other than to say that if you are at all claustrophobic, never, ever consider this as a way to get around. I found myself wanting to hang off the back of the bus as I had admonished Eric not to ever do when I had no earthly idea what I was talking about, but thought I did. The extra space would have been welcome.


St. Louis is a “resort” area. There were parts there that we relatively clean and well kept, but, and I will only discuss this one time, the trash in other areas was overwhelming. This was not my first encounter with trash, nor would it be my last, but here, it was particularly overwhelming in areas. I considered it to be a shame. Later that night, I expressed that thought, and both Eric and Sebastian talked about it in such a way as to help me understand that it was sort of like a “status” symbol for middle class living in a way. If you were poor, you did not waste anything and used all parts of items for whatever purposes you might be able to. If you were rich, you could afford to handle the trash in a sanitary way. If you were middle class, you did not have the means to do so, but you also had enough say so in your life that you did not have to worry about the trash. Trash is not everywhere, but where it is, they have it in abundance. The highlight of this excursion for me was a small creperie (a place that makes crepes) that Eric was eager to revisit. I had a citrus with sucre crepe and coffee. It tasted so good….it was worth the trip there.


One of the “surprises” of the trip to Zebrabar was the food. Every night, we were offered (at a price of course) a dinner that was exceptional and desert. Every night it was well worth the price. Every morning we could have breakfast there, and we did for two of our mornings. Eric indicated how good it was, but he wanted to try the local village for breakfast one morning. That day, I had a baguette filled with spaghetti and onion sauce. It was delicious, and not at all what I would have considered for breakfast, but very common in Senegal. We also had the ability to go to the cooler and get a beer or cold drink (again at a cost) any time we wanted. We sat at the common area and had a beer often during our stay, and it was a highlight for me that it was quiet, calm, peaceful…..an oasis!


The next morning, we were to travel back to Dakar (my friend made one last attempt to get to my food at breakfast….the monkey made a mad dash at our table, with two table top footprints bearing witness to how close he got- but we successfully fought him off by yelling, and then the dogs came to do their job). We arranged for a car to take us back to Eric’s home away from home. I was about to get my education in life there, while simultaneously experiencing a true oasis, grander than Zebrabar, the Radisson Blu. As we got into Dakar, I began to appreciate more and more how tight traffic is there. All seems to be chaos and mayhem…..anarchy! But everyone seems to handle it as if it is expected, and indeed to the citizens of Dakar, that is exactly what it is. I was the visitor there, and it would be quite American of me to judge them. They have their ways, and those ways serve them as well as any others. Although I saw some frayed nerves at times, for the most part people get to where they are going. I saw lots of fenders that were bent, but I only saw one accident in my whole time there…..and it did not involve any taxis. In context of how close traffic is in the roundabouts and along the busiest of the roads we travelled, that was a miracle.


I will only talk about our accommodations at the Radisson in this paragraph. It was far removed from what I saw as the daily life there. It was a treat for my son. Air conditioning, a hot shower, a comfortable bed……all things that he has sacrificed to be able to serve his adopted country……and he tells me that he has advantages that other Peace Corps volunteers do not have. I am in awe of his dedication to helping the Senegalese people, and the skill with which he does so. Absolute awe. As I arrived back in the US, I was in the customs line with a United Airlines pilot who was from West Africa, and I told him how blessed I was to have a son who could give up the things he does to help those who he could help in Senegal. Everywhere we went, and in particular when he began to speak in Wolof, it was apparent that those he was trying to help truly appreciated him, and respected him for learning their language so well. They all considered him to be Senegalese. If you ask him about his efforts, he will not explain them in such lofty ways. He is there to do a job, and as far as I could see, he does it well. But in combination with the sacrifices he makes in the way he lives, so he can experience the same life many of the citizens of Dakar do, makes him exceptional in my book. To finish the paragraph, the Radisson was exceptional and beautiful.


The first adventure in Dakar was to go to Goree Island, also known as Slave Island, because it was a key launching point for the slave traders to sell their “wares” and see them off. The island is a unique combination of museums, artists, restaurants and hawkers selling every kind of trinket imaginable. But I get ahead of myself. To get to the island, you have to take a ferry. As we got there at the boarding area, it was obvious that a large number of school classes had chosen this day to go to the island as well. They were lined up to get on the boat, and I thought to myself that it would take at least 5 hours to get through the line. It was at this point that one of the workers there apparently understood our situation (either that or Eric had somehow made it known to him), and he began to lead us up to the front of the line in this mass of people. For the next 20 minutes, we were in the middle of a…….I don’t know the right word. All of us where packed together trying to get through a small opening. At some points, we were held back and whole classes were allowed to move forward while we stood there holding against the rest of the crowd. Eventually, we were allowed through. Again, if you are claustrophobic, do not attempt this trip. As we got on the ferry, a very nice woman addressed me in English, welcoming me to Senegal and said, “when you get to the island, please come see my shop!” I would learn what these words meant as the day, and all my days in Dakar and its markets, progressed. This is the hawker’s favorite way to get you to look at their wares. This particular woman waited close by as we ate, even coming over to the table twice to remind us we had said we would come buy something from her (which of course, we never said). She would eventually get her way. Persistence is part of the tactics.


Once on the island, we began to move around to see the sights. I bought some more gifts; we had lunch; we toured a slave house and got a guide to tell us about some of the stories of the island. I was appalled at the conditions and the stories told about the slave trade. Man’s inhumanity to man is the only way to describe and consider how the new slaves were treated. I took a couple of pictures of the “door to nowhere”, the last thing the slaves would see as they were packed onto boats for the trip to their destination, be it America, South America or elsewhere. We saw a natural history museum describing the rise of civilization in Africa…..all in French. I did the best I could. I did not want to ask Eric to have to translate everything I saw!! He, of course, was in his element. We came back to the hotel to relax.
The next day, we started for the lighthouse and the African Renaissance Monument. The lighthouse is one of Eric’s favorite places in Dakar, and I could see why. It was another quiet haven amidst the craziness of Dakar. There are beautiful views of the entire city, and you get a true sense of how large Dakar really is. I saw a story on MSN about the monuments and places you simply must see before you go to the next life. The African Renaissance Monument was very high on the list. I agree. It is an awesome structure. You can see it from almost anywhere in the city proper. Climbing the steps to it, I had to rest twice. Once we got to the top, I looked up at a 16 story tall sculpture that dwarfed everything. What more can I say? Wow! Eric then took me to see the US Embassy and we went to a place on the western most point of Africa for lunch. For the finishing touch, we went to meet a group of people who get together every week to play Ultimate Frisbee and socialize. I got to see Eric play this game he has loved for a long time, for the first time! I am so glad he has this outlet and group of friends to visit with. Another day down……..last day coming up.


Oh, I almost forgot. While we were getting started for the day just mentioned, we walked by an artisanal village along the way, that Eric has been working with to help them market their work. The sculptures, furniture and artwork they produce are beautiful. Here they are, along a corniche (a waterside roadway) with cars travelling by all the time, and like so many other merchants there in Dakar, only a passing glance from the cars allow them to promote their merchandise. Eric is trying to help them by producing a catalogue showing what they create. One of the workers there saw Eric and offered a tour of the site for me. As he and Eric talked, you could see how much they appreciated him and respected him. I did not understand a word, and Eric did not translate anything regarding himself, but I could tell.


On my last day, the plan was to go to the southernmost point in Dakar, see the Presidential Palace, get some lunch at a spot Eric liked and go to a large market called Sandaga (not sure about the spelling). We travelled by bus and Car Rapide again. Cheap, and a true Dakar experience. Be prepared for close quarters. The point was amazing, with a rock-face cliff going straight down to ocean. Getting there was difficult, but so well worth it. While there, we saw some divers, so I suppose it was safe to swim, but if the seas were up…….no way! We walked back up another corniche past the Palace and got lunch. Then it was on the Sandaga.


As we walked along the crowded (I mean it!) sidewalks, we met a person who greeted Eric and wasn’t trying to sell us anything (“won’t you come see my shop?”). Eric indicated he has spoken with him before and that they had gotten beyond the business relationship of the place. Then we met someone else. He said, “Your son is my friend!” I thought that meant the same as the previous guy. Not exactly. Eric later explained his role. He hangs out along the walkway and determines which merchants to take a tourist to, based on what they want to buy. I suppose it is a useful service, because this market is blocks long and wide. You could look forever for a particular item. He earns “commission” from his group of shop owner friends for bring in clients. He had a good day with us. We made two rather large purchases….at least they were large for me, and I am sure he got his commission. After our purchase, he and the shop owner walked along with us for quite a way. I asked Eric if they were taking us to another place to shop, because I did not want to buy anything else. He said no, they were escorting us to our next destination, meaning a place to find transportation home. This is a Senegalese tradition and custom when you have done business together. There is a specific verb to describe it. Eric did not bother telling it to me, since I was still have trouble pronouncing the area where he lives. The Senegalese are quite hospitable, friendly and seem to have a smile on their faces a lot. Living the way they do, I find their attitudes to be a reflection of their happiness and sense of honor to their culture.


This has been much longer than I originally intended, but I could not have neglected any part of my descriptions without leaving out something worthwhile or forgetting some of my impressions. As a final statement, I want to tell you the best part of my trip; spending time with my amazing son! I thought I knew what he was experiencing and some of the sacrifices he was making, but until I saw for myself, I did not really know. I also understand that he most likely did not let me experience some of the worse sides of the life he sees day-to-day now….and yet he carries on and does his work. Only he can explain his motivations, but what I saw shows him to be dedicated to helping people, to helping them develop skills that could possibly help them be better business owners, to help them with their communication skills. He honors their culture and embraces it to a large extent. Those he comes across and talks to always have a smile on their face when the conversation ends, even if they did not sell us something or get us to do what they may have wanted us to do. He has a way about him that is a personification of what I would think the Peace Corps would want of its volunteers when they go into service. He is an amazing young man who is destined to do many things to help people live better lives. I do not know who those people are or how they will be impacted, but I know it will be for the good, and I could not be more proud of him.


Finally, I have to say what anyone who has ever lived outside of the USA will say to you. We in the USA have things so good. We are blessed beyond imagination compared to the average person in Dakar. Please remember that if nothing else of what I have written sticks with you, and if you have a chance, travel to somewhere else and pay attention to how they live. In this way, you will have a much greater appreciation of how well off we are. Remember those who serve our country in the military and the many organizations doing work to help others abroad. Because of them, people in other places get to see the best of what it means to be an American. My son is one of those people."

Thus ends the saga of my father in Senegal.  For those of you who made it down here, I hope you learned something of value from my father's recounting of his experience.  I'm not going to add any commentary of my own because you've already read plenty of my recounting of adventures in Senegal and because there isn't really any other exciting news on my end..  For those of you who might suddenly have a more positive opinion of Peace Corps volunteers or even of myself after having read that glowing review, let me remind you of the title of a classic Humphrey Bogart comedy, We're No Angels.   I'll just leave it at that until next time.

Mean Streets

Life moves pretty quickly in the mean streets of Dakar.  As soon as I got here and began to get settled, it was time to start thinking about my next step.  With the countdown to my close of service, a.k.a. COS, now under a year and running out quickly, I have to now devote a part of my attention to what I'll be doing after Peace Corps.  Similar to my attitude coming out of undergraduate, I started out with a fixation on graduate school.  In both instances, I was sure that graduate school would be my next step up until about a year out.  In both instances, when the time came to make hard choices in terms of schools and programs, I began to see the value of other options.  It's true, I've never held a real 9-5 job for more than a few months at a time and turned down internship opportunities during college so I could study abroad.  While the top MBA programs are accepting younger and younger applicants, the ones that I am looking hardest at have an average age around 27 and the extra 2 years of seasoning certainly couldn't hurt my chances at all.  Also, a nice little American life sounds really good right now.  Get a job that I don't have to take home with me.  Watch sports during the week.  See my family.  Play ultimate on the weekends.  Occasionally break routine.  I used to dread the monotony of American suburbia.  Now, I see that that type of life is what everybody is striving for and the possibility of being bored is nothing to be afraid of.  Life's only monotonous if you stop looking for adventures.  You're in complete control.

It's been a busy month for me.  It started out with what was recently renamed to Field Orientation Training (FOT) which involved trainees visiting their permanent sites for a few days before finishing training.  As I mentioned previously, I was responsible for all 3 of the volunteers being placed in the Dakar region.  The visit involved visiting the trainees' future host families, introducing them to potential project partners in their area, and introducing them to the city of Dakar.  We had 3.5 days to accomplish all of this, so everything had to be meticulously planned out ahead of time and there was a lot of running around.  Also, it was simply one person to handle, so I had to employ another volunteer in Dakar to help me.  After those 3.5 days of madness, I returned to Thies to meet the trainees in the Thies region and assist in training for a few days.  Upon completing my responsibilities there, I made my first trip to a city in the north called St. Louis.

St. Louis is the colonial capital of Senegal and is a hot tourist destination.  Unfortunately, my purposes for being there were completely work related.  Every year, Peace Corps helps to organize and event benefiting the local talibe.  Quick refresher on the talibe system, these are young boys that are sent away from their home to study the Koran under a religious leader called a marabout.  They often live in very poor conditions and have to beg for alms on the street.  So, there was a soccer tournament for the local talibe and Peace Corps set up informational booths and activities for the kids who weren't playing to participate in.  In the morning of day 1, there were fun things like coloring, name writing, or face painting and informational booths like microgardening and nutrition.  In the afternoon, there were physical activities including and obstacle course and frisbee.  I helped with the coloring activity in the morning and frisbee in the afternoon and basically ensured kids were sharing properly, that everyone was included, and that any fights that broke out were broken up quickly.  I imagine there were a couple hundred kids who came out throughout the day, so it was naturally a pretty exhausting day for me.  The next day was the actual soccer match between volunteers and the older talibe.  The talibe had homefield advantage in more ways than one and, as a result, were able to win pretty handily, but everyone had fun and it was another chance to talk to the kids and give them a chance to have fun and act like a kid for once.  It was a few days filled with talking to kids, hanging out with fellow volunteers, and getting to know a new city.  Overall, I'm very happy I signed up for this event and will be looking for more excuses to get out of Dakar in the future.

After I returned from St. Louis, I dove right into finalizing planning for the Ultimate Frisbee Tournament.  The tournament was held in Dakar on Saturday, April 18th and involved 5 teams and around 60 players.  We played a round robin, then the top 2 teams played in the final while the next 2 teams played in the 3rd place game.  I had commissioned prizes from my artisan friends for the champions, the most spirited team, and individual awards.  The individual competitions included a hammer accuracy contest, a huck distance contest, and a layout contest on a slip'n'slide.  We only had 11 players on our team (7 are on the field at a time) and played 5 games of one hour each, so I was naturally exhausted by the end of the day.  Nonetheless, I had been looking forward to that day for months and it lived up to everything I was hoping it would be.  Sunday frisbee is wonderful and I'm so thankful to be in a site where I can play frisbee every week, but it just doesn't have that same competitive edge that the tournament did.  Even though I got a little sick afterwards, I'm already looking forward to next year and hoping it can be even bigger and better than this one.

That basically brings us up to date.  Other than that, I've just been carrying on my work.  I still teach English at the ELI whenever I can.   I still meet with the women of Guediawaye every now and again and they've even started a non-profit association.  I have also recently stepped up the work in my school garden as we're starting to get a bunch of moringa leaves that need drying and processing.  I'm also still working on that product catalog for that artisanal village.  It's a long ways off, but I'm making progress.  Finally, I've started teaching entrepreneurship at the School for Tourism and Hotel Services and will start another entrepreneurship training soon.  I've been getting pressured from on high to work more in entrepreneurship and business creation, so I imagine my work will involve a lot of that from now on.  Looking towards the future, the new volunteers will be installed on the 11th and 12th of May, but I don't have any other big trips planned over the next month.  It looks like I might have to get through another few weeks of work around Dakar before my next chance to get out.

Impact

Things continue to move along here in Senegal.  All in all, it's been a pretty normal month.  I've had no new insights about my work here or about the differences in my home culture and this new one.  Those types of epiphanies don't come very often anymore.  I do still miss home a lot, though.  My perspective on time has shifted a little bit, too.  Instead of thinking in terms of how long I've been here or how long until I leave, I've started thinking in terms of how much I have time to do before I leave.  It's a product of being nearly halfway through my service and also of now seeing clear ways in which I can make an impact and a clearer vision of my role here.  For this and other reasons, my second year in Senegal figures to be quite a bit different from my first. 

There are three new CED volunteers coming to Dakar that will allow me to pass off the work that I've been doing in the distant suburbs and focus more on the things that are closest to me, geographically and emotionally.  At the same time, however, I've been receiving pressure from higher ups to do more trainings on entrepreneurship and business creation.  If you remember, I made a post a couple months ago outlining all of the things I was working on at that particular time.  Because of all these new variables, all but two of those activities will be either closed out or passed along by the middle of May.  I'm working with a brand new slate and despite getting suggestions from my bosses, it's up to me to decide how to fill it.  I suppose I'll have to write a follow up to that piece here soon.

On the home front, my host sister recently had a baby girl named Kumba.  In Senegal, one week after the baby is born, you have a naming ceremony/baptism/big party called a Ngente where the baby gets a name, the mother is honored, and everybody parties.  I took a few photos of the Ngente that I'll share with you in this album.

Back to the work side of things, I have a busy couple of weeks coming up.  The new Dakar volunteers will come to the city to visit their new homes and to see a little bit of the town starting on April 2nd.  I'm responsible for all 3 of them and, unfortunately, I only have about 4 days to show them their sites and the key areas of Dakar.  We'll be running around meeting new people that whole weekend.  Afterwards, I'll return to Thies to help out a bit more with training there until the 8th.  Then, I'll go to St. Louis for the Talibe Soccer Tournament.  I'm planning on holding an ultimate frisbee clinic up there, so that should be very interesting.  I'll finally return to Dakar on the 11th just in time to start two new entrepreneurship classes on the 16th and 17th and to attend the Frisbee Tournament on the 18th.  Work and events like that always seem to get bunched up . You might find yourself running around at top speed for 2 weeks then be twiddling your thumbs for the next 2 weeks.  You just learn to accept whatever is thrown onto your plate on any given week and take whatever sort of happiness you can from it.  Such is Peace Corps.  Such is life.

The Magnificent Seven

I was having a conversation with a friend the other day and the subject somehow got to DeMolay and the ideals that it teaches.  Recalling that time of my life got me thinking about how much, if at all, my experience with DeMolay still influences me and how much what I was taught there guides my actions today.  Out of the 5 of you who will read this post, one or two of you may not know what DeMolay is and possibly all 5 of you don't know what those "ideals" that I referred to are.  I suppose that makes our starting point for this post clear.

To give the brief, elevator pitch of DeMolay, it's a fraternity for young men aged 12-21 that seeks to help them to develop into better citizens by engaging in various activities like community service, competitions, or team-building.  It's for the most part organized and run by the youth and adults serve only as "advisors".  I joined DeMolay in October 2005 shortly after beginning my freshman year of high school.  When I joined, my social skills weren't quite developed due to weight and general awkwardness problems in middle school, but this group seemed to accept me anyway.  One of the first things you do in the process of being initiated is make a vow to live your life according to the "seven cardinal virtues".  These virtues are filial love, reverence for sacred things, courtesy, comradeship, fidelity, cleanness, and patriotism.  Those are basically what I mean when I say "ideals" in regards to DeMolay.  I'll skip the details of what I did in DeMolay and what it meant to me as that's a discussion for a different time and place.  The important part is that it was the most important and fulfilling activity that I did in high school and played a major role in my development.  Now, let's jump right to the present day.

So, as I mentioned, I've been wondering how much the teachings of DeMolay have stuck with me throughout the years.  It used to be that a day didn't go by that I didn't think about something related to DeMolay.  Now, there could be weeks when it doesn't cross my mind.  Just because it doesn't pop into my mind, though, doesn't mean that it's still not having an influence.  I can see many of the cardinal virtues reflected in my actions over here.

Filial love means love for your parents.  I think moving to Senegal has made me closer to my parents, in fact.  We talk about three times a month  on Skype and normally around an hour per session.  In addition, we stay in touch between those talks through Facebook and e-mail.  On most days, I either send or receive a correspondence with my parents.  We probably talk more now than when I was living in Charlottesville, no more than an hour away.  By extension, though, the virtue of filial love means not just loving your parents, but your family as a whole.  The distance has definitely helped me understand how important family is in a happy life.  Among the things that I miss most from the US are family dinners.

Reverence for sacred things is simply showing respect for things others hold sacred.  It doesn't mean anything about what you hold sacred nor is it saying you should hold certain things sacred.  It's basically a respect for the beliefs of others.  As a non-Muslim living in a Muslim country, this is a virtue that I practice every day.  Also, note that it doesn't say tolerance of sacred things.  This goes beyond tolerence.  Reverence is something deeper like you really try to understand how the other person feels.  Every day, I listen to the calls to prayer and see people going through their rituals.  I celebrate the holidays and have even promised to participate in the fast of Ramadan next year.  I'm not going to convert or anything, but I'm really trying to understand and respect the sanctity of the Muslim way of life. 

Courtesy is a pretty general word, so the meaning can vary from person to person.  The DeMolay texts mention courtesy toward the stranger and I think that that is the most important aspect.  If you remember from a previous post, I deal a lot with people approaching me to ask for money or to try to scam me.  I can honestly say that I've never snapped at one of these people or showed any sort of anger to these people.  I don't like the concepts of road rage or getting mad at strangers in general because you don't know the situation and moreso you don't know how you would have acted in that situation.  The text says something like "I will withhold judgement of others because, in similar circumstances, I may have acted even more unwisely than I judge them to have acted."  Anger never solved these problems anyway.  Meeting everybody with the same amount of courtesy and kindness actually reduces the amount of stress in your own life as you're more easily able to forgive perceived wrongs done to you by considering all of the possible reasons that the other person could have acted that way.  Also, I say courtesy to the stranger is the most important aspect because if you can be kind to a stranger, shouldn't it be easier to be kind to someone with whom you have a relationship?

I must admit that I struggle with comradeship at times.  I try to be true to all those who I consider "friends", but I'm also very careful with who I allow into that circle.  Since coming to Senegal, I've tried to be more generous with my friendship.  This is an area, however, that I must continue to try to improve.  I generally know how I must change my behavior, but putting those changes into practice, especially when I'm in a large group, has proved especially difficult so far.  Peace Corps has provided me and will continue to provide me with opportunities to grow, so I hope improvement in this area will come soon.

Fidelity means faithfulness or loyalty.  I see it as more like faithfulness to one's word and one's set of ideals.  Senegal is a culture where breaking one's word is not considered a big deal.  If you say you will have the work done by Thursday, it's not a big deal if it's not done until Saturday.  If you say the meeting is at 3pm, it's not a big deal to start at 5.  This is one aspect of the culture that I have promised not to put into practice myself.  I still show up to a meeting exactly when I'm told to the point that people poke fun at me for being so American in that regard.  When I say I will be somewhere or I will do something, I consider it to be a very serious commitment.  There's a Wolof proverb that says "dige bor la" which is translated to "promises are debt".  Despite many aspects of the Senegalese culture not adhering to this proverb, I try to consider each promise that I have made as a debt that must be paid and give it appropriate attention.

Cleanness is more than just showering every day.  The text says "cleanness in thought, word, and deed."  Cleanness is itself a very subjective word and I consider it to mean more like positivity than purity.  I try to be positive in my thoughts, words, and deeds towards others.  I do not engage in gossip nor will I even permit myself to think about such things.  I may say things bluntly at times, but I will not say or do anything that I know will hurt another.  Again, this is a virtue that I have yet to master, but this type of self-restraint takes time especially when it comes to restraining ones thoughts.  My thoughts, especially in regards to myself, are still far from clean and positive.

A common question in award interviews in DeMolay is "if you could remove one cardinal virtue, which one would it be?"  It's a typical "no right answer" situation that you're supposed to find a clever way to dance out of.  If I was asked this question today, I would answer patriotism without a second thought.  Patriotism, in my eyes, is an archaic virtue designed to keep homogeneous groups separate from other homogeneous groups and, indirectly, opposed to one another.  Patriotism says Americans should stick by Americans and French by French and Senegalese by Senegalese etc. As you spend time outside of your own culture, you realize that the lines between these homogeneous groups are completely imaginary.  We are all one family.  Patriotism is as archaic a virtue as bowing to the king.

So, of the seven virtues, I am still living by, or attempting to live by, six of them.  DeMolay has unquestionably shaped my current personality and worldview.  The friends I made there are brothers for life.  The ideals I learned there are ideals to live by.  It was exactly what I needed exactly when I needed it.  I'm thankful and proud to be able to call myself a DeMolay.

Wolf Children

I haven't felt the call to write in this blog for quite a while.  I was pretty consistently getting a post in every 2-3 weeks, but here we are, nearly a month later and, to be honest, I'm still not really feeling it.  I can't say why that is exactly.  Perhaps things are feeling too normal around here or maybe it's because I've been writing for other reasons on the side.  Yes, I have just committed two cardinal writing sins.  I've informed my audience that not only am I not very excited about writing this post, but also that I've been writing for others behind their back.  What can I say?  I won't lie to you even if the truth hurts.

So, the renovations to the house and my room are done and I like my situation so much more.  My room more than doubled in size, so I bought a table and 4 chairs to make a little sitting area/breakfast nook.  It's so nice having another option besides my bed to sit on in my room.  I say room, but I really should say apartment now.  They've separated me off from the rest of the family and moved my door from inside another apartment to the main staircase.  I can now enter and exit my apartment without disturbing anyone else which affords me a lot more independence.  I love it so much.... ugh, look at me gushing.  How embarrassing.  In any case, I'm very happy with my new living situation.

In less than a month, the new group of Health/CED trainees will arrive in country.  This will not only mean that I am now a "senior" PCV, but it will also mark the end of my first year in Senegal.  I'll be getting two new CED volunteers in Dakar, although they'll be placed out in the suburbs.  I'll have some responsibilities in the initial 2-month training especially during what's called Village Visit, or City Visit for us Dakar volunteers, where I'll be responsible for showing the 2 new volunteers around the city and introducing them to key people in their area including the people that I was working with in Zac Mbao and Guediawaye as I'll be passing off my projects there to these new people.  They'll move to Dakar permanently in May and, then, I'll be responsible for guiding them through those very difficult first few months in the big city.  It's definitely a responsibility I feel ready for.  From Day 1, I've considered it part of my job to know the city as well as possible and be able to help fellow PCVs in situations of need in the city.  Also, I can be the mentor to these new volunteers that I wished I had when I was new in this city.  I'm looking forward to being involved in the training of this next group and to helping these new volunteers in the beginning stages of their service. 

So, a couple months ago, I posted a photo of a path that led around a corner and I said I would show you where that path led in the next post.  Well, here we are, several posts later, and I've finally decided it's time to post the rest of the photos that I took that day.  Photos of my new room and neighborhood are coming eventually just not now.  The album with the rest of those photos can be seen here..  Basically, you follow that path around the cliff and eventually come to a landing overlooking the ocean. The landing stands a couple stories above the ocean and you can see the stairs that lead down to ocean level in one of the pictures.  In the front of the landing is a little pool that is, for the most part, protected from the otherwise extremely rough waters.  On the right and left sides of the landing are two little coves that trap the waves causing the water to swirl and be quite fun to look at, but very dangerous to be anywhere near.  You can see some shots of the ocean crashing in the coves at the end of the album.  It's really a great spot to take photos and to generally hang out because of the view, of course, but also because there's hardly ever anyone there.  I've spent several hours there over a couple trips and I've only ever seen 2 people pass through.

So, that's all I have for you for now.  One final note, though, on the title of this post.  That movie..... after the first watch I already knew I really liked it.  I'm normally of the opinion that you have to watch a movie twice before you can really start to understand it, so having strong feelings after one viewing is rare for me.  I watched it for the second time and liked it even more.  It can be strange at times, but it's such a beautiful story.  I just wanted to mention it because it became one of my favorites so quickly.

The Stranger

As a volunteer in Senegal, you get a lot of people you don't know approaching you for a variety of reasons.  I'm sure it's the same in almost every other Peace Corps post in the world.  It's a byproduct of focusing on areas that are under-served by other organizations.  Each volunteer, whether he or she is aware of it or not, develops a system for dealing with these sorts of situations.  In Dakar, I face these solicitations probably as much as anybody other volunteer in the world.  I'd like to share the thought processes that go through my mind when somebody approaches me and how I decide to give them the time of day or not.  I'm not proud of all of it, but I'm going to try to be honest with myself and with you.

Let's start with Talibe.  There's a unique and controversial system in Senegal.  There's a system where small boys are sent away from their families sometimes as young as 3 or 4 years old to live at a Koranic school under the tutelage of a Koranic scholar and professor called a marabout.  Sometimes this decision is made to bring the family closer to God, sometimes it's because the family simply doesn't have the resources to care for the child.  In any case, part of the education of these boys involves asking for alms.  Basically, they have to beg for money on the streets and meet a certain daily quota.  There are a lot of these kids in Dakar.  Every neighborhood you go to, there's a group of them in dirty clothes holding their can with some bread or rice in it asking for spare change.  It's not like beggars in the States either.  They come up to you, pull on your hand, look you right in the eyes.  I have a pretty hard and fast rule regarding them.  I don't give money to Talibe.  Sometimes, but not nearly often enough, I'll buy them each a piece of fruit, but I will not give money.  I've broken this rule twice.  The first time, it was early in my service and I was having a good day.  The next time was right after the bus I was on crashed and I felt like I needed to acknowledge some sort of higher power that could strike me down at any time.  I have to say no to these boys every day and every time I feel bad about it.  I wonder how, both morally and logically, I can justify not giving.  Every reason sounds so selfish.  Do you want to know the real reason I don't give money to Talibe?  It's easy.  It's easier than deciding when to give and when not to give.  I know it's amoral.  I know that if you compared what I say I "believe" with my actions, they wouldn't match up.  Deep down, part of me knows I should be giving more and that part of me cries out every time I say no.  I guess it just doesn't cry out loud enough for me to change.

Another group of interesting folks are Baye Falls.  These are members of a particular religious sect often associated with very baggy clothes, dreadlocks, funky patterns, and, you guessed it, asking for donations.    They aren't like the Talibe because they aren't always asking for donations.  They only do so around certain holidays.  Other times, they approach me for other reasons.  There's a Baye Fall house in my neighborhood and I interact a lot with them.  I won't say that they're all bad.  I've met some extremely friendly and welcoming Baye Falls including one in particular who was an extremely talented musician as well.  The problem is, I've had enough negative experiences with them that a red flag goes up in my head when one approaches me.  Double red flag if he acts super excited to see me.  When that red flag goes up, I give short answers and don't ask any questions.  As we get through the typical series of greetings and introductory questions, the less-than-upstanding ones will drop their friendly act and get down to the real reason they approached me.  That's my cue to get out of there.  The ones who are truly interested will start to ask about my work or what I think of Senegal.  When I hear those sorts of questions, I start giving up some more information and loosen up my body language a little bit.  Those positive experiences are worth the bad ones because Baye Falls are the most likely to invite me into their home or their place or worship or to go celebrate a holiday with them.  I might never accept one of those invitations, but the gesture is what counts.

With everybody else, it's all about respect.  If you approach me with respect, even if you're trying to sell me something, I'll give you five minutes.  I don't mind if an artist tries to get me to look at his paintings or to come to his boutique to look at his wares.  That's his job.  What matters more to me is that he treats me with the same respect he would treat his fellow countrymen.  If "toubaab", a word which basically means foreigner, gets dropped, I shut down.  Same as with the Baye Falls, if he's too excited, I shut down.  If he gets angry that I won't buy anything, conversation over.  If he tries to give me a gift, it's generally over unless we've had a particularly long and mutually enjoyable conversation.  By stopping to talk to people who respect me and are interested in what I'm doing, I'm not only able to have positive social interactions, I'm also able to talk about Americans and the work of Peace Corps to people who are receptive to such things and who are likely to say positive things to their friends and family.  I've been told that this is why Senegalese like Americans.  We will stop and talk and, sometimes, that's all people want to do.  I've had plenty of interactions where a guy is trying to sell me something, but I eventually break through the act and start really talking with him.  By the end of the conversation, no money has changed hands, but we both walk away happy.  Those are the types of interactions that put me in a good mood.  I don't like buying people's good favor for the same reasons that I rarely offer to write a grant or to look for outside sources of money for work partners.  At the end of the day, it's just so much more satisfying to earn success organically using just knowledge, hard work, and a friendly smile.

So, that's about all I have to say on strangers.  There was the matter of the cliffhager from my post entitled Jeremiah Johnson where I showed you a picture and said I would reveal what was around the corner in the next post.  Well.... that's going to wait again.  Also, the construction that I mentioned at my house is just about finished and there were some major changes to my living arrangement (for the better).  I'll talk about those in my next post and I'll provide some pictures as well.  Until next time.

P.S. The playlist for writing this blog was Totally Hits, Volume 3.  I found it in an old DVD case.  Pretty stoked about it.