Big Shoes

A miasma of nervous excitement and eager anticipation descended upon us.  I stood, blindfolded, vaguely aware of all of the other trainees in close proximity who were also blindfolded.  One by one we were taken from the pack by a foreign hand that would lead us on an illogical route filled with circles and double-backs (so as to confuse our sense of direction) and on to a gigantic map of Senegal that had been painted on the asphalt of the outdoor basketball court.  Eventually, the hand would place us on the map in the location where we would be spending the next two years of our lives and give us a manila envelope with answers to all of the questions occupying our minds for the past many months – what our new homes are like, who we would be working with, what we would be doing, etc.  When all trainees were placed, a countdown from three commenced and upon reaching zero we tore off our blindfolds to look down at our feet and see where our futures laid.

I realize that it is impossible to truly re-create that whole experience of eager anticipation for site revelation for you via blog so in lieu of that I have a request. Before you read any further, I would like you to at least do a little drum roll in order to build a little of your own excitement for finding out my site. So…

(drum roll) ba-da-ba-da-ba-da-ba-da…

…

Saraya, Kedagou!!

I. Am. So. Excited.

Saraya is a village of around 3,500 people in southeastern Senegal, south of The Gambia. It is located along a main road leading into Mali which makes it relatively convenient for getting to and from – “relatively” being the key word in that phrase) and it is just 50 km from the regional capital, Kedagou (the capital, like the region/state, is called Kedagou).

Unlike much of Senegal that has been subject to devastating deforestation, we have trees! And animals! On the bus ride from Thiès (or from Dakar) down to Kedagou you actually pass through the biggest national park in Senegal complete with monkeys, lions and hippos!  Plus we have mountains (“mountains” may be a strong word – they are more like big hills) so there are beautiful waterfalls and spots to go hiking!  And, since Saraya-town is the capital of Saraya-department (a department is sort of like a county), we also have a few extra amenities not present in smaller villages including: a prefect who is appointed by the president of Senegal and receives direction from the regional governor on how to govern the department; a middle school which receives students from smaller nearby villages that don’t have a middle school; a health center/hospital (smaller villages have either “health posts” or “health huts” that serve a narrower range of medical needs); some boutiques; some restaurants; electricity (not all day and not every day but usually most days for part of the day); and cell phone reception (yes!).

The majority of people in my village are of the Malinke ethnicity and, as such, speak Malinke (which is basically the same thing as the Jaxanke I am learning) while a small minority of people are Pulaar and speak a dialect of Pulaar called Pulafuta.  However, the people at the health center with whom I will be doing most of my work are what we call affectes, meaning that they are doctors and nurses from other parts of Senegal who have been placed by the government of Senegal in the village of Saraya to fill a need for personnel.  These people often do not speak Malinke or Pulaar but instead communicate exclusively in French and Wolof.  It makes for an extra-complicated patient care process since doctors may not be able to communicate with their patients.  But it also means I get to start learning French too!

Health-wise, just about every big-theme health issue exists in surplus in Saraya: malaria, malnutrition, diarrheal diseases, respiratory diseases, etc. Plus, we have a few extra. Saraya is one of the villages closest to a part of Senegal where gold has been discovered in the past few years and the ensuing gold rush has brought with it a unique set of health issues.  Mercury poisoning from burning mercury during the gold purification process has become a major issue as well as increased transmission of STDs facilitated by fraternization of male miners that leave their homes in search of gold and Nigerian sex workers that have been trafficked to the region.

And if I haven’t sold you yet on how wonderfully amazing and interesting my village is and how perfect it is for me, here is the real kicker.  In the Jaxanke/Malinke language, “ya” (or “yaa”) means “house” and is placed after a person’s name to signify that it is their house. So “Saraya” or “Sara-ya” literally means “Sarah’s house”.

Bam. Perfect.

The only caveat to this is that people in Saraya don’t actually call me Sarah.  Instead, every Peace Corps volunteer is given a Senegalese name by their host family as a part of the process of integration.  So my name is village is actually Diabou (Jah-boo) Tunkara (Toon-kara).

My host parents named me after their daughter-in-law.  In Senegalese culture, naming your children after another family member is almost an exclusive practice.  There are compounds (groups of huts clumped together to support an extended family communal-living structure) that you go in where a majority of men or women across and within generations all share the same name.  My site-mate (another Peace Corps trainee who will also be placed in Saraya to work on community economic development projects) is going to live in one such compound.  In her compound, probably 8 of 10 women/girls are all named Maimuna. And lo and behold, the family named her Maimuna as well. Her namesake is technically her host mother, Maimuna Toure, who is a prominent women in Saraya. She is the president of the women’s group in Saraya, has her own farm, has raised many children, and seems to have a hand in most village business.  She is so well known in fact, that her family is known by her last name instead of the last name of her husband (very rare in this patriarchal culture).  Although I was able to meet my namesake briefly during our volunteer visit (I went to Kedagou for 4 days to meet the current volunteers serving in the region who I will be replacing), I don’t really know much about her other than that she does the bulk of the housework in the compound and she is an alright cook.

A funny caveat of naming in Senegal though is that whoever has a relationship with my namesake, refers to me by the same relationship term.  For example, my namesake, Diabou Tunkara, has 4 children who run around the compound and refer to me as “na” or “mother” because I have her name.  Her husband might even call me “musoo” or “wife” if he wanted to (as has awkwardly happened to other volunteers) but he is deaf and communicates solely through grunts and gestures.

Names are really important in Senegal though.  Children aren’t named until 6 days after their birth when they have their baptism.  They take the last name of their father, like Americans, which you are expected to remember to greet them around town.  For example, if someone greets me:

I Saxuma (Good Morning)            

I am supposed to answer:

Unsi {their last name}, I Saxuma (Good Morning {last name})

Fortunately, most people in my village share 6-ish last names which makes it somewhat easier to guess their name and be polite in a village of 3,500 people who are likely going to know my name as one of two white people in the village, even if I’ve never heard theirs.

Beyond identifying you relative to your father’s family, last names also identify you as a part of an ethnic group and a part of a set of “joking cousins”.  If you meet someone with the last name of your joking cousin (a pre-determined family) they will generally make fun of you for being a bean-eater or goat-thief and you are expected to return the quick quips in jest. I haven’t met my joking cousins yet, and I’m not actually what their last name is, but I’m ready for them...

                All of this name-talk got me thinking though about what exactly is in a name.  What do people expected from the newest Diabou Tunkara?  Do people expect more from my site-mate since she is named after a strong female figurehead whereas I am named after a village-nobody who moved to Saraya from another village? How much does a name make a person vs. how much does a person make a name? I would argue that it definitely goes both ways.

                The volunteers who served in Saraya before me (my anciens as well call them in Peace Corps Senegal) were named exactly after my host parents (they had the same host family) because they were a married couple.  They became the “mini” version of their namesakes: Sago Tigana and Ibrahim Cissoxo.  I can’t say for sure what expectations were set for them upon arriving to Senegal and taking adopting such names but I can definitely say that the legacy they have left for any future namesakes and in general for future Peace Corps volunteers involves filling some big shoes.

On that thread, I’d actually like to make a shout out to Anne (pronounced “Annie” because the “e” has a line over it) and Patrick Linn, my anciens, who completed an extraordinary service and whose memory incites me to the crosshairs of intimidation and inspiration. Some of their phenomenal projects included:

Ø  A malaria project with active case finding that was phenomenally successful and which, after they presented it to the National Malaria Program, has been adopted as region-wide protocol

Ø  A US State Department-supported educational intervention and appropriate technology extension to combat mercury poisoning in gold-mining areas that was also very successful

Ø  STD education with Nigerian sex workers funded by a PEPFAR grant

Ø  Cervical cancer screening training in partnership with the University of Illinois

Ø  A children’s leadership camp

These two amazing people have made a lot of good friends and done a long of incredible work during their two short years here in Senegal. I have rarely felt so humbled or so motivated as I did during the 4 days I spent with them in Saraya, watching them interact with friends and co-workers, speaking both Malinke and French with enough fluency and ease to make jokes and ask all the important questions, being generally so thoughtful and so thorough...  I don’t know how I will ever live up to their example.

I, Diabou Tunkara, have some big shoes to fill.

But I am unimaginably excited to try.