5 Week Challenge Part 1: Initiation

I made my first village friend today.  She lives in my compound and is always the very first to greet me whenever I return home. Always on her face she wears the biggest of grins which somehow manages to grow even larger than its limits whenever I start dancing to her clapping and rhythmic clicks (#saylafreak) – like the Grinch’s heart when the Whos of Whoville start Christmas caroling despite the fact that all their presents have been taken.  And although she is incessantly covered in dirt, with sticky mango hands and trains of snot pouring out of her nose like melting silly putty, she is, nonetheless, unimaginably beautiful.  Her name is Allahmuta and she is 5 years old.

Allahmuta and I officially became friends (at least in my mind), the day we invented the “car game”. This is a game in which she climbs onto my lap, takes one of each of my hands in hers, and then pushes left or right as if she is driving a car and turning the steering wheel. I, being the car, respond swiftly by leaning ferociously into the turn so that we both go almost entirely horizontal while simultaneously making the associated vroom, screetch, reving, acceleration, and bumbling motor sounds with my mouth as I see fit.

I can’t say she is someone I will confide in ever, or whose shoulder I will cry on in my darkest of days, but I know I can depend on her.  As soon as I get home she is at my side. And as soon as I sit down she climbs onto my lap and turns her gaze to me, enticing me with her big black eyes to play the car game or toto-toto-ta (like duck-duck-goose) or something else. She is a wonderful face to look forward to seeing every day.

In my first days in village it is these simple human-to-human connections that I cling to.  After initial installation into their village, Peace Corps Senegal volunteers are challenged to stay in their village every day for 5 straight weeks to fosters language learning and relationship building that will be a crucial foundation for the two years of service.  Five weeks may not sound like very long in the scheme of things but it is a long time to relinquish all activities you are used to doing that are not culturally relevant here.  Once volunteers have been serving for a few months it is not uncommon for them to go escape to the Peace Corps house in their regional capital for a pause every couple weeks in order to take a day to eat whatever they want, speak whatever language they want, use the internet, spend time alone (which is otherwise not culturally appropriate), etc. for the sake of preserving mental sanity and physical health over the long term.  Staying in village every night for 5 weeks is truly a challenge.  Less than a week in I am already growing tired of the rice and leaf sauce, devoid of any real taste or nutritional value, that we eat every day for lunch.  So in these 5 weeks, I have to concentrate on the positives. And these most basic moments of true understanding and connection – linguistic or otherwise – give worth to my whole day and my presence here in this new and exciting but strange and confusing place.

Another one of these moments came my first day at the hospital. My anciens spent much of their time there and I was advised to do the same in order to make connections for future projects. Therefore, after a few days of setting up my hut and sitting with my new family, I decided to wander over.  I wasn't exactly sure what to expect since I had not yet met my official Peace Corps work counterpart, a midwife who works at the hospital.  I knew that most people who work there only speak French and Wolof so communication would be an issue. Before even arriving to the hospital however, I ran into Dr. Ba, one of three doctors staffing the hospital on rotation, who offered me a ride in the hospital car.

Upon arrival he showed me around and introduced me to some of the people that, I’m sure, will become very familiar faces.  He then offered me a white coat and invited me to sit in on patient consultations. After having worked in a hospital in the US and having had extensive training on the American philosophy of medical privacy, I was a little hesitant to accept his offer on the basis that I do believe these patients, regardless of their geographic location, deserve privacy, dignity and respect.  However, I also knew that having a general understanding of the types of health issues prevalent in this region would be crucial for my work, so I begrudgingly accepted.

All of this, mind you, took place somewhere linguistically between French and miming. I have almost no faith in my ability to speak French given that I have never in my life taken a French class and my usual methodology for speaking French is to speak Spanish with what I believe is a French accent and hope that it is understood.  I didn't say much all morning because of that, and because I didn't want to get in the way of patient care.  But when all the patients had been seen, Dr. Ba then turned to me and began to ask me questions about myself.

He started with, “What state are you from?”

I answered that I am from California.

His face illuminated with recognition and he said, “Like Tupac?”

“Yes,” I said. “We are from the same village.” (Tupac also grew up in Marin County).

Very bemused he said, “Really?!? So tell me, is he actually dead?”

We then proceeded to have a conversation for a good ten minutes, in French, about the fate of Tupac, the whereabouts of his body, and the type of people that might initiate such a conspiracy theory about whether or not he faked his own death.  In the end we agreed to disagree. He believes that Tupac is still alive. While I would not be disappointed to discover that is the truth, I myself am a little skeptical.

I went home for lunch that day though, reflecting on my conversation, riding a whole new high from this moment of understanding. If three days into village life I am having debates about the mortal fate of famous rappers in French, I can’t wait to see what my French becomes after two years here.  And I can’t wait for more moments of connection.

Dr. Ba also asked me at one point what I wanted Senegalese people to know about Americans and I told him that we are more alike than we are different.  He provided several points to the contrary regarding our government, the structure of our families, our language, our skin color, etc. but I believe these moments prove otherwise.

Maybe he doesn't like American politics regarding the utter disregard of the United Nations processes or the growing acceptance of gay marriage. Maybe he grew up in a family with a father that had two wives and 15 children.  Maybe he speaks Pulaar at home, Wolof in his community and French in schooling and business.  But we can both get in on a conversation about Tupac.

And somehow I think that speaks to more significant things we have in common as humans, as music-lovers, and as citizens of this world.

May 9th, 2014

On May 9th, 2014 I participated in a ceremony at the house of the Lewis Luekens, the current US Ambassador to Senegal, in which I took the oath to officially become a Peace Corps volunteer.  After 2 long months of intensive language, cultural, health and safety training I am finally moving into my village tomorrow where I will be living for the next two years.

A picture is worth a thousand words so here a few to capture the whirlwind of the last few months of training...

My CBT (Community-Based Training) host family's home and my home for the last 2 months in Mbour, Senegal.

My host family's sheep that regularly attempted to eat my clothing off the clothes line.

Four of my beautiful CBT host sisters on the day of their eldest sister's baby's baptism (from left to right: Fista, Aja, Aminata, Mami)

My CBT host father and his first grandchild at 3 days old.

Some spunky neighborhood girls who taught my to dance at my host niece's baptism.

Me and baby Jameela on the day of her baptism/naming ceremony.

My host sister, Fista, making beignets. NOLA is never too far away...

CBT Family Party at the Thies training center after the completion of training (From left to right: my host sister Mami, my fellow PCV/host sister Kadi, My host mother, myself).

Lamine Savane, my LCF (language-cultural facilitator), and myself.

Some really great people (From left to right: Arielle Kempinsky, Becca Singleton, Tess Komarek, me).

May 9th, 2014 - Swear in of the newest class of health/CED PCVs at the Ambassador Lewis Leukins' house in Dakar, Senegal

The "Gou Crew" - aka the PCVs who are all headed to Kedougou for service - alongside our Peace Corps Country director and former Kedougou volunteer, Chris Hedrick. (From left to right in the back: Michael Lachance, Aaron Persing, Chris Hedrick, me, Nicole Aspros. From left to right in the front: Caroline Johnson, Kadi Magassa, Arielle Kempinsky, Tess Komarek, Laurie Ohlstein).

Me and Mamadou, the health program director

And if a picture is worth a thousand words, I guess a video must be worth a million. The entire ceremony was broadcast on Senegalese TV.

Say La Freak

For me, exercising is a ritual of sanity.  I do it to stay physically healthy, yes.  And I do it because I genuinely enjoy certain forms of exercise like playing volleyball, hiking or running.  But mostly I do it to blow off steam and to clear my head. Exercise keeps me sane.

Finding the time and place for exercise here in Senegal is a little trickier than it is in that States however. For safety reasons and because there are no indoor facilities (i.e. a gym) or other well-let areas to exercise at night, potential exercise hours are limited to daylight hours.  Furthermore, because of the atrocious heat that is thrust upon us during the day there are very limited hours in which the heat is not SO oppressive as to keep you from moving any muscle that you can’t help moving; namely the early morning or early evening. During the hot/dry season in particular (here we have 3 seasons: hot/dry, cold/dry and rainy) that lasts from about March to June, it gets up to 120 degrees in the day and settles in around 100 overnight in some parts of the country.

In general, I try to convince myself to go running in the morning because that is the coolest time to go. I will run from my homestay house down to the beach where a lot of Senegalese people (mostly men) generally go to play soccer, wrestle (Senegalese wrestling is a big sport here), and work out.  I will pause to stretch and do some calisthenics while watching the fishermen in long, colorfully-painted, wooden boats out on the water. Then I will run back. All in all it is a very pleasant form of exercise.

However, if I got to bed late and want to sleep in, or otherwise have things to do in the early-ish morning (the sun doesn’t rise until 7ish so my window for running is usually only open from 7-8am), my opportunity to go running disappears and my sanity starts to go along with it.

The other day, after several missed mornings for running, I was beginning to feel a little anxious and decided that I really want to go exercise but it was already nearing sunset.  I was pondering about where I could possibly go to exercise that would be safe when I realized that my host family’s home had an open roof! I threw on my leggings, grabbed my ipod and yoga mat, and headed up the stairs and outside. It was perfect! I was at home so I didn’t have to worry about being out of my house alone at night. It was cooler than inside the house since there was a decent breeze. Plus, there weren’t a lot of people hanging out on roofs nearby and nobody could see me from the street so I wouldn’t likely be disturbed.

I plugged my headphones in my ears and started going through what I could remember of a routine that we did in an exercise class at Tulane which I frequented. I started with jumping jacks to get warmed up, followed by fancier double-jump jumping jacks and some other kick-boxing type movements.  I was just to the point of blissful, heart-pumping, music blaring, sanity-restoring exercise when suddenly… I heard a snickering creep up behind me. Wearily, I stopped jumping and turned around.  Eight children, all under 4 feet tall, were leaning up against the wall on the roof adjacent to my roof with big eyes and grins so big you could fit a whole slice of cantaloupe in their mouths without moving their lips.

One of the smaller ones - a boy about 5 years old with charcoal skin, scrawny limbs, long eyelashes and a persistent aura of mischievousness, pulled himself up and over the wall from his family’s roof onto my roof.  He then began to hop up and down while flapping his lanky arms to imitate me for the entertainment of his friends and siblings. All of the children giggled and began to follow his lead.

It occurred to me that in that moment I had two choices.

One: Get embarrassed that the kids caught me making a fool of myself, pack it in and forego any exercise.

Or two: Own it. Keep going.

Suddenly, something a friend of mine who just finished her two years of Peace Corps service in Senegal said to me popped into my head:

“My job was basically just village entertainment for two years.”

At the time I laughed at the preposterousness of such a superficial summation of her two years of service but maybe being the village entertainer isn’t such a lame thing; maybe there is power in such a position.  Maybe in some run-around way my exercising production would demonstrate to my audience members that exercise is important. Maybe they would try it out and see that it was fun. Maybe just fun enough to do it themselves?

Say La Freak! is what I say.

Side Bar: Say la freak is a term I am in the process of coining to apply to these situations where white people/foreigners (tubabs as they are called here) in Africa can’t help but stand out and look ridiculous. Say la freak is phonetically how one proclaims in French, “this is Africa” (c’est la Afrique) but in English it sounds like you are embracing the freak-show life.

In this circumstance, say la freak meant that I was not about to stop exercising; I was going to embrace the madness.

Immediately, I ran downstairs to get my battery-powered speaker to attach my ipod so I could play my music aloud for everyone to hear and I proceeded to assume the role of exercise class instructor. Sixteen grubby little hands joined mine, lined up all the way around the edge of my yoga mat, ready for the first series of mountain climbers. Those were followed by burpies, then by Miley squats, then push-ups, lunges, crunches, Russian twists, etc. I offered encouragement with big eyes, big smiles, and overly zealous gestures since there wasn’t any common language that we spoke (these children spoke only Wolof since most were too young to be in formal school where they would otherwise learn French).

Song by song, exercise by exercise we went.  And an hour and a half later, I had completed a pretty good work out.

Many tubabs generally have a hard time with this say la freak attitude towards events. They perceive the laughter of children or adults or whoever as ridicule instead of teasing encouragement. They get embarrassed or frustrated. Often they get angry towards the onlooker for being seemingly disrespectful.  It is definitely understandable that when you have a group of people laughing at you for your weirdness when you don’t see what you are doing as being particularly weird you might easily feel alienated or ashamed.

At the end of the day though, you have to pick your battles and you have to do what you have to do. I had to exercise, so I did. Picking a fight with children over their perception of my work-out routine when they simply perceived it as funny or odd would not have been worth the effort of instigating an argument in a language I don’t speak with children who aren’t likely to care that much about hurting my feelings.

Plus, I just got 8 children to work out for an hour and a half! You know they got their little hearts beating and will sleep well tonight! I can’t say the event really inspired a sustainable behavior change but I can say it was acutely positive for them to get some exercise. And maybe, just maybe, they will show their friends tomorrow about the crazy things the tubab was doing and they will all do more exercise together.

So say la freak. Get weird. If you have an audience, use you stage. Let it empower you.

Xajee (Ha-GEE)

While it will, in all honesty, be many months to come before I have the language skills and village connections to start my own projects, I can say for certain that at some point I will be doing something related to Malaria (or xajee in Jaxanke/Malinke).  And so, as an introduction to that topic, I’d like to share a few things about malaria that you probably didn’t know in honor of World Malaria Day.

First, Malaria is one of the oldest diseases known to plague humankind.  Scientists have found the parasite in 30 million year old amber-preserved mosquitoes (Jurassic Park style) and, based on its plant-like organelles, they believe it to have evolved from a plant.  Hippocrates (yes, the same Hippocrates for which the Hippocratic oath is named) is believed to have authored some of the first written accounts of the disease circa 400 BC. His writings describe people ill with fever that oscillates predictably over the period of one or a few days. The fever strikes at night, accompanied by profuse sweating, splitting headaches, vomiting and agonizing muscle aches. It then retreats to near-normalcy, the sweating stops and the aches dissipate, for just long enough to make you think you are have recovered before it swiftly returns to conquer your body again. These are the classic febrile paroxysms that characterize the disease and distinguish it from a myriad of other febrile illnesses.

Second, Malaria is a parasitic disease caused by one of 5 species of protozoa from the genus Plasmodium (although we only have 3 in Senegal) and is transmitted to humans by the pregnant Anopheles mosquito.  This means that only female mosquitoes transmit the parasite (did you even know that mosquitoes had genders?).

Third, as many as 2.7 million people die every year from malaria.  Roughly 75% of these deaths are among African children alone.  This has an enormous impact on African communities as very year many parents have to watch their children die from a preventable disease and in African economies since these children never grow up to contribute to their family’s economic well-being and since malaria treatment and prevention consumes a lot of resources.

The reason that we don’t have malaria in the U.S. is NOT because we don’t have the mosquitoes able to carry it or because it just hasn’t ever crossed our borders.  In fact, Malaria was present in the U.S. endemically until the 1940s when the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) were founded with the sole purpose of eliminating malaria as a public health issue.  They mounted a hugely successful campaign to destroy mosquito breeding grounds, spray insecticides, improve housing and educate the public. Their example proves that elimination of the disease is possible.

Lastly, while Malaria is certainly a more challenging issue to tackle in a tropical, resource-poor country such as Senegal, that does not mean that these places are fated to interminably suffer its consequences. It is true that the climate lends itself naturally to the proliferation of the mosquito vector and the parasite itself: excessive rainfall during the rainy season leads to pools of stagnant fresh water that are ideal for mosquitoes to breed in; mosquitoes actually mature faster, breed sooner and bite more frequently in hotter climates; and the parasite itself also reproduces faster in hotter climates, enabling it to be transmitted from one person to the next even faster.  It is also true that in resource-limited settings one must combat a long list of extra complications in attempting to control and eliminate the disease: poor health in the population as a whole as a result of malnutrition and other infectious diseases complicates the pathophysiological course of disease and leads to worse health outcomes; lack of education about the diseases contributes to lack of healthy behaviors that might otherwise help people to circumvent disease (long sleeves, dumping of standing water, use of bednets to sleep under at night); and lack of resources prevent people from investing in home or municipal infrastructure that might otherwise help protect people (screen doors, covered water/sewerage systems, etc.).  But these challenges are not unconquerable and a lot is being done to overcome them.

Senegal is a leader among sun-Saharan African nations for the huge strides it has made in malaria control and Peace Corps Senegal has been a major contributor in the effort. The Senegalese Ministry of Health now supports universal coverage of bednet wherein enough insecticide-treated bednets are distributed to every household for free to cover every sleeping space (distribution per sleeping space was a Peace Corp Volunteer’s idea).  The Anopheles mosquitoes tend to bite between dusk and dawn so protecting oneself from bites during these hours is extremely effective in preventing disease. Several districts in Senegal also practice Indoor Residual Spraying wherein insecticides are carefully sprayed on the inside walls of peoples’ homes to deter mosquitoes from entering at all.  In certain parts of the country, chemoprophylaxis campaigns have also been implemented wherein all children are treated for malaria twice a year, whether or not they have symptoms, in order to decrease parasite prevalence in the general population and thereby decrease transmission. For both the Indoor Residual Spraying and the chemoprophylaxis, Peace Corps volunteers have been instrumental in aiding census efforts during program planning to make sure that everyone who should be included is included as well as in program evaluation to conduct surveys to ascertain how effective the program was.  Furthermore, in Saraya (my village), my Peace Corps ancians put in place a new program that has since been adopted as region-wide protocol that pays community health workers to make weekly sweeps of their assigned neighborhoods.  The health workers test everyone with symptoms and provide treatment on the spot or otherwise refer people to a medical center for complicated cases.  All of these efforts are supported by education campaigns up the wazoo in mass media and in schools (many conducted on the radio or in schools by Peace Corps volunteers).

And the thing is, it’s working.

The northern regions of Senegal, while more arid and perhaps easier to control the disease in, have reached a “pre-elimination” phase wherein they have come so close to stopping transmission that they have to shift control tactics.  They are now trying to actively find and smother the last few cases of disease so that they might interrupt disease transmission for good. In southern Senegal we aren’t quite there yet but new interventions have been demonstrated to decrease parasite prevalence by around 15%.

So if we just keep plugging along...

Maybe, just maybe…

We can stomp out malaria in Senegal.

(Stomp Out Malaria is the name of Peace Corps’ malaria intervention strategy – to read more about it click here)

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.

Time

The adventure begins here.  Sixty American Peace Corps volunteers sat with eyes closed, full stomachs, and warm blankets, utterly sleepless on a Delta Airlines jumbo jet bound for Senegal, West Africa.  For a few, the anxiety would wear them down and they would begin to doze but the wide open world of unknowns waiting to greet them on the other side of the sea deemed restful resting an impossibility.  I, myself, slept for just about an hour.  After a taxing week of late nights with friends and family, planning, packing, long goodbyes, and the ever present feeling that I was about to be hurled into a pit of darkness, sleep for a short time was inevitable.  But the excitement and nerves permeated my dreams.

What the hell does it mean to go away for two years anyway??

Since arriving in Senegal (any for many months before coming), all of the trainees have found themselves grappling with and confronting a myriad of fears and anxieties – heat, illness, theft, assault, snakes, spiders, language barriers, etc.  For me however, it is the sheer quantity of time and its opportunity cost that most intimidates me (although I’m not terribly excited about blister beetles and mango worms either).  Constantly I have asked myself what else I could do with two years…

Start a career? Get into a company and start working my way up?... Continue with school? Go for my PhD?... Apply to fellowships that are paid and target the development of more specific job skills?...

The fact is however, I would never be happy if I didn’t do this.  Joining the Peace Corps has been a dream of mine ever since I first found out what it was (Adventure? New languages? Weird diseases? Done. I’m there). If I didn’t do it now, I know I would always wonder: what if?

I truly believe that anything evil or hurtful of violent in this world can only be killed with kindness and that in dedicating these two years of my life to improving livelihoods and cross-cultural understanding is contributing to peace.  Furthermore, I believe that my 20s is my decade for accelerated self-discovery because of the vitality of youth and flexibility of few responsibilities.  And I believe that the challenges presented by Peace Corps service demand volunteers to dig deeply into the foundation of their character and decide what type of person they would like to be; it is an excellent agent for self-discovery.

And so… here I am.  Its 1 am, 90 degrees outside, and I’m hiding from the mosquitoes under my mosquito net in my bed as I write this... sweating... and reflecting on the decision that brought me here and the notion of time.

It is interesting to reflect on the value of my time because as I do it, I am already beginning to see how this way of thinking is the epitome of my American-ness.  Time is thought of very differently here in Senegal.  When you first get to Senegal, the first thing that anyone will do to you is greet you.  And they don’t just greet you. They greeeeeeeeet you.

Peace be with you.

Did you spend your day in peace?

Is it that there is no evil with you?

How are you?

How is you family?

Is there evil with them?

How is your job?

Is there evil there?

How is your goat?

Etc.

A proper greeting can go on for circa 5-10 minutes.  Ten whoooooole minutes of just saying hello.

Now think of how many friends, neighbors, co-workers and community members you run into in a day and think of greeting each and every one.  I calculated that on a typical day living in New Orleans I would have spent around 90 minutes of my day just on greetings (2 roommates=10 min, 3 friends=15 min, 2 acquaintances=20 min, 3 professors=15 min, my advisor=10 min, the lady who sold me a cup of coffee at Einstein’s Bagel=5 min, the person who swipes my card at the gym=5 min, the aerobics instructor=5 min, the grocery store clerk=5 min…). Calculate your time and then ask yourself, “What would I be giving up with # less minutes every day?”

I would say A LOT. For me, 90 minutes is A LOT. That’s my gym time. That’s my study time. That’s my time to run errands or, god forbid, read a book for pleasure.  And if you are American, I’d say you probably agree.  But the Senegalese would say different.  For them, the value of time is not measured in goals accomplished or tasks done.  For them, the value of time is measured in relationships. You can be a shark, first in your class at some big-shot university, flying up the corporate ladder, pockets full of money, breaking ground on new ingenious technology, etc. but you will still be nothing without your family and your community.

Put more simply…

In the US: Time = Money/Goals Accomplished

In Senegal: Time = Relationships

Greetings build relationships.  That is why for the first week of learning my language (Jaxanke), all we learned was how to properly say hello… shake their hand (unless you are a woman speaking to a particularly religious Muslim man who is forbidden from touching women)… curtsy if you are a woman greeting someone you would like to show respect to or avert your eyes if you are a man greeting someone you would like to show respect to… then spit out every greeting you can remember while you still have their attention and be sure to respond to their greetings appropriately as they simultaneously toss them back at you.

This is also why Peace Corps has devised a 3-month Pre-Service Training (PST) program that all trainees must complete before being sworn-in for service.  During this time, trainees oscillate between spending days doing technical training workshops at a central training facility in a big-ish city (Theis) and spending weeks with a host family learning how to integrate yourself into a Senegalese family and begin to build relationships (during what we call “CBT” or “Community-Based Training”).  My day during CBT generally looks about like this:

5:30am: Get woken up by the first prayer call of the day bellowing from the mosque ~100 feet from my house. Go back to sleep.

6:30am: Get woken up by the goat outside my window who cries when the sun comes up and tries to eat my clothes off the clothes line. Go back to sleep.

7-8am: Get up. Wash my face (the Senegalese believe its bad luck to greet people in the morning before washing your face). Greet my host family.  Breakfast with my host mom (aka “Na” which means “mother”) and Kadi, my fellow Peace Corps Trainee (PCT)/CBT site-mate. Usually we eat dry bread or bread with butter and Nescafe with powdered milk.

9-10:30am: Treck across sand for 20 minutes to my teacher's home for Jaxanke class with other Jaxanke-learning Tubabs (white people/foreigners) including Kadi. Treck back across the sand.

10:30am-2pm: Chat with Na. Attempt to study vocab. Help make lunch with host sisters if they are home.

2-3pm: Younger host siblings come home from school for lunch. Lunch with the host fam after forcing them to humor me with proper hand-washing technique. Usually we eat rice and fish (maloo nin yegoo) with everyone except my host father sharing from one big bowl (men generally eat separately from the women and children).

3-4pm: High afternoon heat = nap time.  There is actually a verb in Jaxanke that means “to take a nap after lunch”.

4-7pm: Chat with host dad (aka “Baba” which means “father”) on the front stoop until he goes to evening prayer. He is blind and chatty and loves company.

7-10pm: Help make dinner with my host sisters slash follow them around like a lost puppy because they are so cool and gorgeous and I almost never know what I am doing so I live by their example.

10:30pm: Dinner with the family – often millet or some type of grain with milk or yogurt.  Occasionally we get lucky and have salad with chicken or fish, green bell peppers, and French fries.

11pm-12am: Make fun of my host brother (he is 14 and too cool for school), drink mint tea (called “ataya”) with copious amounts of sugar and served very ceremoniously, and watch Mexican soap operas dubbed in French with everyone in the family room until the mosquitoes get the best of me.  Then retreat to my room to hide under my mosquito net.

12am: Bedtime

8 hours of sleep. 1.5 hours of class. 14.5 hours of relationship building.

I don’t know what all I will accomplish during my time here in Senegal.  I know I will never surrender my American value system entirely and I know there will be days when I want to accomplish things that the alternative valuing of time by people around me will frustrate me.    But I know that these two years will not be for naught. My priorities and values will be tried. And I will make a lot of friends. So that’s something…