global handwashing day!

Happy Global Handwashing Day! On October 15th that is; been a little negligent with the blog. Apologies.

To celebrate this worldwide day of sanitation appreciation, I held a "programme" for the students at the primary school in my village. It was nothing short of a beautiful disaster. The day started out with such promise - a fellow Serere volunteer had come over in the morning to help me out a bit, and we spent the day preparing. On the schedule was a quick lesson plan that centered on how germs spread and how it is necessary to wash with soap to clean them off. To illustrate this point I decided to utilize glitter. So my style. Then we had a quick song that I translated from French into Serere that went to the tune of "Row, Row, Row Your Boat," followed by a relay race of sorts. And to wrap the day up I was going to have all of the kids take a hand washing pledge by stamping their hand print on a big banner. At least that's what was supposed to happen.

The event was scheduled to begin at 3pm, so around 2:30 we headed over to round up my counterparts and the health worker in my village. And as we walk outside a cold, blustery wind practically knocks us over. A sure sign of rain. Sure enough the downpour came moments later. This was totally unexpected as it hadn't rained for weeks, weeks! But Senegal decided on a quick shower at the precise moment of my event. Fine. We had some tasty village popcorn and waited it out.

visual aids

germs!

When the clouds cleared out we jumped into action. Luckily for me, all the kids returned to the school, still eager to participate, and my health worker hadn't been scared off by the rain. But the clouds overhead looked ominous, so I decided that we had to get this party on the road and pronto. The health worker an myself launched into the lesson plan, using glitter as the germs and demonstrating the proper way to wash your hands with soap. Then we had a few kids come up to demonstrate, which was great because you just can't get this glitter off your hands without the soap. After that, we rushed into the relay race. For this I had the kids get into three lines, and the first kid got a heaping handful of glitter and were told to pass it along via "greeting" each other - the act of greeting has immense cultural importance here in Senegal and I wanted to give them a medium through which they could understand the transfer of germs. Plus the kids love glitter. Once they all had their hands covered with "germs" they had to rush to the front of the line and wash all the glitter off of their hands using the proper techniques, and then raced back to the next one. It was a close one, but we declared everyone a "winner" since we can all wash our hands with soap now! Worked like a charm.

At this point things had been moving pretty smoothly, but the rain clouds were rolling in again, and I was getting nervous. I decided that I had to skip on the song - it was mildly devastating, as I was quite proud of my Serere translation. So we moved rapidly on to the handwashing pledge. This was where is all began to fall apart.

We brought out the paint for the handprints and the kids went berserk. It was like instantly being pulled into a mosh pit as they rushed up the steps to the school. There were hands everywhere as we tried to slather them with paint, when of course the rain picked up again. Now I've got about 30-40 kids on my hands, rushing to paint their hands as well as get inside the classroom to avoid the rain. This became just a crazy flurry of rushing around, elbowing, painting, hand stamping, and general chaos. It was stressful, to say the least, but we got through it. In the end I think I taught some kids how to wash their hands with soap and how to play with glitter. Pretty good day if you ask me.

tabaski in five

Tabaski is the most celebrated holiday here in Senegal. It's a cross between Thanksgiving (the main event is an enormous meal, shared with family and friends), Halloween (children go compound to compound "trick-or-treating" for small change), and Christmas (lots of new clothes are exchanged, with more outfit changes than the Oscars). And in true Senegalese fashion they go all night long! For a slightly more informative description of Tabaski, check out Wikipedia :http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eid_al-Adha

1. I watched three sheep get beheaded. My dad who killed the first one wore his fancy Tabaski whites. Ballsy.

2. Even Senegalese women, masters at the art of cooking, cry when chopping onions. Especially three kilos of onions. But I still cried more.

3. Ate the sheep's liver. And some other indistinguishable parts that I'm sure I've never even seen before. And a week later, we are still eating those three sheep.

4. The amount of vegetable oil and pure MSG that I consumed is astounding. And continued all week long.

5. The fact that I thought it all tasted delicious again for breakfast the next morning is even more astounding.

Pics of the festivities will follow I promise!

i heart trees

I recently joined up with a group of volunteers in my region to do a mangrove reforestation project in the delta region of Toubacouta. It is breathtakingly beautiful down there, and I am immensely jealous of the PCV’s who get to call it home. I mean, look at that sunset!

We all arrived the evening before – mostly so we could play in the pool for a few hours – and in the morning our ride showed up. There were about 30 of us, and the ‘ride’ turned out to be a pick-up truck filled with fishy smelling life jackets..how many Peace Corps volunteers can you fit in a truck? We’re up to sixteen.

We were taking these great little pirogues out to the transplanting location, so the 16 of us who managed to cram into the bed of the pickup trekked about 100m out into the water, rocking our smelly life jackets, and hopped in the boat. Then, in true Senegalese fashion, we sat. And we waited. For about an hour in the hot, hot sun. Lots of sunscreen being passed around that day! When the second half of our group arrived (they had thought they had been left behind! and they only got 12 in the truck), it was decided that they would not walk out to boat, but take another, motor-less boat, out to meet us. So they are rowed out, and as the boat is sitting about 25ft away from us, they are instructed to hop out and walk over to our boat. Realizing that the water we were sitting in barely reached our knees, we quickly shed the smothering life jackets.  And then, we were off! We took about an hour long boat ride through the mangroves, taking in all the scenery.

women sorting seedlings

The reforestation site was a long, sandy flat. When we arrived we were greeted by the organization workers that helped to set up the event, some local women, and a whole slew of kids, running all over the place with huge sacks of mangrove seedlings. I was especially excited to work with everyone all day, because all of the Senegalese people that were joining us spoke Serere – I could finally communicate with someone outside of my village! The local women were helping out with sorting through the seeds, discarding the bad ones. We all grabbed a bucket with seedlings, and headed out to get to planting. The guys who were running the show had drawn out these long lines that we were to plant along. It’s a pretty basic process. You take two large steps, stick a seedling in the mud so its deep enough that it won’t fall out when the tide washes in, take two more steps, and repeat, until you reach the end of the line.

me and khady

diligently reforesting

I had a lil’ buddy while I was working – her name was Khady (pronounced Hadi) and she stuck with me all day. At one point I somehow got myself into an epic battle with all the little boys running around, due to the fact that my last name is Ndiaye and they were all Dioufs. Serere’s love to have joking relationships with each other, and that’s basically what this was – we were hurling insults all day long. Ndiayes eat a lot! Dioufs only know how to eat! Ndiayes love millet! Standard fare for Senegalese insulting. I called a few of them ugly as well. Khady had my back, but those boys were out for me! As we were nearing the end of the day, one of the other volunteers decided that it would be oh, so funny to start splashing everyone. They quickly realized that I was not a fan of the splashing, and the boys that had been scheming jumped at the opportunity, with more than a little encouragement from my so-called fellow PCVs. It quickly escalated into an all-out war, with volunteers and kids running every which way, flinging buckets full of water, and hop-scotching over our newly planted trees. Needless to say, we all ended up soaked though, but I’m not gonna lie, after a long, hot day in the sun I couldn’t complain.

That evening we got to have another little pool party, and while a thunderstorm threatened to ruin the fun, we all decided to jump in anyways, cause honestly, when else can we play in a pool? Fun Fact: Turns out that when you go underwater in the rain it sounds like little bubbles are popping all around.

All in all, I had a great time in Toubacouta. Planted some trees, pretended I was a kid again in a splash fight, got to see a lot of my friends and the other volunteers in my region, again, we had a pool, and my campement had AC. What more can a girl ask for!

smiling pcv faces

future fashionista

My sister Awa, modeling with her shades, cell phone, and a purse. The definition of village style. 

interior design

slight chance of an afternoon shower

We were off on a bit of an adventure. Exploring the streets of Kaolack in search of one of the many tucked away tailors so my friend Meg could get some outrageous clothes that she found in the market tailored back to normalcy. There were a few drops of water falling from a small, yet ominous rain cloud, but blue skies were still overhead, so we chose to press on. We were barely two blocks down from our house when we happened across a nice little gathering of little old men, sipping on some Senegalese tea, attaya. We decided to make our trek a little bit easier and ask for directions. The request ended in the little men pointing in every which direction - There is one over there. No, no not there, over that way. No there is not one there. It is around the corner. No, no I think it is across the street. Eventually, we got some accurate advice from a little old lady who hobbled over and knew what was up. Should have started with her. As we headed around the corner, she brought us to an unmarked compound, where a few guys were just standing around, decked to the nines in multicolored fabrics. At this point the rain was starting the threaten us with a shower. After a rapid-fire exchange in Wolof, it was concluded that he was not here, and we would have to wait. He is coming, he is coming. This is an exceedingly common response here. Now the rain was really starting to come down, in big, juicy drops, and we were hurried into a millet machine room where there was a bench awaiting us. We chatted for a few minutes, and then one of the guys came into to give us some news - the tailor wouldn't be back til 5pm. It being noon, be decided to be on our way. As we ventured on down the street, the rain started to slacken slightly, and when we turned around we could actually see the down pour, just a few steps back. As we laughed about how we had missed the rain, it started to turn back towards us, and we tucked under a little canopy where some women and their children we selling roasted corn (delicious, by the way). After some consultations, it was decided that we just had to go one block further to reach our destination. As we stepped out from the canopy, we continued down the now muddy road, with little streams of yellowish water following in our footsteps (ew). Little boys were chasing down the trickles, and a moto whizzed past, as we approached the tailors. Then, out off nowhere, the skies opened up on us. we barely made it through the doorway, as the water came crashing down from overhead. The moto driver and his passenger quickly pulled up alongside the building to seek refuge, and two teenage girls, bowls stacked on their heads, piled with goods to sell, tucked in as well. And there we were - all thrown together to escape the downpour. As me and Meg giggled over the direction that our morning had taken, a troupe of little boys gathered under the roof spigots across the street, water streaming down, all splashing, possibly showering, like a little Senegalese water park. It was definitely one of those moments when you wish that you always had a camera with you. Talk about a Kodak moment. Meg launched into negotiations with the tailor, and I quickly discovered that the moto driver sitting next to me spoke Serere, and we launched into a lengthy discussion - mostly about me. What languages I speak, where I live, if I'm married, if I want to be, if I'll teach him English; standard conversation material for Senegal. The rain slowly subsides, and Meg wraps up her negotiations. We depart the tailors, and walk out into what can only be described as a river of yellowish, sludge puddles. A challenge for the walk home. We yank off our flip flops, and start the precarious hop-scotch back to the road.   Just another one of those days in Senegal, you never know where it will take you.

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