As anyone who has ever known me knows, I LOVE food. I have an enormous sweet tooth (really all the teeth in my mouth are “sweet”…) so sweets (especially chocolate) are highest on my list, but I also love all types of food – and I love cooking and baking food besides just eating it. St. Olaf College, where I went for undergrad, has an amazing cafeteria (ranked third in the nation most recently I believe), and I used to joke that the reason I played basketball in college was so I could eat more in the caf and not get fat. With that said, the hardest thing for me so far being a volunteer here in Senegal is the food. The Senegalese people love their ceebu jen (rice and fish) and ceeb in general, so there isn’t a whole lot of variety in the diet. And I can’t really cook much for myself because of limited ingredients (there is no such thing as a grocery store in my village where I can find anything I could ever dream of from anywhere in the world) and limited cooking utensils (think wood fire or gas stove [like a camping stove with one burner] with no counter to chop vegetables, or big bowls to mix things, or oven to bake things… All in all, as much as I like the food here (and I am getting more used to it – though as I get more used to it, I also begin to get more bored with it) I will definitely miss the variety of food I was used to in the States and the freedom and independence to cook what I wanted when I wanted it. This is all part of the experience though, and I will only complain once. And it’s not even so much complaining as stating a fact, because the food is certainly not something that would ever lead me to consider leaving here early – it will make me that much more excited about packages, though! :)
We made brownies today (10/19/09) – or at least we tried. It was pretty amazing. We used a very basic recipe that involved butter, sugar, flour, eggs, vanilla, and cocoa powder (which we didn’t have so we substituted it with hot cocoa mix). We didn’t have a brownie pan either, so we used a pie pan. There isn’t really much of a way to control the temperature of the oven, but we think we had it set to around 350 degrees F. I announced to the rest of the PCVs in the Kaolack regional house that they “were more than welcome to come to the kitchen to nibble on our first failed attempt at brownies” – I said “failed” because the middle was still gooey while the outside was crusty and bubbly, with the sugar almost caramelized. Everyone loved them (and us) so much though for trying to make them, though – they repeatedly asked me why I had said it was a failed attempt because they didn’t think it was a failure at all. In order to rectify the issues with our first batch of brownies, we decided to add more flour and another egg. We think the problem was that we had added more hot chocolate mix since it’s not as concentrated as cocoa powder, and the hot chocolate mix has sugar added, so we probably ended up adding too much sugar to the mix. After adding more flour and sugar, we also decided to just make them into cookies, which worked pretty good for the most part – they were just really flat, but delicious nonetheless!
Later that night I made Snickerdoodles, which are essentially sugar cookies plus cinnamon. They were even better than the brownie/cookies (which is quite a feat I must admit!) – I will definitely be making those cookies again in the future. Tonight I’m going to try to make banana bread – something I used to make all the time when I was at Cornell. I think it could turn out really really good…!
While I’m on the topic of food, I want to mention that several Volunteers slaughtered a sheep last night at the Kaolack regional house (where we’re all staying before we get “installed” – i.e. before we move into our new homes, which will be tomorrow for me), and it was delicious. We had sautéed carrots and onions plus mashed potatoes to go along with the meat – it was quite a feast! Tonight we’re going to have vegetable soup made in sheep broth. We’ve learned to be quite resourceful and creative here.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Swearing In!!! --> I’m a REAL Peace Corps VOLUNTEER! :)
We had our official swearing-in ceremony last Friday (October 16). It involved a police escort from Thiès to the ambassador’s house in Dakar (we wanted to make sure we wouldn’t get stuck in traffic and miss the ceremony – that would have been rather anti-climatic). Lots of people gave speeches – including 4 then Trainees (now official Volunteers) in 3 different local languages (Wolof, Pulaar, and Mandika) and in French. All were wonderful – or so I’m told anyway, since I really only understood the Wolof one (and half-understood the French one). To become official Volunteers we stood up and repeated an oath that is apparently something like 3-5 words different from the oath the president of the United States makes when he swears in. Crazy! Not sure I have quite the power or authority as the president of the United States… ;) After we were sworn in, we had a really nice reception that involved delicious food and drinks, all of which were consumed very rapidly. :) After that, we went to the PC headquarters in Dakar to finish the last of our paperwork and get our official PCV IDs, then all us new PCVs took off for what we call “The American Club” – it is a hotel and club (of sorts) that is free for PCVs to get into. So we hung out at the pool, ate good American food like hamburgers and BLTs, played sand volleyball, and relaxed. Then it was back into the Peace Corps cars to get back to Thies in time to grab dinner and have a very nice party (organized by PCVs) at the local Catholic compound (where beer is sold).
Our police escort stopped for a short break to chat with some friends on our way from Thiès to Dakar.
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The cute USA/Senegal flags pin that Chris Hendrick, the Peace Corps Senegal Country Director, wore for the ceremony.
Cora, me, and Teresa – the TawaFall ladies! :) 
How else can we celebrate our chance to live in another country for 2 years but drink Coca-Cola?!?!? (and by the pool nonetheless)
My with the Peace Corps Senegal Country Director, Chris Hedrick
Packages!!!
I received 4 packages in one day last week and another package the next day. Let’s just say I was totally pumped – and also a bit overwhelmed, but more pumped than anything else. :) Two of the packages were from one of my aunts, one from my parents, one from my sister, and one from my “adopted parents” in my church in Ithaca (when I was at Cornell last year). All included a good amount of chocolate (M&Ms definitely held up the best, but I definitely love the variety) as well as other good food like raisins, almonds, pudding, and granola bars. Other items included are things like crayons and tennis balls for kids, handkerchiefs, and…?
If you feel so inclined, I would love to receive love from you in the form of a package. Things I would most love to receive include:
- Dried fruit
- Chocolate – in the form of candy or pudding or in other snacks like granola bars
- Cake, brownie, pancake, or other pre-made mixes
- Trail mix
- Crayons and other fun things for young kids
- Anything you think I would like and/or want to throw in!! :)
My address:
PCV Danielle Stoermer
BP 2089 Ndorong
Kaolack, Senegal
West Africa
Par Avion/Air Mail
If you feel so inclined, I would love to receive love from you in the form of a package. Things I would most love to receive include:
- Dried fruit
- Chocolate – in the form of candy or pudding or in other snacks like granola bars
- Cake, brownie, pancake, or other pre-made mixes
- Trail mix
- Crayons and other fun things for young kids
- Anything you think I would like and/or want to throw in!! :)
My address:
PCV Danielle Stoermer
BP 2089 Ndorong
Kaolack, Senegal
West Africa
Par Avion/Air Mail
Host Family Reception
We had a reception last week for one member of our host families (there just wasn’t enough space for more than one member per family to come to the training center). We all gathered in the early afternoon, had lunch together, and then hung out, drank tea, danced, and had a really great time. Below are some highlights:
From left to right: Cora, Ibrahama, Papa Idid (Cora’s dad), Modou (my brother), me, Pap Demba, DeSofie (Teresa’s mom), and Teresa
From left to right: Cora, Ibrahama, Papa Idid, Modou, me, DeSofie, Pap Demba, Teresa, and Bamba (our Language and Culture Facilitator – i.e. our teacher)
A Senegalese woman made this shirt for one of the LCFs…anyone want to try to make it for me?!?!? I LOVE it! :)
Here's Cora and I dancing - me in the blue t-shirt and Cora in the crazy purple outfit her family gave her as a going-away gift
From left to right: Cora, Ibrahama, Papa Idid (Cora’s dad), Modou (my brother), me, Pap Demba, DeSofie (Teresa’s mom), and Teresa
From left to right: Cora, Ibrahama, Papa Idid, Modou, me, DeSofie, Pap Demba, Teresa, and Bamba (our Language and Culture Facilitator – i.e. our teacher)
A Senegalese woman made this shirt for one of the LCFs…anyone want to try to make it for me?!?!? I LOVE it! :)
Saying Goodbye to TawaFall
We said goodbye to our homestay families this past Tuesday. It was hard – I feel like I actually connected with my sisters, nephew, and older brothers. I say “actually” because I could see myself being skeptical of someone saying they’ve bonded with a family when they’ve only lived with them for 2 months and couldn’t speak the language well at all for the vast majority of it. But I have really bonded with them – and with the family members of the other trainees in TawaFall (TF) as well as a few other people, like several of the guys I’ve played soccer with a lot. As hard as it was to say goodbye, I know I will be able to come back in just a few months when we all return to Thiès for our In-Service Training (IST) at the end of January.
One of the many beautiful sunsets in TawaFall. Even harder, though, will be saying goodbye to Cora and Teresa. I’m not saying goodbye to them for as long as my family in TF, but we definitely won’t be seeing each other every day like we did in TF. At least we can call and text each other, and we’re all within a bike ride from each other, so we can go see each other that way, too. AND with every goodbye comes a new hello – and that hello will be with my new home for two years: Kaymore! :)
A view of our garden from the top of the water tower (they’re not as tall/big as ones in the States), which Cora, Teresa, and I each climbed up on our last evening in TF.
Cora, Me, and Teresa around the sign for TawaFall! (with our gardening tools, too, though they’re somewhat hidden…)
Mbët
In Wolof, mbët is the word for a kind of lizard that can get to be pretty large (like 2-3 feet long including the tail). My brother, Demba, had killed an mbët one of the first days I was in TawaFall. I was really nervous to eat it, but it was delicious! He had cooked it in a sauce that almost had a barbeque flavor – it was really good! I’m not sure exactly how it came up, but toward the end of last week we (Cora, Teresa, Demba, my other older brother Modou, and I) got to talking about mbët and Modou said he would take us hunting for them the next day, which got Teresa, Cora, and I really excited. We didn’t end up going until Saturday after language class. The best time to hunt mbët is during the middle of the day when it’s hottest – I think because maybe they’re more lazy and easier to catch then, or because they’re out eating. In any case, right after class on Saturday we went home and changed into hunting clothes (i.e. just hiking pants or capris and t-shirts). Then we gathered our weapons – strong sticks, a machete, and an ileer (in Wolof – a tool used for weeding and other activities in agriculture here, as well as for hunting apparently).
Then we took off for the fields to find and kill 3 mbët – or that was our goal anyway. We stuck mainly to peanut and cassava (aka manioc) fields since mbët particularly like eating peanuts and cassava fields make for good resting places. People in the area typically have a live fence around their field – or around part of it at least to kind of separate fields. [For those non-aggies out there, a live fence is a fence made out of a living plant – typically a fast-growing, bushy, thorny tree or bush. Part of my job here will involve growing saplings and extending seeds for making live fences.] This made our mbët hunting challenging at times since we had to jump fences to get to new fields. It was easier for me and Modou than Teresa and Cora since we’re taller than them, but we all managed. Our mbët hunting was really exciting at first – Modou telling us to fan out across the field and use our sticks or machete (in my case) to hit the live fencing/weeds around the fields to scare the mbët and/or keep our eyes open for mbët chilling in holes in the ground or up in the mango and other trees often dispersed throughout the fields. We were sweating before we even had left the village, but we didn’t mind until about 45 minutes into the hunt. It was close to 1pm by this time and it was hot. None of us had wanted to carry water, so we didn’t have anything to drink. By 1:30 we had only possibly heard one mbët take off through a live fence and we were beginning to get discouraged – and the heat certainly didn’t help. Modou understood, so he pulled up a few peanut plants, brought us over to a big mango tree, and we relaxed there in the shade while eating peanuts. When we had our energy and motivation back, we set off again. Teresa and Cora soon decided they just wanted to go home, so Modou brought them over to the road that would take them home. We took another short eating-peanuts -and-sitting-under-a-mango-tree break. This break also involved pulling off all the little burs (xar-xam in Wolof) that were covering my pants. On our round-about way home Modou thought he had found a mbët in a hole, but after several minutes of trying to scare it out, we gave up. Everyone in my family (and village for that matter) knew we had been mbët hunting and were disappointed (though not surprised) when we returned without any mbët. We didn’t get back to the village until 3:30, which meant we had missed lunch, but luckily my sisters were nice enough to save us food, so we ate after we had both showered and guzzled a bunch of water.
Mbët was a major topic of conversation between the villagers and Teresa, Cora, and me for the next couple days. I had already eaten mbët so I didn’t want to try it as much as Teresa and Cora; though they also both knew they have 2 more years here to try it. My family, on the other hand, thought it was very important that they try it. We didn’t really want to go mbët hunting again, though. Modou went mbët hunting Sunday afternoon, but came back empty handed. Monday afternoon we talked about mbët and mbët hunting for a long time, but we had all resigned ourselves to the fact that we probably weren’t going to eat any (or more) mbët until later in our Peace Corps experience. Late in the afternoon Monday, the three of us headed off to our garden to water it one last time and say goodbye (since we were going to be leaving the village for the last time the next day). When I got back to my compound there was nothing other than a large mbët lying on the dirt. My friend Djerie and another of his friends had seen it near the chicken coop (where Djerie works) and killed it for us since they knew we had been trying to kill one to eat. My youngest sister, Mama, said she was going to cook it in a little bit, so I could go play soccer with the guys and still be able to cook the mbët with her. I texted Cora and Teresa to tell them about the mbët and then took off for the soccer field. Apparently Cora and Teresa immediately came over to my compound to see the mbët and took this picture:
The mbët in the pot ready to be cleaned and cooked!
Then we took off for the fields to find and kill 3 mbët – or that was our goal anyway. We stuck mainly to peanut and cassava (aka manioc) fields since mbët particularly like eating peanuts and cassava fields make for good resting places. People in the area typically have a live fence around their field – or around part of it at least to kind of separate fields. [For those non-aggies out there, a live fence is a fence made out of a living plant – typically a fast-growing, bushy, thorny tree or bush. Part of my job here will involve growing saplings and extending seeds for making live fences.] This made our mbët hunting challenging at times since we had to jump fences to get to new fields. It was easier for me and Modou than Teresa and Cora since we’re taller than them, but we all managed. Our mbët hunting was really exciting at first – Modou telling us to fan out across the field and use our sticks or machete (in my case) to hit the live fencing/weeds around the fields to scare the mbët and/or keep our eyes open for mbët chilling in holes in the ground or up in the mango and other trees often dispersed throughout the fields. We were sweating before we even had left the village, but we didn’t mind until about 45 minutes into the hunt. It was close to 1pm by this time and it was hot. None of us had wanted to carry water, so we didn’t have anything to drink. By 1:30 we had only possibly heard one mbët take off through a live fence and we were beginning to get discouraged – and the heat certainly didn’t help. Modou understood, so he pulled up a few peanut plants, brought us over to a big mango tree, and we relaxed there in the shade while eating peanuts. When we had our energy and motivation back, we set off again. Teresa and Cora soon decided they just wanted to go home, so Modou brought them over to the road that would take them home. We took another short eating-peanuts -and-sitting-under-a-mango-tree break. This break also involved pulling off all the little burs (xar-xam in Wolof) that were covering my pants. On our round-about way home Modou thought he had found a mbët in a hole, but after several minutes of trying to scare it out, we gave up. Everyone in my family (and village for that matter) knew we had been mbët hunting and were disappointed (though not surprised) when we returned without any mbët. We didn’t get back to the village until 3:30, which meant we had missed lunch, but luckily my sisters were nice enough to save us food, so we ate after we had both showered and guzzled a bunch of water.
Mbët was a major topic of conversation between the villagers and Teresa, Cora, and me for the next couple days. I had already eaten mbët so I didn’t want to try it as much as Teresa and Cora; though they also both knew they have 2 more years here to try it. My family, on the other hand, thought it was very important that they try it. We didn’t really want to go mbët hunting again, though. Modou went mbët hunting Sunday afternoon, but came back empty handed. Monday afternoon we talked about mbët and mbët hunting for a long time, but we had all resigned ourselves to the fact that we probably weren’t going to eat any (or more) mbët until later in our Peace Corps experience. Late in the afternoon Monday, the three of us headed off to our garden to water it one last time and say goodbye (since we were going to be leaving the village for the last time the next day). When I got back to my compound there was nothing other than a large mbët lying on the dirt. My friend Djerie and another of his friends had seen it near the chicken coop (where Djerie works) and killed it for us since they knew we had been trying to kill one to eat. My youngest sister, Mama, said she was going to cook it in a little bit, so I could go play soccer with the guys and still be able to cook the mbët with her. I texted Cora and Teresa to tell them about the mbët and then took off for the soccer field. Apparently Cora and Teresa immediately came over to my compound to see the mbët and took this picture:
The mbët in the pot ready to be cleaned and cooked!Then they came out to the soccer field to tell me that Teresa’s grandma won’t let her eat the mbët because she thinks it’s bad for your health. My brothers thought this was silly since they think it’s good for your health. These different opinions could be due to a difference in age or education since my family isn’t nearly as educated as Teresa’s family. About 15 minutes after Cora and Teresa left Modou came out to the field and called me over in the middle of our game. He had also killed an mbët – so now we would have 2 mbët to eat that night! What a treat – and what a way for my family and friends to say a (temporary) goodbye. I had a really fun time cooking the mbët with my sisters, largely because beinga biology major as an undergrad I dissected a lot of animals, but never a lizard, so it was fun to see what they looked like internally. It took quite a while to clean out the lizards, cut them up, cook them, cut up the onions, and cook them with the mbët as well, so by the time it was ready to eat, Teresa and Cora had gone to bed – along with everyone else in my family except Modou and I since we were up talking with other people. The few of us that were up ate a little, and we saved the rest; Teresa and Cora came over late the next morning to eat it (though Teresa didn’t actually eat any because she didn’t want to upset her grandmother – and we figured she would find out one way or another seeing as how small TawaFall is). The mbët was really really good! It tasted a lot like chicken with sautéed onions (and some lizard skin thrown in for good measure…)! :) I highly recommend it.
The Thiès Market
We had most of the weekend off a few weekends ago. More than half the PCTs went to Dakar to explore the city. I stayed in Thiès to get caught up on emails, blogging, save money, and explore the Thiès market. I wanted to buy a couple more significant gifts for my host family since we would be going back to the village for the last time the next Monday. I wasn’t all that excited to go into the market on Sunday because it was really hot, I didn’t feel super confident with my Wolof, and I didn’t want to have to barter. But to my great surprise, I actually had a really great time in the market. I was able to use my Wolof well and most of the people selling things were really happy to talk with us about simple things like the heat and (very basically) our work here in Senegal. I also really liked bartering – it is definitely a culture thing here and most people really seem to like it. Both the guy I bought my fabric from and the guy I bought the radio for my family from were really excited when I started talking with them in Wolof and even more excited when I started legitimately bartering with them. It is a game for sure – and in these cases, it was a fair tie in the game since I was able to barter down to a reasonable price for each thing.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Counterpart Workshop!
The end of this past week we had our Counterpart Workshop. Every PCV (in Senegal anyway – not sure how it works in other countries) has 2 counterparts that are members of the village/town/city that the PCV lives in and works in the general sector that the PCV is in. So for ag volunteers, we have one male counterpart and one female counterpart, both of whom are farmers in some capacity. Typically one of the counterparts (usually the male counterpart) holds some sort of leadership position in the village (such as the leader of the local farmer’s association) and/or is a more educated, innovative, and/or open-minded (to new ideas/practices/technologies/etc.) farmer. The other counterpart (usually the female counterpart) is the leader of a community group – such as the local women’s farming/gardening group. Agroforestry volunteers have one counterpart who lives in their village and one counterpart who works for Eaux et Foret (Water and Trees – the tree-focused branch of the Senegalese government). Eaux et Foret is actually a sub-branch of the military so some of the E&F counterparts were dressed in full military attire – that was fun and random (to us anyway) and HOT! (I can’t imagine having to wear those heavy pants and long-sleeve shirts and boots in this heat!) Many of the PCVs live with their counterparts – for example, one of their counterparts is their dad or brother. (That’s not the case for me, but my male counterpart lives next door to me, and I’m sure my female counterpart isn’t far since Kaymore isn’t that big!)
The counterpart workshop was mostly an opportunity for us trainees to meet and get to know our counterparts (as best we can in 2 days with our limited language skills). Our days were packed with sessions on what the Peace Corps is, on what ag PCVs do (such as what PC Senegal’s goals are for the next several years and what varieties of corn, millet, sorghum, rice, and cowpea we extend), on how our counterparts can help us when we first get there and for the next 2 years (like tell other people in the village that we’re coming and why we’re here, speak slowly and clearly with us and act things out to help us learn the language, and show us around the village and introduce us to all the important people – and everyone else, too!), and on the challenges we might face as ag PCVs (like learning the language and adapting to a new culture, receiving excessive amounts of unwanted attention, and figuring out which farmers will really work hard with us and which ones are all talk and no action). It was very tiring for everyone involved, but well worth it. Perhaps the most challenging part was translating everything into all the languages that are spoken in Senegal – the main language being Wolof of course, with French a close second (though almost always as a second language for everyone), and then Pulaar (with several varieties of that), Sereer, and Mandinka. (There might be another couple more that are spoken in only a few small areas where PCVs aren’t so we wouldn’t have any counterparts from there.) Luckily our amazing ag trainer knows Wolof, French, Pulaar, and English (which was of course another language that everything had to be translated into since our language skills are not anywhere close to being good enough to understand everything everyone was saying), so he did most of the translating and then we had our LCFs there to help, too.
Definitely the most exciting part of the workshop was the soccer match between the trainees and our LCFs (Language and Culture Facilitators). We played Friday evening once all the sessions were done. Let’s just say it wasn’t a fair match to begin with because only guys played on the LCF team (since women don’t really play soccer here as I’ve said before) and they’ve all played before, while we had a good number of girls on our team and most people hadn’t ever played soccer before (or at least not for years and years). But we did our best and held our own. The final score was 3-0, but really it should have been 1-0 because the first goal was right after a hand ball on the other team that our ref (a random guy that was nearby when the game started) didn’t call, and the second goal came after when the ball had gone out of bounds but the sideline ref (another random kid) didn’t call that either, so yeah, it should have been 1-0. Not that I’m complaining. :) I shouldn’t complain at all though because it was super fun. Most people were really out of shape (by most people I mean most of the trainees, though a good number of the LCFs were out of shape, too) so we subbed a lot, which was fun anyway to play with a whole bunch of different people. I had gone into the market earlier in the day and bought some cleats, so it was really nice to have them, and I only got a small blister on one of my toes, which I think is a record in all my years of playing soccer. It was also really fun to show more Senegalese men (and women, since many counterparts came and watched the game) that women can play soccer, too. So yeah, it was fun. :)
Coming together for a big cheer before the game starts.
I’m #4 – getting ready for a big kick. :)
All of us after the game!!!
The counterpart workshop was mostly an opportunity for us trainees to meet and get to know our counterparts (as best we can in 2 days with our limited language skills). Our days were packed with sessions on what the Peace Corps is, on what ag PCVs do (such as what PC Senegal’s goals are for the next several years and what varieties of corn, millet, sorghum, rice, and cowpea we extend), on how our counterparts can help us when we first get there and for the next 2 years (like tell other people in the village that we’re coming and why we’re here, speak slowly and clearly with us and act things out to help us learn the language, and show us around the village and introduce us to all the important people – and everyone else, too!), and on the challenges we might face as ag PCVs (like learning the language and adapting to a new culture, receiving excessive amounts of unwanted attention, and figuring out which farmers will really work hard with us and which ones are all talk and no action). It was very tiring for everyone involved, but well worth it. Perhaps the most challenging part was translating everything into all the languages that are spoken in Senegal – the main language being Wolof of course, with French a close second (though almost always as a second language for everyone), and then Pulaar (with several varieties of that), Sereer, and Mandinka. (There might be another couple more that are spoken in only a few small areas where PCVs aren’t so we wouldn’t have any counterparts from there.) Luckily our amazing ag trainer knows Wolof, French, Pulaar, and English (which was of course another language that everything had to be translated into since our language skills are not anywhere close to being good enough to understand everything everyone was saying), so he did most of the translating and then we had our LCFs there to help, too.
Definitely the most exciting part of the workshop was the soccer match between the trainees and our LCFs (Language and Culture Facilitators). We played Friday evening once all the sessions were done. Let’s just say it wasn’t a fair match to begin with because only guys played on the LCF team (since women don’t really play soccer here as I’ve said before) and they’ve all played before, while we had a good number of girls on our team and most people hadn’t ever played soccer before (or at least not for years and years). But we did our best and held our own. The final score was 3-0, but really it should have been 1-0 because the first goal was right after a hand ball on the other team that our ref (a random guy that was nearby when the game started) didn’t call, and the second goal came after when the ball had gone out of bounds but the sideline ref (another random kid) didn’t call that either, so yeah, it should have been 1-0. Not that I’m complaining. :) I shouldn’t complain at all though because it was super fun. Most people were really out of shape (by most people I mean most of the trainees, though a good number of the LCFs were out of shape, too) so we subbed a lot, which was fun anyway to play with a whole bunch of different people. I had gone into the market earlier in the day and bought some cleats, so it was really nice to have them, and I only got a small blister on one of my toes, which I think is a record in all my years of playing soccer. It was also really fun to show more Senegalese men (and women, since many counterparts came and watched the game) that women can play soccer, too. So yeah, it was fun. :)
We’re all lined up doing warm-ups while our “coach” (in the khaki pants and yellow shirt) gives us a pep talk.
Coming together for a big cheer before the game starts.
I’m #4 – getting ready for a big kick. :)
All of us after the game!!!
The Beach
Last week, Peace Corps Senegal graciously gave us 1.5 days off (which they also did this weekend – they’re spoiling us!). We (all the trainees except a handful) took the opportunity to escape to “the beach”! This is a tradition for all trainees so it was not hard for a couple of the trainees who speak better French to make the travel and lodging arrangements. We took 2 Alhams to the beach (Popenguine was the town/city we stayed in – it is just over an hour away from Thiès) and stayed in 2 houses right on the beach (the same houses the Peace Corps Volunteers always rent out when they go there). It was beautiful! The beach was really pretty and clean with very few rocks or garbage (that’s a first for anywhere here!) and the water was cool with little debris (such as vegetation or dead fish – some trainees and Senegalese boys had fun playing around with a dead fish Tuesday morning but that was it). We made spaghetti for dinner and hung out in the bigger house and in the water. It was a perfectly clear night with almost a full moon. Most of us had made our way into the water around 11pm and by midnight I was almost starting to feel cool – almost. What a feeling. I was beginning to think I had only imagined ever actually being cool, let alone really cold. I figured that was a good time to turn in for the night.
Next morning a couple other trainees and I got up “early” (i.e. at 8am) and made pancakes for everyone. We had a really simple recipe but they turned out really good! Everyone loved them. Then it was time to hit the beach again. After covering myself in sunscreen, I got in the water and then spent the rest of the morning moving from the water to the shore to play soccer with other trainees and then back into the water when I got too hot. Close to noon a Senegalese guy came over and started playing soccer with us. Soon the other trainees got hot and went back into the water but the guy (can’t remember his name…) and I kept playing for almost an hour. We mostly just juggled the ball on the shore in our bare feet – often chasing the ball into the water or further up on shore. This guy, in typical Senegalese fashion as I’m gradually learning, was pretty good at the basic juggling with his feel and thighs, but also had some cool tricks up his sleeve (or maybe down his socks – if he were wearing socks that is). His most common trick involved him kicking the ball up in the air, spinning around on the spot, and then continuing to juggle with the ball. He also liked kicking the ball up and catching it in the crook of his neck, holding it there for a bit, then tossing the ball back up or letting it slide down the side of his body and continuing to juggle. He was really impressed by my soccer skills. This is not because I’m that good – I’m really not that good at all – I’m guessing it is mostly because he is not used to a girl being able to play soccer at all let alone play it decently well.
When we got back to the beach after a long lunch at an Italian restaurant (Senegalese Italian is good but not anything like real Italian or American Italian food), I packed up my things and then noticed that the guy I had been playing soccer with earlier in the day was still out on the shore playing soccer – only this time with a handful of other guys. I changed back into my suit and shorts and played with them for another hour or so until we had to leave to come back to Thiès. These other guys were also equally impressed by my soccer skills. Something needs to change so women can play more soccer in this country and prove to men just how talented women are!
We all had a really fun trip to the beach. It was great to get away from Thiès, see the ocean, and relax a bit (though I don’t think it was really all that relaxing for most of us). It would have been nicer if we could have stayed at the beach for another night, but there is just too much we need to learn and do for Peace Corps to give us 2 full days off. We’re all looking forward to our next opportunity to get back to Popenguine though! :)
Next morning a couple other trainees and I got up “early” (i.e. at 8am) and made pancakes for everyone. We had a really simple recipe but they turned out really good! Everyone loved them. Then it was time to hit the beach again. After covering myself in sunscreen, I got in the water and then spent the rest of the morning moving from the water to the shore to play soccer with other trainees and then back into the water when I got too hot. Close to noon a Senegalese guy came over and started playing soccer with us. Soon the other trainees got hot and went back into the water but the guy (can’t remember his name…) and I kept playing for almost an hour. We mostly just juggled the ball on the shore in our bare feet – often chasing the ball into the water or further up on shore. This guy, in typical Senegalese fashion as I’m gradually learning, was pretty good at the basic juggling with his feel and thighs, but also had some cool tricks up his sleeve (or maybe down his socks – if he were wearing socks that is). His most common trick involved him kicking the ball up in the air, spinning around on the spot, and then continuing to juggle with the ball. He also liked kicking the ball up and catching it in the crook of his neck, holding it there for a bit, then tossing the ball back up or letting it slide down the side of his body and continuing to juggle. He was really impressed by my soccer skills. This is not because I’m that good – I’m really not that good at all – I’m guessing it is mostly because he is not used to a girl being able to play soccer at all let alone play it decently well.
When we got back to the beach after a long lunch at an Italian restaurant (Senegalese Italian is good but not anything like real Italian or American Italian food), I packed up my things and then noticed that the guy I had been playing soccer with earlier in the day was still out on the shore playing soccer – only this time with a handful of other guys. I changed back into my suit and shorts and played with them for another hour or so until we had to leave to come back to Thiès. These other guys were also equally impressed by my soccer skills. Something needs to change so women can play more soccer in this country and prove to men just how talented women are!
We all had a really fun trip to the beach. It was great to get away from Thiès, see the ocean, and relax a bit (though I don’t think it was really all that relaxing for most of us). It would have been nicer if we could have stayed at the beach for another night, but there is just too much we need to learn and do for Peace Corps to give us 2 full days off. We’re all looking forward to our next opportunity to get back to Popenguine though! :)
Soiree
A couple Saturday nights ago my older sister Karna (who is 18) told me in the morning that there was a “soiree” that night in a village not far from ours where we could dance Senegalese. In the States I am usually very self-conscious when I dance since, even though I would say I am naturally good at sports and athletic activities in general, I don’t have the natural dance rhythm/flow/whatever so I have never really danced very much. I have, however, danced a fair amount in Senegal – it is a very popular thing here and my family loves it when I make a fool of myself by dancing with my little nephew or trying to dance Senegalese style (by imitating my sisters or their friends). (The ability to feel comfortable with making a complete fool of yourself should be a pre-requisite for Peace Corps Volunteers.) In any case, when my sister told me about the soiree, I was really excited.
When she was getting ready for it she told me to go and change into pants. I told her I didn’t have any good pants here – she said yes you do, I just washed them yesterday. She was talking about my hiking pants. Not exactly what I would consider dancing pants, but I guess if I can climb mountains in them, I can dance in them, right? My older brother, Modou, was gracious enough to drive Karna, our friend Djerie, and me to the soiree in his taxi. We left the house around 11pm. The soiree was in a large-classroom-sized cement building (maybe the school for the village?). There were 2 big speakers along one wall and a big floodlight (with a shirt over it for mood lighting) with the DJs along another. Opposite the speakers were mats (the same ones everyone uses to sit on outside – or inside for that matter) that people were relaxing on; along the wall opposite the light/DJs were chairs that people were sitting in. (It is very important to set the scene.) :)
There were a lot of people in the room. The mats and chairs were mostly full, as was the dance floor. The majority of people dancing were guys in their late teens and early to mid twenties. (One common theme in Senegal, and a large majority of Africa for that matter, is that there are not many single girls/women in the village that are in their late teens either because they’re married and have kids already or because they’ve left for a larger town/city to go to school or (more likely) to work as a maid or cook or something of that sort to help support their family back in the village. This is why most of the people at the soiree are young men or older boys and girls.) When we got there most of the songs were American-style hip-hop and rap, so I felt “comfortable” dancing to them. The women that were there really enjoyed coming up and dancing with me; the guys did to, but Karna and I did a good job of keeping them at a distance and they were very respectful of that space.
Around midnight, though, a bunch of new guys came into the building (including Djerie [he had been hanging out outside before] and other members of TawaFall’s football team) and the music changed to distinctly Senegalese music. It is impossible for me to describe this music for several reasons (many of which include my inability to articulate sensual things – such as what I hear – very well and my limited musical jargon knowledge). If you really want, you could try finding Senegalese music on YouTube – I’m sure you can find stuff there (though I don’t know how similar it would be to what I heard). Anyway, when the music changed I was sort of taken aback since I didn’t know how to dance to the music very well. This was fine for the most part, though, because the guys took over. The 6 or 7 guys from TawaFall that Karna and I knew formed a small circle (that included us, too) and danced away. I just stuck with very basic dancing and watched them show off their stuff. And they certainly have stuff to show off. I would love to bring my small video camera to another soiree and try to get them dancing on video – not sure how practical that is for many reasons, but I really hope I can do it at some point in the next 2 years here. Very regularly one of the guys would step into the middle of the circle and do a special move or short dance that was particularly outstanding – I was continually impressed. I don’t mean to say that the women can’t dance – they certainly can! I’m just more impressed by the guys because men in the States typically can’t dance as well as women. The TawaFall guys really liked it when I said that they can dance better than men in America. Needless to say the time passed very quickly and it was 2am when a girl came in to tell Karna, Djerie, and I that Modou wanted to go home and go to bed (he had been chatting outside the whole time). What a night! Can’t wait for my next soiree! :)
When she was getting ready for it she told me to go and change into pants. I told her I didn’t have any good pants here – she said yes you do, I just washed them yesterday. She was talking about my hiking pants. Not exactly what I would consider dancing pants, but I guess if I can climb mountains in them, I can dance in them, right? My older brother, Modou, was gracious enough to drive Karna, our friend Djerie, and me to the soiree in his taxi. We left the house around 11pm. The soiree was in a large-classroom-sized cement building (maybe the school for the village?). There were 2 big speakers along one wall and a big floodlight (with a shirt over it for mood lighting) with the DJs along another. Opposite the speakers were mats (the same ones everyone uses to sit on outside – or inside for that matter) that people were relaxing on; along the wall opposite the light/DJs were chairs that people were sitting in. (It is very important to set the scene.) :)
There were a lot of people in the room. The mats and chairs were mostly full, as was the dance floor. The majority of people dancing were guys in their late teens and early to mid twenties. (One common theme in Senegal, and a large majority of Africa for that matter, is that there are not many single girls/women in the village that are in their late teens either because they’re married and have kids already or because they’ve left for a larger town/city to go to school or (more likely) to work as a maid or cook or something of that sort to help support their family back in the village. This is why most of the people at the soiree are young men or older boys and girls.) When we got there most of the songs were American-style hip-hop and rap, so I felt “comfortable” dancing to them. The women that were there really enjoyed coming up and dancing with me; the guys did to, but Karna and I did a good job of keeping them at a distance and they were very respectful of that space.
Around midnight, though, a bunch of new guys came into the building (including Djerie [he had been hanging out outside before] and other members of TawaFall’s football team) and the music changed to distinctly Senegalese music. It is impossible for me to describe this music for several reasons (many of which include my inability to articulate sensual things – such as what I hear – very well and my limited musical jargon knowledge). If you really want, you could try finding Senegalese music on YouTube – I’m sure you can find stuff there (though I don’t know how similar it would be to what I heard). Anyway, when the music changed I was sort of taken aback since I didn’t know how to dance to the music very well. This was fine for the most part, though, because the guys took over. The 6 or 7 guys from TawaFall that Karna and I knew formed a small circle (that included us, too) and danced away. I just stuck with very basic dancing and watched them show off their stuff. And they certainly have stuff to show off. I would love to bring my small video camera to another soiree and try to get them dancing on video – not sure how practical that is for many reasons, but I really hope I can do it at some point in the next 2 years here. Very regularly one of the guys would step into the middle of the circle and do a special move or short dance that was particularly outstanding – I was continually impressed. I don’t mean to say that the women can’t dance – they certainly can! I’m just more impressed by the guys because men in the States typically can’t dance as well as women. The TawaFall guys really liked it when I said that they can dance better than men in America. Needless to say the time passed very quickly and it was 2am when a girl came in to tell Karna, Djerie, and I that Modou wanted to go home and go to bed (he had been chatting outside the whole time). What a night! Can’t wait for my next soiree! :)
Football [aka Soccer]
Football (aka soccer to us silly Americans who can’t name sports as obviously as the rest of the world) is huge in Senegal, like most African countries. Essentially only boys and men play soccer though, so whenever I say I played football (and basketball) in the States most people are very surprised. I told the guys that I wanted to play football with them when Ramadan ended and they started playing football again. A couple of days after Korite I saw several guys kicking a football around next to the well, so I quickly ran back and changed into shorts and a t-shirt. When I was coming out of my compound the guys were heading off to the football field, so I joined them (and Cora and Teresa came to watch). We had a nice warm-up and team stretch before playing. Tons of the younger boys in the village (ages 8-14 probably) were there watching and kicking a smaller ball on the sidelines – older football players elicit the same respect and admiration from younger players in Senegal as they do in the States.
Very few girls play soccer in Senegal – in fact more girls actually play basketball than soccer. Knowing the rarity of basketball courts, there must be very few girls that play soccer. This means it is very possible that I was the first girl the guys in my village had ever played soccer with. That just kind of blows me away. Apparently playing football is not only a great way for me to have fun, stay in shape, and get to know people, but also a way for me to share about American culture and do SeneGAD work (Senegal Gender and Development – this is Peace Corps Senegal’s gender awareness/empowerment/development group). (Many PCVs – including me! [or so I hope anyway] – do SeneGAD work as secondary projects.)
I can’t talk about football without writing a quick about our field. It is mostly pure (though relatively hard-packed) sand with a few weeds fighting through. There are no lines on the field – peanut plants and other weeds and trees mark the exterior lines. There is a big mango tree just outside the left corner of what would be the goal-keeper’s box (if there were lines), which clearly acts as a relatively large hazard though the guys have gotten surprisingly good at working around it or using it as a teammate/wall for personal give-and-go’s or rebounding a pass around a defender. The goals are metal poles with a string across the top; there is no net – the boys watching do a decent job of retrieving the ball after a shot, and the ball can’t usually go far because of the vegetation around the field.
The second time I played football with the guys we did some drills and sprints before we scrimmaged – the head coach for the team was there this time leading “practice.” I can actually hold my own with most of the guys, which makes me feel really good about myself (seeing as I haven’t played competitive soccer in 6 years), though I was not used to having to do sprints, especially in the sand. At least I have good tennis shoes to wear. The main starters on the team have cleats but most of the guys wear specific clear plastic sandals (I’ll try to remember to get a picture of them sometime to post) or crappy tennis shoes. A few of the guys were even playing barefoot. Anyway, about 15 minutes into our scrimmage the sky became really dark and we could see lightening far off in the distance. Storms here in Senegal move fast so I knew it was going to rain soon. No one seemed too concerned, so I didn’t worry. It’s not like I haven’t played football in the rain before. Sure enough, about 5 minutes later is started sprinkingly. We all just kept playing. The coach, though, called to me: “Soxna! Dafay taw!” (It’s raining!) I responded: “Waaw! Amul solo.” (Yes! It’s not important.) Like I said earlier, it’s not like I haven’t played football in the rain before. And it felt amazing to have the cool rain pouring down rather than the scorching sun. We continued to play for probably a good 20 minutes, but by this point the field was so full of puddles and sticky sand that it was getting very challenging to make even a simple pass so the coach called it quits. We did a quick cool-down jog and stretch and then headed home. When I got back to my compound, there were several young boys sitting in the small covered common space that all of our rooms open onto along with my siblings and parents. The boys had been watching the scrimmage and had just stopped at my house (since it’s the closest one to the field) to wait out the rain. Everyone was really surprised to see me come back soaking wet and covered in sand from the field – it is much more unusual for a girl to be like “just one of the guys” in Senegal than it is in the States.
All this practicing hasn’t just been for fun, though. The TawaFall (my village) football team has played several games against other villages. Cora, Teresa, and I have gone to 2 of them. These games are quite the experience (like most things in Senegal I suppose). The team typically leaves the village around 3:30 in the afternoon in a big Alham. (I mentioned these vehicles before – they’re big white vans with tons of seats in them that are, in general, really noisy and rickety.) The Alham drops them off at the field and then comes back to pick up the fans. (The driver of the Alham is, by the way, one of the coaches, and Teresa’s uncle – very convenient for him, the team, the village, and us.) Everyone then packs into the Alham. Essentially all the fans are the kids in the village (ranging from babies and their young mothers to guys in their early twenties). Adult men also go, too, but from my observation they seem to find their own way there. Everyone, especially the women, are dressed up in nice clothes – which involves the more traditional outfits for the girls typically, though some have worn jeans, and nice jeans and t-shirts for the guys. The ride to the field involves a lot of singing/cheering (this is mainly the women’s job – since they can’t play, they have developed very elaborate cheering and dancing skills), clapping, and dust (it wouldn’t be Senegal without dust). At the field everyone pays the small fee to get in to watch the game. The field is decent – much bigger than the TawaFall field and with significantly more weeds though still mostly sand. Cora, Teresa, and I have opted out of the option to stand and dance and sing and cheer with the girls and women all game. It seems way too exhausting and would significantly limit our ability to actually watch the game. We’ve mostly stood with the other guys from TawaFall watching the game and chatted in our broken Wolof. The first game we saw no one scored, but the second game we were getting dominated quite a bit by the other team but had a really nice goal late in the first half which got everyone from TawaFall super riled up. It was sweet. No one scored in the second half, so we ended up winning – go TawaFall! :) All the women stayed near the well when we got back from the game to be there to cheer for the team when they got back from the field. As I’ve said, these games are quite the event.
Korite
Korite is the celebration to mark the end of Ramadan in Islam. It usually involves the killing of a chicken (or several chickens or a goat or other animal, based on the economic standing of the family), getting dressed up in new clothes, saying you’re sorry, eating a lot, and blessing others by saying that you hope they will be around next year for Korite. Since Islam is based on the lunar calendar, we didn’t know exactly when Korite would be (like we didn’t know exactly when Ramadan would start). There are also 3 main brotherhoods (and another smaller brotherhood) in Senegal, and these brotherhoods celebrate Korite on different days (one right after the other), so my homestay family celebrated Korite on Monday, September 21, while other families in my village celebrated on Sunday. This works out well because everyone who is celebrating Korite gives food to the other families that aren’t celebrating so my sisters and mom had a break from cooking on Sunday, and then just cooked extra to give to others on Monday.
Everyone (who can afford it) gets new clothes for Korite. All the men get dressed up in the morning and go around to all the compounds and greet everyone and ask for forgiveness for anything they’ve done wrong during the past year. Once everyone has asked for forgiveness (and received it), they often offer a blessing, such as (essentially) “I hope you’ll be around for Korite next year.” I find Ramadan and Korite to be a very cool tradition – kind of a new way of getting back on the right foot each year with yourself, your faith, and others. It seems pretty similar to Lent and Easter.
Korite for me involved a lot of sitting, drinking tea, cutting my fingers with a dull knife, and being amazed at how well Senegalese men and women can dress – and then remain pretty/handsome – in this heat. My sister braided my hair for Korite, and to my surprise and delight, it didn’t really hurt! I thought for sure getting a million and half little braids in my hair would be a painful experience, but she is a true pro. She kept asking me if she was hurting me, but she rarely was – more often than not her question would be the one thing keeping me awake – sitting under the mango tree and leaning against my sister’s legs with the Senegalese breeze gently blowing is the perfect scenario for a nap. I did my best to stay awake and succeeded, while a little girl who was getting her hair braided next to me by my neighbor did not succeed at all – she was out cold for a good 2 hours while her hair was being braided. After I got my hair braided, I put my new Senegalese clothes on (that Cora’s sister had made) and tried to not feel like I was trying way too hard to look and feel Senegalese. It didn’t help that I really struggle with walking in the wrap skirts (called a pagne in French or a sër in Wolof) that most Senegalese women wear. I am tall, have long legs and am used to walking with long strides, which is not possible in a sër. I found I could look less goofy if I hiked up the fabric a bit on the sides, but if I do it took much everyone tells me to pull down the fabric because it’s too short. Cora, Teresa, Jo and I got pictures taken of us all dressed up in our new outfits. We all feel conspicuous walking through the village, but we felt especially conspicuous that evening – and the next evening when we went to the soccer game in our outfits.
Everyone (who can afford it) gets new clothes for Korite. All the men get dressed up in the morning and go around to all the compounds and greet everyone and ask for forgiveness for anything they’ve done wrong during the past year. Once everyone has asked for forgiveness (and received it), they often offer a blessing, such as (essentially) “I hope you’ll be around for Korite next year.” I find Ramadan and Korite to be a very cool tradition – kind of a new way of getting back on the right foot each year with yourself, your faith, and others. It seems pretty similar to Lent and Easter.
Korite for me involved a lot of sitting, drinking tea, cutting my fingers with a dull knife, and being amazed at how well Senegalese men and women can dress – and then remain pretty/handsome – in this heat. My sister braided my hair for Korite, and to my surprise and delight, it didn’t really hurt! I thought for sure getting a million and half little braids in my hair would be a painful experience, but she is a true pro. She kept asking me if she was hurting me, but she rarely was – more often than not her question would be the one thing keeping me awake – sitting under the mango tree and leaning against my sister’s legs with the Senegalese breeze gently blowing is the perfect scenario for a nap. I did my best to stay awake and succeeded, while a little girl who was getting her hair braided next to me by my neighbor did not succeed at all – she was out cold for a good 2 hours while her hair was being braided. After I got my hair braided, I put my new Senegalese clothes on (that Cora’s sister had made) and tried to not feel like I was trying way too hard to look and feel Senegalese. It didn’t help that I really struggle with walking in the wrap skirts (called a pagne in French or a sër in Wolof) that most Senegalese women wear. I am tall, have long legs and am used to walking with long strides, which is not possible in a sër. I found I could look less goofy if I hiked up the fabric a bit on the sides, but if I do it took much everyone tells me to pull down the fabric because it’s too short. Cora, Teresa, Jo and I got pictures taken of us all dressed up in our new outfits. We all feel conspicuous walking through the village, but we felt especially conspicuous that evening – and the next evening when we went to the soccer game in our outfits.
Getting ready for Korite! My older sister, Karna, is braiding the hair of the wife of the man who works for my family (they live in our compound with their 2 children). My other sister, Mama, is holding baby Amin Jai and Sallu is inspecting a plastic bag.
Me, Cora, Teresa, and Jo in our new Korite clothes!
Cora, Teresa, and I over at Teresa’s house with her family (and a French girl who stays with the family periodically on the weekends – her parents work in Thiès)
For Monday (the day my family celebrated Korite), I got up early with my family and immediately started cooking. My mom and sisters had already cut up the goat (I think – maybe a sheep) and chicken by the time I had finished breakfast, so I started peeling potatoes and cutting onions. Let’s just say that by the time we were done, I had a huge blister on my index finger on my right hand where the knife was digging in and numerous cuts on both my right and left hands. Peeling potatoes is challenging as it is, but especially challenging with a dull knife. Cutting the onions was jus t as worse – since I was cutting them in my hand, too. I have a ton more respect for these Senegalese women. Cooking has never been so challenging or dangerous. :) I could tell my mom and sisters were thinking “This girl said she cooks in the US. That can’t be true.” I respond to these thoughts by saying, like I say for many things, it’s different in America. My brothers and husband were impressed though. I think they were mostly just being nice. :)
Once lunch was done (around 2ish), a young neighbor girl came over and brought several bowls of food too other neighbors while my mom, sisters (sister-in-law included in that), and I went over to another compound who is a relative of mine (not sure how we all were related at all, but somehow through my father since there were mostly all Fall’s there) with another big bowl of food. All the other women who came to the compound brought bowls of food too (essentially all the same food – macaroni with potatoes and onions in a sauce with either chicken or goat/sheep), and then the older women mixed all the bowls of food together into a bigger bowl and then separated the food back into the smaller bowls, distributing them around to the men who ate on one side of the compound and to the women and children to ate on the other side. It was delicious – one of the best meals I’ve had in Senegal by far. And then after lunch we drank sweet milky millet (I think), which was also very delicious (I’ve had this several times now). Then it was time to disperse again until the next celebration (whatever that may be).
After lunch my sisters and I went over to a neighbor’s house so one of my sisters could get her hair braided by a friend. The rest of us sat, talked, drank tea, and relaxed. Late in the afternoon all the young boys and girls go around to all the compounds in groups in their nice clothes and ask for money. Everyone expects this so all the men make sure to have small coins handy to give to the each group. The children then split the money between themselves and give it to their parents or use it to buy small treats for themselves.
When my sister’s hair was braided we went home and all “showered” (I still call it that even though it’s a bucket bath – not that I’m complaining at all; I really enjoy bucket baths, they just take a little longer ) and put on our new clothes. (By “we” I mean all the women and children since all the men had their nice clothes on all day but the women and children didn’t usually because we were cooking/working in some capacity.) Then it was off to the soccer field, which is conveniently located less than a 2 minute walk behind my house (my father’s field of cowpeas and bisaap and a few trees are the only things in between my compound and the soccer field). Our village’s soccer team played itself in a very animated match. There was a rather extensive fight in the middle of the game – it involved mostly just lots of yelling and shoving, but it went on for a good 15 minutes. We (Cora, Teresa, Jo and I) speculated that it might not resolve itself and the match would just end in the fight, but eventually some sense and peace was talked/shoved into enough people that everyone settled down and the game resumed. The side that my brother and husband were playing on won the game – the final score was just 1-0.
After the match we all dispersed to our homes for a light dinner of leftovers. After dinner my sister (the one who is 18) and I joined up with all the other girls our age (that aren’t married with kids) to go around the village asking for money like the kids had done in the late afternoon. We talked for a while next to the well (the village “peñc mi” – i.e. public place) and then went home to go to bed (since all of us were so tired from the excitement of the day). The next night all the same women gathered at one of the girls’ house. They had bought powdered milk and mint candies to make hot, minty milk which sounds kind of gross but was actually really really good.
The soccer game
My brother Demba just kicked the ball really hard, while a guy on the other team tried (unsuccessfully) to block the kick
All the women hanging out on the sideline, with Jo sitting in the middle
Abdou and some local boys
Abdou and I
Marriage
I have a husband. His name is Abdou Diagne. He is shorter than me by a good 3 or 4 inches, but as I say to everyone in my village who mentions it (and everyone mentions it) “Amul solo” (It’s not important). We’re going to move to the US after my Peace Corps service ends and there he is going to do all the cooking and cleaning and laundry and I’ll work for money. Life will be just grand. :)
[Disclaimer (for those who can’t tell the hint of sarcasm and/or don’t know me well enough to know that I wouldn’t actually have a husband already): This is a joke. Abdou and I really aren’t married, but we are friends. This joke is funnier in Senegal because the men (in general – especially in smaller villages/rural areas) do not cook, clean, or do the laundry, so I’m quite scandalous by insisting that Abdou do all these things for me while I work for money. It’s also really funny because Abdou is shorter than me and there is the same stigma in Senegal as there is in the US that the husband must be taller than the wife. One of the reasons why Abdou and I “got married” in the first place was because at the same time Cora and my brother “got married” – and Cora is really short and my brother, Demba, is really tall, so the four of us caused quite a hilarious ruckus (in a good way) in the village with our marriages. Cora and Demba agreed to a mutual divorce within a week or so of their marriage, and Abdou and I have decided that it would be too hard to joke about being married while I’m living in Kaymore, so we’re back to being friends.] :)
[Disclaimer (for those who can’t tell the hint of sarcasm and/or don’t know me well enough to know that I wouldn’t actually have a husband already): This is a joke. Abdou and I really aren’t married, but we are friends. This joke is funnier in Senegal because the men (in general – especially in smaller villages/rural areas) do not cook, clean, or do the laundry, so I’m quite scandalous by insisting that Abdou do all these things for me while I work for money. It’s also really funny because Abdou is shorter than me and there is the same stigma in Senegal as there is in the US that the husband must be taller than the wife. One of the reasons why Abdou and I “got married” in the first place was because at the same time Cora and my brother “got married” – and Cora is really short and my brother, Demba, is really tall, so the four of us caused quite a hilarious ruckus (in a good way) in the village with our marriages. Cora and Demba agreed to a mutual divorce within a week or so of their marriage, and Abdou and I have decided that it would be too hard to joke about being married while I’m living in Kaymore, so we’re back to being friends.] :)
Abdou and I on Korite (see later post about Korite) - I'm all dressed up in my new Senegalese clothes and he just subbed out of the soccer game (he's on my village's soccer team).
Cora and Demba - aren't they cute?!?!? They're pretty goofy together. :)
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