Around the compound

 Learning how to use binoculars.  I wish I brought a pair of these!  With Hoja and her mom, Awa, and Robert.  My short time VSO sitemate.

 Jugal and Fafa.  My sister and brother.  Standing in the corn field.

 Yura.  The youngest.  Very spunky!

 Grr!

 Fanta.  Her mom is in Senegal.  She's been with us for a while now.  Just kicken it.  So cute.

 Awa.  My aunts daughter who has also been staying with us lately to help out.  Compounds are constantly changing.

 

 Baay.  My host father.  Coming back from praying.

 Host mom, Dado, and some of the kids.  Certainly not the best photo faces but it was the brightest.

 Ndey and Maddie.  Mother and son.

 Jama and Isatou.  Mother and daughter.

 Ndey, holding some 25L of water. 

 Baay.  With permission to take his picture this time.

 Maam.  My host grandmother, Fatim.  An amazing and strong woman.

 Our kitchen.

 My backyard, featuring a flamboyant tree planted last year.

 My Leuceana tree from last year.  So tall!

 Gayende, checking out the camera.

 And my bed.  It's looking nice these days.  I have to make it every night and strip it every morning because black stinging ants fall between the wall and mosquito net, somehow crawl under the net or through the holes, and sting me in my sleep!  But this new system has been better, is more open and spacious.  Kind of like a flat in Manhattan now...

People and village picture break!

Gayende liked to play in my jibadah, a mud jar that keeps your water cool.  The jar was pretty moldy so now it's a perch outside.

This is the Alpha I always talk about.  He's one of my best friends here.  He runs this Bitik (shop) in the town nearest me.

My host mom and I showing off our tippy tap.  An old oil bidong (container) fashioned to work as a running water tap for hand washing.  The post has since been knocked over by a horse.  We talk about repairing it.  Someday.  There's a newer easier technology we might try for the next one that uses physics wisely.  To come.  Maybe!

Nalgene, I thought you were unbreakable!  This happened around month three.  It fell off my bike handlebars full of cold water on the super hot pavement going about 10-12 mph.  Another volunteer brought me a new one from the states.  Thanks Mikaela! : )

Just hanging out.  You know, no big.

One of my other best friends, Hoja (left), host sister/cousin, in her compound, wearing my hat.

Baby Isatou.  Maybe about one month old here?  Or so.  She was very very small when I saw her after a week old.  I was very scared.  She's alive and well today and continues to get bigger.  An incredibly strong young one if I may say.

Another kitty in the jar shot.  I think she liked it in there so much because it was cool.

Host mom showing PC herself how to fill the tippy tap.

My friend Maram (madam).  I don't see her in village too much but we hung out on this day when I had a camera.  She is very sweet.

Hoja again.  Looking gorgeous.  She is engaged to be married soon!  I hope I'll still be here to see her wedding.

Another friend, Kayway.  Sorry it's so dark.  I don't visit her often enough but really enjoy her company at site.  I went over there one morning for the first time for breakfast.  I don't know why I was so nervous.  I think the language barrier mostly.  I brought a jar of tea with milk and honey.  And she sent out for bean sandwiches and green tea with sugar (attaya) to make for me.  The hospitality was above and beyond.  Her and her husbands hut is really nice with mosaic like broken tiled floor.  Her husband is really experimental with agriculture.  One of my favorite couples in village.

Another Gayende shot.  Just chillin.  She actually hates the heat.  Sorry kitty.

And me.  With my lovely village look. 

And then the wind blew

(8 July 2013)

Ndey? (Ndey?)
Hm? (Hm?)
It's dark. (Dafa lindim.)
Where? (Fan?)
There. (Fale.)
Yes. (Waaw.)
Do you think the rain is coming? (Fog nga taw mungi dikka?)
Huh? (Huh?)
I said, the rain, do you think it will come? (Manee, taw bi, fog nga dina ñow?)
Rain? (Taw?)
Yes. (Waaw.)
Eh, I don't know. (Eh, xam uma di.)
But, it's so dark. (Waay, dafa lindim torup!)
Yes, it's dark. (Waaw, dafa lindim kaay.)
But only g-d can know it? (Waay yalla mo ko xam rekk?)
Yes, only g-d knows it. (Waaw, yalla mo ko xam rekk.)

Then I was silent.  I just sat happily with Ndey, my cousin, or something like that.  Watching this dark wall slowly impress upon our village from the East.  It's bad luck, or so it seems, to try and predict weather.  But it's something that is such a natural and easy point of conversation.  I wanted to say that I was sure something was coming but I bit my lip and just watched, feigning ignorance.  Every few minutes I would point out how the horizon was getting darker, a bit as a joke.  Then, everyone began to scatter.  They told me the wind was coming as if it was a surprise.  I smirked a bit as I swiftly went into my house to prepare it for the unknown, hoping somewhat desperately that rain was in tow.

I had asked them about rain dances earlier, or trying to, explaining, somewhat exaggeratedly for simplicities sake, that we have rain dances where I'm from because it is also dry there (Arizona) and that rains are important.  I don't think they believed me.  Or maybe it's just so difficult to conceive of anywhere outside of here.  Especially when you've hardly ever even left the village. 

I wished I could have filmed it.  Althought a wind storm or storm in general isn't that unlike other storms.  The dust here makes it a different world though.

It felt like dusty air conditioning blowing through.  The air just before was quite hot and humid and still.  The mixing of such opposing temperatures created quite a stir, literally!  The neem tree whipped around like one of those blow up dancing men outside of car washes or a new music store, dancing hard to impress you enough to enter.  This tree is a solid mass of fixed carbon dioxide, strongly rooted and heavily branched.  Bobbing about like a teen at a rave. 

I was so excited.  I absolutely love storms!  Desert storms are some of the best.  West African ones may be even better but I haven't seen anything top the lightning storms of AZ.  But, these ones can come close.

I was running back and froth from my back yard to inside my house.  Constantly rubbing the dirt out of my eyes.  The coolness was irresistable.  And the sights, like being under water with a brown hazy ocean ceiling.

I started to see and hear my family run back and forth out front.  At first it was just the children playing in the crazy weather.  Enjoying like me.  Then I saw my older sisters.  Something was up.

I looked out one of my windows that just looks out to the narrow path between my house and my grandmothers.  Straw was everywhere.

Shit.  I went outside and latched my outer corrugate leaving Gayende (my kitty) locked inside.  Two huts had lost most of their grass roofs.  Everyone was running back and forth with their belongings in case the rain picked up.  I started to help while trying not to be too much in the way.  It was drizzling on us as we moved things, but only a little bit.  I was astonished. Their houses are really just as full as mine if not more!  Ok, maybe it's the same.  But all of their stuff was just hidden!  Hidden under the straw mattress or behind the cloth curtains.  All I ever knew of these homes was to have the beds, the pans (large 25L basins) and trunks of clothes, some shoes or flashlights, etc.  But these houses, they were lived in.  Like the clutter you find in your mom's or grandma's house from generations of use and love.  It was reassuring in a way.  As well as frustrating, so much to move! 

Fortunately there was a new house with a new corrugate roof to evacuate to.  And also fortunately, the storm was not as tremendous as I had originally hoped.  That hope popped like a soggy sad balloon at the site of the mostly roofless houses that keep so many of my loved ones and their belonginings sheltered.

After we moved as much as possible, and of value, and our grandmother, I returned to my house.  Like any crises, when the crisis isn't mine, I did what any good Jewish girl would do.  I turned to food.  I popped my family some pick me up fresh popcorn.  Then made some for myself before collapsing on my floor.  Surrendering to the almond m&m's and children's stories my mom sent for Words on Wheels (...I have to make sure the stories are good!).

I felt exhausted.  And not because the things we were moving were extraordinarily heavy, or because I had worked particularly hard that day, but because of the weight of the poverty that is life here.

Every volunteer, just about, complains about chronic fatigue.  Sure, we don't have the best beds or mattresses (actually, no mattresses, just foam or straw or both), nor do we live in the best climate or have the most supportive of diets.  All excellent reasons to be tired.  But I think it's a much more subtle storm that moves through all of us, at varying degrees throughout our service.  An emotional heaviness that we bear, probably a lot of it subconsciously, anytime we see the kids too skinny, children and adults wearing rags, deformities, sick people without proper medicine or access to it, houses in ruins, food in scarce and or bland quantities, dirty households, crying babies, children beating each other or moms beating (disciplining) their children, people fighting, and just the visible despair that shows on their faces sometimes.  It's like you can see inside their heads when their counting something or looking at food stores or clothes, just not having the money in the copious amounts they wished.  Their whole spirit slumps, their face falls, but it's much more subtle than that.  You can see it only if you look.  Like looking gently with your peripheral vision.  I think we try to not see this, or at least I did, for a long time.  But I think whether you choose to see it or not, you do and it definitely has an affect that weighs on your soul.  And it weighs more heavier and harder as they become your family, your community, and your people.

I'm almost certain that was the exhaustion I felt after living that minor disaster with them.  It's somehow even harder when their faces are bright, their energy is high and they're never without humor.  And how could it be any different?  If they let it weigh them down, they'd never be able to do anything!  Which, actually happens too.  I hardly feel like I can do anything amidst it all sometimes, and I have an out!

All of us, at some point, and in some way, feel this weight.  It's arguably why so many of us feel for Africa and her people.  Because they are our fellow peoples and their lives and our western lives, are somehow not the same level of living.

But still now, after all this time, interest, action, and aid, none of us have the magic cure.  But I think the solution is simple.  Not easily achievable but simple.  I don't think it's something that the most intelligent engineers, architects, or scientists can discover.  It's that potential, buried in each and every one of us, that just needs to be seen or sparked by someone, to ignite it, and have that person finally feel free and allowed to express it, whatever it is.  It's a trait even many westerners struggle with.  That sense of confidence, ownership, responsibility and integrity of self.  That allowance in your self to be yourself even and especially if that looks different.  These are not always easy traits nor are they always natural.  Society can shape us in a way that makes these even harder to access.  But I think it's that simple faith in self that is going to move mountains.  Nothing more or less.

I drafted this as you can see on the eighth of July.  It's now the twenty seventh as I finally type it.  It's raining, as I type here in the capital city.  Sheets of it.  It's not so windy here.  Not as much as it is up country.  But it's a comforting rain.  A rain of promise.  A rain of hope.  A rain of, Inshallah, prosperity, peace, and change.

Wish you were here

(26 May 13)

There we were.  The three of us.  Maddi carrying a large basin/pan on his head full of various seeds drenched in water, Baay Malick (father Malick) swinging the heavy 12L blue bucket full of cashew seeds soaking in water.  And me, struggling to keep back rather than keep up, conscientiously slowing my pace to keep in line.  Everyone walks at a very leisurely gait here.  Shouldering my black medal shovel, probably the nicest in the village, and proudly donning my Fula farming hat which can easily be mistaken for some Asian rice field wear.  As we walked, that slow gait, I found myself gaining ahead of them from time to time and made continuous effort to pull back, if not just for the effect of the scene.  I wished I could have split in two to run ahead and snap a picture or film.  Or wished you could just see us.  It was one of those moments where you envision your life to be so important that you can see the camera crew out front filming the visually delectable scene for a movie about bad ass volunteers making it work in West Africa.  I found it amusing that my excitement about the whole deal burst into a mental blockbuster.  But there we were, walking out into the middle of the bush towards Seidou's garden.  His scraggly fence made of dry grass, branches, and weeds.  Seeds and poly pots and shovel in our hands.  Handfulls of villagers coming to meet us to help with THEIR tree nursery.  TREES!  They want trees!  Not only do they want them but we spent that entire afternoon (after five for the sake of the heat) until nearly dusk planting I don't even know how many trees- until the poly pots ran out!

It wasn't the whole village working but it was just enough.  Some ten women and five men.  Out there in the corner of this dry and wilted garden.  Filling poly pots, hauling water from over two hundred paces away, digging the trench for the trees, soaking the dirt, and patiently attempting to understand my crazy and grammatically embarrassing Wollof skills, as I tried to understand the perfection of their native tongue coming so fast and easy, without a second thought.  Just working and jabbering.  Mostly about the little things, and about Rohe (me), etc.  I didn't even care.  I was ecstatic!  If I wasn't so tired and possibly dehydrated and more at ease, I'm sure I would have cried fat tears of pure joy.  Here I am giving thanks after it's all finished and they tell me I'm the one helping them, not the other way around.  Well, I suppose, but if they only knew how much I love trees!  And I'm sure they have some idea.  However, they probably don't know that hours before I stood over the pans of soaking seeds (soaking them just helps speed up germination, and shows you if you have bad seeds by the ones that float to the top) playing with them in the water with a feeling that can only be appropriate for describing the love a mother feels towards her child.  So, there's that.

We're coming up here, as they say.  Slowly but surely.  Today was one of those rare busy 'peace corps' days.  One of those days you picture when you're stateside preparing for departure imagining what it'll be like.  You don't imagine the majority of what your days actually are like, trying to simply fill time.

The morning began early for me (before nine) with a mango jam and alternative fuel stove demonstration in partnership with a local NGO, AVISU in the next town over.  Then my friend and site mate came through helping give polio injections with the health clinic also in the town over.  It's always exciting to see a fellow PC in village!  Then the tree nursery.  When even just one of those events would have made a day satisfying!  And tomorrow morning they won't even let me rest- I'm off helping the women scope out potential sites for a garden, and a man, Tafa, in the village over for cashew trees!  My village, where have I been all of this time?  But I'm here now.  If you really want it all, let's do it all.

I'm tired.  Slightly dehydrated.  Slightly underfed, today, given the energy expense.  But am happy.  What a day.  Wish you were here.

A village behind you

(20 May 2013)

I'm not sure I can do this entry justice with words alone.  It's one of those phenomenons you might have to experience to really grasp what emotions the words attempt to invoke.

Things have still been pretty slow here.  Farmers are preparing their fields by burning the remaining dry grasses.  The smoke and dust have declared war on my small bronchial tubes and slightly asthmatic lungs.  Mental white flags and meditated gentle breathing wasn't cutting it so the doctor sent for reinforcements as a steroid inhaler which keeps the opposing forces at bay.

The farmer field school idea has been on hold.  Perhaps still in the reviewing process of the cosmos awaiting approval...

My goals in this short window before my vacation (¡España!) are more realistically thus:

• Distribute new variety bean seeds to selected farmers and for VDC (Village Development Committee) and prepare them to either collect required data or keep in mind data I'll collect upon my return regarding spacing, weeding, etc. (will happen after vacation, July)
• start a tree nursery for the village with the help of the village members including cashew (we did it!)
• begin my own Moringa intensive demonstration bed (also completed)

This last goal was inspired by a volunteer in Senegal.  She lives about three km from the border and near a fairly large town hosting one of the regions largest weekly markets, if not the largest, with the help of friends from home and kinkos or wherever they printed the laminated photos.  She set up a Moringa information booth using pictures that walk you through the production of the leaf powder.  So, with not much else going on, I justified doing a project for myself sinde it'll stand in front of my house and can be used for demonstration.  And intensive bed looks more like a vegetable garden than an orchard.  I'm not quite sure how long it can last so am experimenting myself with them but the idea is that you keep the seedlings cut short to promote more bush leaf production.  You collect leaves, wash them, dry them in the shade (not sun!) then add leaf powder to any and every dish to get some extra nutrients (see prior Moringa post)

I bought a bag of cement and traded it for forty bricks already made.  Was totally prepared and expecting to erect this raised bed myself.  But from the beginning, just stacking the bricks, I had my host siblings insisting their help, even the youngest, maybe ten, who can barely lift a brick was intent on seeing the wall complete before resting.  My host uncle, host moms younger brother who I found annoying and not liking initially because he thought copying my wolof was fun, has been incredible.  He really is a good guy.  I'm really learning to be forgiving, to not take things so personally or literally and to have a sense of humor over some of those parts of me that are hardest to laugh at.  And it feels really good.

Next day was the daunting task of filling the raised bed we just walled off.  I say daunting because the empty volume looking to be filled would take a lot of dirt which was going to be heavy and take who knows how long.  Again, foolishly, something I expected to face myself.  As soon as I begun after my host mom's continued nags about when I'd start, I was finishing a really good book, The Corrections, she started shouting something to the general vicinity and continued lecturing me about now how heavy and hard this work was.  Well you just yelled at me to do it so...!  Soon after her shouts, a heard of young boys and some girls and even little tots came with their empty tin cans, busted bowls, and modified oil containers (bidongs) to help me fill this volume.

I just can't tell you- watching my uncle shovel, and the eager children running back and forth with their little containers.  The three year old with his tiny tin can that he insisted to carry on his head!  And my counterparts for the village bee keeping project, taking my 25L pan from me and passionately telling me it's their job to help me and that I'd done enough because the pan was too heavy. 

As I stood there taking it all in, figuring out how I could still make myself useful after everyone adopted/stole my laborious work from me, I almost cried.  Such a beautiful and indescribable scene.  What a neat dynamic.  How silly I was to think I could do anything alone here.  One of those left over expectations from a life in the states.

I still made quite a few solo trips to my host moms glares and laughter, but we got it filled.  I love how they put the pressure on me about my work.  Roxe, when will you water in?  When will you plant?  Little do they know the watering will be up to them soon soon.  This first bed might fail due to my extended absence but we can always try again.  And hopefully produce some good leaf powder for our food bowls.  Whether they'll use it or sell it is to be seen.  You gotta at least try here.

Amassing work from thin air... or rather, thin soil

Imagine, if you will, being thrown into a community and being expected to help them do great things.  You want to help them do great things and are under the impression that they also want that.  You have some training but most of all are literate so regardless of your expertise you can always read up on something and figure it out.  You’re supposed to have a counterpart.  Some member of the community to help get you established and guide you in the direction of various projects you’ll work on together.  Now imagine you in that community still excited and eager to help, but you have no counterpart, no organization, and no idea where or how to start or even what to start with and who to work with.  Add to it you don’t speak or hear the language of your community members appreciate their sense of humor, i.e., making fun of you, mocking your attempts, etc.

I don’t mean for this to sound like I’m whining.  Although don’t get me wrong, I do and have shed a few tears.  It’s not easy.  One thing I forgot to mention, is that “help” is more commonly interpreted as “what will you give me/us?” vs. “how can you support me/us in these things we want to/are doing?”  As we expect it.

So it’s been a year.  Given my sitch I’m happy to have found the little work I have as at the school and with the two community members with beekeeping (BeeCause that’s important!).  But I’ve had the sinking suspicion that other super stars are out there who I should be working with and I was too scared/nervous to face the village alone to find them.

When the school went on Easter break I decided it was time especially since I just presented on project planning and development at the new environments IST.  I shared with them wise words I’ve managed to read while at site not dong much in terms of project development myself.  Just reading about it.  Which honestly I think is good.  Most, if not all, of the literature stresses to go slow, take your time, build relationships and assess thoroughly.

Peace Corps tasked me with a baseline assessment survey in the first three months (go after five month’s in country) of service.  Again without a counterpart or translator I was unable to thoroughly do this.  I had my community representative host sister/cousin help me interview the village chief, herself, and then was able to interview the principle (headmaster) who I thought could be my main counterpart but that didn’t work as his job is demanding enough but he’s extremely supportive as projects at the school. And then my host father through the help of the principle.  So four out of some 250…

Now I can at least hear the language pretty well.  I had another host sister help me translate a handful of questions (maybe to come in another post) and was just trying to muster the strength to go forth.

My host mom, maybe sensing how difficult this was for me stepped up and took me to my first three interviewees.  Then another two- then I was pretty much flying solo.  Receiving some help from Hoja sometimes.  All that build up to get to this part!

So I had interviewed thirteen and was wanting to call it quits.  Each interview demanding a lot of mental focus and energy which is hard to keep in the heat!  All the answers were the same regardless the questions- I have no money I can’t do these things because there’s no money for fertilizer, machines, or materials.

Then number fourteen reminded me why I was on my scavenger hunt.  How/why had we not met before??  His interview went just like the others until I got to the section on gardening and community help.  He told me how he’s trying to grow cashew and mango trees and that he buys seedlings at the luumo (weekly market) and then that he’s tried to raise poultry and wants to expand with larger animals but ran out of help or resources.  He used to make people translate for him his agricultural papers.  He’s attended workshops and used to be involved with the department of agriculture as far as I can guess- my wolof isn’t anywhere near perfect and Hoja’s English isn’t either.  Although it’s a lot better than my wolof.  Anyway.  This man was the suspicion I had.  I’m getting pretty excited.  Of course I have a hidden agenda with all of this.  Yes I’m trying to find a counterpart and more people to work with that actually want to work with me- have things they need help on etc.  But I’m also looking for a teacher.  Someone willing and wanting to be trained in some agricultural basics and then wanting to experiment and train others.  Ideally I want to work with someone motivated in my own community, someone that is respected and of the same economic status as the other farmers.  Someone who has already the desire to help others.  Someone with the same background and language.  I love to help and am here to help but you know, I’m not a farmer, I did not grow up here, I don’t speak fluently, and I’m a young woman. 

But this man- I ended the survey asking him something I hadn’t felt like asking the others- if he would want to teach the villagers if he had the knowledge.  His answer, yes.  But sometimes I wonder if they’re always just going to say yes.  Regardless, I’m excited.  And definitely feel like stopping now but should press on.

Next steps, shall we get there, is to hold a meeting to reveal the results of the survey and then to brainstorm their ideas on how to address the biggest issues.  Again I’m only hoping that somehow someone say’s something like: Hey Roxe, we really want a farmer field school where you train one of us and then he trains ten more and we experiment with seed variety and other  alternative practices, can you help us in that?

What a great idea, I could say.  Sure, let us talk about how we can do that to see what I can do to assist and what you all can do so that this is an equal partnership.

Then rainbows come down and butterflies and robins start singing and flowers of every color appear… Ha.  I crack myself up.  But we’ll get there, or somewhere.  But that for now, for them, is my dream.  But the most important thing and easiest to forget or lose sight of, is that if I’m here to really help and not just have a crazy cool experience is that it’s not about me or my dreams.  Those mater to me and it’s easier to work within your passion.  But it’s about them and their dreams and my supporting that.  I think a farmer field school would be a great, sustainable and helpful endeavor that could be built upon generation to generation given it’s in the hands of the right people.  But maybe their dreams are of cashew and mango orchards, poultry farms and proper livestock management.  That’s fine too.  As long as they have a dream, an idea, and it can somehow fit within my PC framework and MI research , we’ll all win.

9 April 13 around 20:00

Greetings!  I feel like it’s been a little while.  How’s everything stateside? 

I’m doing something a little different.  I’m curious if you’ll be able to tell.  I’m writing this from village for once.  No, I’m not all of a sudden having electricity or a way to charge my laptop nor am I all of a sudden living in a climate suitable for electronics, I’m simply journaling (now thanks to this sweet new birthday journal that arrived today on mail run, thanks Jill!) and then copying to my blog.

I’m hoping to do this more often now that I have a book to record in,  I think, ok know, my village voice is different from my ‘city’ Kombo voice.  Also, maybe it would be interesting to document in real time to mention things like the lovely traditional Gambian music playing on my host fathers radio, the glow of this solar light hanging above my head clipped to an indoor clothesline and the comfort of the sound of my family’s never ending communicating and conversations adding to the rhythm and “music” of the evening and of my typical evenings.  Then the crickets- hardly noticeable anymore.

Anyway, here’s some HCA &R updating (R= random) 1^st R, Nicki Minaj is on the radio right now. No joke. Never heard the song before. ..or at least I think it’s Nicki..

H:  

• Both counterparts are having bees in their catcher boxes.  The excitement on their faces, one even danced! Is why we’re here and is what makes all the other stuff worth while

• USAID came on trek to check on their projects and were happy with the garden in Kaur

• The exchange letters from my mom’s sixth grade class finally came.  Students in 7-9^th grade (similar in age) are writing back.  Again seeing the excitement on their faces over having a friend in America write to them was pretty cool.  Also the fact that fifty some students came to my hut over the course of a week on their holiday break to reply quickly

• My health has improved incredibly.  Thank you everyone for all the delicious food, care packages, and love! Jill, Souse, Jynene, Sarah, Mom, Joe, Pam & Unc! Thank you, Ajaraama, jerejef, Abaraka! Also, Gayende loved the kitty food and now doesn’t like rice…
  
•  PC continued support regarding a crappy matter and just honestly their support in general

•  A very successful in service training for new Ag volunteers up country at the new Ag training center created by volunteer Remy Long.  Re kindled my fire for sure.

C:

• So, it wasn’t a huge deal in I was coming home by horse cart which I’ve done a number of times.  This one was heading to the village after mine in Senegal.  Also, I’m sure not a first time I've been on a Senegal hoursecart.  In total I think there were nine passengers including the driver.  I had just had a great day spending the afternoon with my friend and site mate visiting with my other friend Alpha at his bitik and another bitik owner across the way.  Had bought a good amount of veggies for my family and was excited to give them it after not giving much the last several times I’ve traveled.  Anyway, the guy next to me was being pretty boisterous- nothing too unusual.  He asked if I knew a man.  I thought it a silly simple word to test me on.  Yes I said.  I know man.  You’re a man.  Weirdo, I thought.  Then he put his finger through a circle he made in his other hand to show me what he meant.  I got it but didn’t want to engage.  He was especially handsy threatening to push me off the cart after I refused a marriage proposal or refused to pay him a ridiculous amount of money or refused to give him my veggies.  He was touchy in a way I hated, rude with his words and demeanor.  My heart started to feel funny, like it was hot.  I didn’t really realize how I was feeling or what was happening until I was home.  I called one of my former language teachers to ask her about what just happened and if and how to tell my host family that I was not happy about it.  She was amazing and helped explain how inappropriate it was and helped translate to my host father.  He took the matter very seriously and tracked the name of the man down by threat of arrest.  I didn’t think it was that big a deal.  Was more pissed off someone thinks they can get away treating me like that when I’m almost 98% sure he would never ever treat a Gambian woman like that.  Not in a conservative Muslim country.  The racism or whatever you want to call it still gets to me.  Although you could I guess call it karma.  Not mine per say but the shared karma of my country, and our poor history based on racial profiling/discrimination etc.  Did you know that genetically races isn’t even a thing?  The only thing it is is political.  Do you how much it sucks to receive the blunt of those discriminations?  It sucks! (Had to break for dinner, mbaxal with hot pepper.  I love when we have ground hot pepper!  Also it wasn’t fishy = happy).  Ok so I went off a bit.  All I mean to say is that when it comes down to it, we’re all just human beings.  Like my grandfather used to say, some of us with more chocolate ice cream than vanilla, aka, some darker than not as in evil, not nice etc.  Or however you want to interpret it.  Point still being that race, religion, and sexual orientation don’t determine how likely you are to rob a bank or cause terror.  Your parents or whoever raises you, your society, etc.  Those things that shape us.  This all being fueled from and interesting village read, Zeitoune by Dave Eggers about a Muslim American family surviving Katrina and the broken system’s following the aftermath of the storm.  The story casts America in not the best of light and I think most of us would agree that we did not shine bright after that disaster and a lot of it is understandable.  But profiling and treating one another like anything less than ourselves is something I'm not sure I’ll ever understand and is a disappointment I feel much like a parent might feel about her son or daughter acting out as a bully to someone else.  Not sure why I tend to take it so personally or to heart but there it is.  Please be kind to one another! (13 April 13- so that rant being said, I feel like it's fair to admit that I too have been ignorant and have profiled myself.  And that especially thanks to this experience I'm having of integrating and immersing in another culture, especially a Muslim one, really helps me to see how we all are really just people.  But I can understand that ignorance and simply not being exposed could cause inappropriate hateful behavior.  But just because I understand doesn't mean I agree with it and doesn't mean it's OK.  I think one of the best things you can do if you don't understand or are even afraid of something is to find out more about that thing rather than avoid and fight it. You might still decide you don't like it but at least now you know what you're talking about).

·         That reminds me of another happy.  Sitting on a gelle (overcrowded passenger van) for less than five minutes next to the kindest Fula woman, same day as the horse cart guy- she extended her hand in greeting which isn’t common on gelle’s for me to receive.  We Asalaamed Aliekumed each other and I attempted some Fula greetings but not much at all.  She removed one of her Fula beaded bracelets and extended it to me.  I was already wearing two.  I offered to exchange one for hers though both were from friends and I didn’t really want to give them up.  And she didn’t want to take them.  She just wanted me to have her red and yellow fula bracelet.  I jaramma jeffed her and was completely up lifted by her gesture.  See.  So much better than harassment!

(Another break- host sister just came in for nightly antibiotic ointment.  Shh, don’t tell PC!  We’re not supposed to share the contents of our PC med kit but I’m sorry, she had a has a huge gash on her leg that she was putting lotion on as medicine.  I swear this place will break your heart in just about every way.  She got the gash from the jagged corrugate door to the kitchen hut.  The door used to be one of my pc installed window covers.  She probably did it in the evening in the dark without a flash light.  Anyway so yeah.  I give up a cm or so of ointment each night to help it heal and discourage flies from feasting on it in the night as I encourage her to let it ‘breathe’)

Getting back on track.  Host father like I said tracked the guy down and somehow confronted him about how that inappropriate behavior is not tolerated.  The guy sent two men from his village to repent and ask my forgiveness.  I forgave.  PC comes tomorrow (our safety and security officer) basically to thank my host father for his efforts in ensuring my security.  It almost seems a bit much but my American mom sure didn’t raise me to take even the slightest bit of what would you call it, guile? Whatever it is, Clip? From anyone.  You don’t get to talk to me about sex, put your hands on me, tell me your wife or wives are prettier because I’m white and continue to rough handle me in my community with witnesses and get away with it.  It’s the principle of the matter that gets me the most.  And it is not really something that should go unchecked lest he tell his friends and decide that harassing the toubab is their new favorite game.  It’s kind of a great opportunity to remind and show people that I’m not going to take that, that I’m a professional here to help and need a safe environment to do so and that I have this organization behind me at a moment’s notice.  I’m thankful the situation was minor and that my friend and former language teacher took it upon herself to make sure the situation was minor and that my friend and former language teacher took it upon herself to make sure the situation was handled more than appropriately!  She was the one I called in the days of no gas and helped me then get the help I needed.

Phew- didn’t know I had so much fire in me wanting to come out!  Hope your eyes aren’t hot!

I really am feeling good here.  It’s always a bit of a constant struggle from here out as we become more established feeling more and more like a true and real resident (we are but being treated still sometimes like a stranger or tourist.  It shakes me more that I’d like it to and surfaces the many doubts I often have as to whether I’m even right in feeling like I “know” this place just because I live here, have a family here, work and speak some of the language.  A constant battle of proving yourself and seeking that validation that doesn’t come but you have to go forth anyway as best you can.  Maybe at some point able to accept that you’ll never quite be equal to your fellow villagers but that you are unequal to the tourist.  If even.