Why We Are Here

Saturday, November 14

I’ll admit that over the course of this two month training, there have been times when I have asked myself “Why am I here.” Or more precisely “What the f**k am I doing here?”

The Paris happened. And I am beginning to understand. Sure, I am here in Senegal to share my agricultural experience and skills to make growing easier and more sustainable for farmers and urban gardeners. That’s good in and of itself. But now I understand that there is more to it. 

As we have read over the several hours, one purpose of these horrific terrorist attacks is to drive a wedge between the west and moderate Islam--to reduce the world to a stark black and white--to make all westerners hate and fear all Muslims.  (In that regard they seem to be walking in step with some of our own jingoistic pundits and politicians.) But today it hit me that in a small way I am here to counter that hateful aim. Senegal is a nation that is 90% Muslim (and all whom I have met have been accepting, generous, and kind.) While here, I can play a small role in fostering civility, understanding and genuine friendship between, in this case, a long-lapsed Catholic and the Muslims I meet every day—in gardening classes, seed exchanges, at the market or just passing in the street.

There is a certain personal symmetry at work here. Nearly 45 years ago I declined to be drafted into the U.S. “War Corps,” and here I am now, in Senegal doing finally doing my alternate service (or should I say opposite service) in the Peace Corps, sowing the seeds of peace in small person-to-person exchanges. It feels right.

The content of this blog do not reflect the thoughts, philosophy or beliefs of the U.S. Peace Corps. The opinions are those of the author alone.

My New Home, Hot Home

Wednesday, November 11

From the day I arrived in Senegal, this was what I had been waiting for, it was postind day for myself and the other 60 trainees in my stage.  It was the day our Peace Corp placement site would be revealed. It was when we would learn where we would be spending the next two years. I had a pretty good idea of where I wanted to be--in Saint-Louis on the northeastern coast of Senegal. A French colonial city, it had everything I wanted. And I was feeling optimistic as I milled around the basketball court with the 60 other trainees.

Here’s the way the placement reveal works. We all meet on the basketball court, which has a map of Senegal painted on it. Then, once everyone is there, we are each blindfolded and each of us, at the same time, is taken by the hand and let to the location on the map of our posting. Not directly of course; the hand holder pulled me around the map and spun me around a few times, but I never lost my sense of direction and I knew that eventually we were heading back toward the west coast, the northern west coast. And that’s where Saint-Louis is. So my hopes were high when I was stopped in place, facing eastward on the map. I knew I was near Saint Louis. But then I suddenly heard two trainees behind me, that is, closer to the coast. And I knew there weren’t more than two openings there. Sure enough, when the time came for us to take off our blindfolds I was standing right on top of a city named Louga. Close, but no cigar. Louga? I knew nothing about it.

Of course I did some research as soon as I could. The city is about 100k from Saint Louis and 60k due east of the coast. You won’t find much about Louga on Wikipedia, or anywhere online for that matter. It is a fairly new city of 250,000 resident on the edge of the Sahel desert.

And then I went there. The next day. We all spread out to visit our sites. Some had to endure a 14 hour bus ride to reach theirs. Mine, fortunately was only about two hours to the north of Theis. The Peace Corps car dropped me at the bus station in Louga where my ancienne (predecessor) was waiting. Ashlee and I grabbed a cab and headed into the city and her (soon to be my) place. Unlike most PCVs, I won’t be living with a family; I will have my own studio apartment, complete with a single gas burner and mini- fridge. (I am already dreaming of having a supply of cold water!) It's the kind of place you'd pay $2,000 a month rent for in the South Bronx. The bathroom has a decent shower and a western toilet. (Good thing because the squat toilets are killing my knees.) I also will have access to the roof.

Louga is a low, sprawling city with sand on the streets. There doesn’t seem to a building over two stories high. At its heart are three huge outdoor markets with vegetables and fish, fruit and meat, electronics, back packs, used clothing, mattresses—anything you could want, though none of it seems to be of very high quality.  We went to one to buy me a gym bag, and the zippers broke almost immediately.

But before that we went to lunch at my new family’s compound. There must have been 20 people there and i’m sure it will take me awhile to figure out all the relationships in the extended family. But they were all very welcoming and accepting of my pitiful Wolof.

I also got to meet some of the major agricultural players in town and am looking forward to getting back to learn from them.

Oh, almost forgot, while I was in Louga I got a haircut. I just picked the closest of may many barber shops. The barber turned out to be a young guy with a bit of English, but Ashlee was there too to help out with the Wolof. He was eager to please but couldn't quite figure out what to do with my long straight hair. He had obviously never cut a toubaab's hair before. Those trusty clippers of his just ' work, at least not until the gave me a once over with scissors. Eventually he figured it out--and insisted on trimming my beard too. It all turned out fine. A good haircut for 500 CFAs. That's one dollar if you're counting.

The content of this blog do not reflect the thoughts, philosophy or beliefs of the U.S. Peace Corps. The opinions are those of the author alone.

Good Vibrations

0ctober 21 Wednesday

It turned out to be a good day today even though I woke up feeling a bit sleep- deprived and had some stomach issues throughout the day. I started the day by watering the garden. It would have been nice to have a hose, but carrying watering cans for a half hour was not the worst thing. It reminded me of those quiet and peaceful early mornings watering the plants in the nursery where I worked in Vermont. I had a pretty good Wolof session with Sidy. He was very positive about my recitation. After lunch of ceebujen I took a short nap then had my room cleaned. Atta insisted that I lay in bed as she and the kids swept and scrubbed the floor. It really needed it. Then I went off to the cyber café. I still couldn’t get on his WiFi but did manage to send a couple of emails on his desktop machine. He also had found my missing water bottle. That was good. I had to rush home to take care of some digestive business, but found my clean-and-pressed laundry waiting for me. I feared it had been ruined by the pack of cigars found in the pocket after they went into the wash water. (Everything is washed and scrubbed by hand in big tubs on the patio, then hung out there to dry.) I’m supposed to do my own laundry, according the Peace Corps, but my family won’t hear of it.

When I came back from the garden at the end of the day I told my Senegal mom that I was feeling a bit feebar and pointed to my stomach. She asked it if was something I ate. I didn’t want her to think it was caused by her cooking so I mentioned that “Café touba la naan ci marse.” (I had a café touba in the market.) “No!” she said. “Don’t eat anything on the street. If you want a café touba or anything else you tell me and I will make it.” My dad reiterated at dinner. (Very nice of them, but  I still want to try the town’s one and only restaurant.)

File that under: life is irony. I remember how I used to complain that Lauren wanted to eat out at night and telling her that I was just as happy to cook and eat in all the time. Watch out what you wish for. Another bald statement exposed for what it was. But tonight we had a treat, something like beef stew, and a very peppery stew at that. It was delicious. It was the first time we’ve had red meat here with the exception of the occasional spam.

The content of this blog do not reflect the thoughts, philosophy or beliefs of the U.S. Peace Corps. The opinions are those of the author alone.