Swearing In and Shipping Out

I made it! I am officially a Peace Corps Volunteer, after swearing in Friday, December 4 at Ebbets Field (yes, Ebbets Field) in Dakar. There were times, I confess that I didn’t know if I would make it this far. But I did. I think I just barely passed my language exam, but I did pass. There were four people who didn’t, including my roommate and a good friend. They have to stay at training for another week, then take a second exam.

Swearing in had all of the pomp and circumstance you might imagine. What I will remember the most is the jumble of bright colors of all of our women volunteers in their compleats and headdresses. It started with an early wakeup and a crowded bus ride into Dakar. Once at the field it all went rather smoothly. There were remarks by the ambassador and four of my stage mates spoke in the Senegalese language they each learned. They did great. Then there was a right hand raised thing and, boom, we were in.

That was followed by mocktails and snacks, live music and a little dancing. Plus, of course, more paperwork to sign. Then we made a surprise stop at the Dakar office for flu shots for all. 

I packed quickly that night back in Theis, then is was an early departure to the Saint-Louis regional house where i would spend a few days, before being installed in Louga. Not really sure how this system works. It would have been just as easy to drop me in Louga on the way by, but this is the way they do it. Others have to shop for supplies and furnishings for their new sites, but I am pretty much set. 

I was up at 6:00 Saturday morning to load the car. it was pitch black. Funny thing about living on the equator: not only are the days always the same length, but there is virtually no dawn or dusk. one minute it's dark, the next, it's daylight. 

But for the moment, it is dark. The compound is behaving like an evacuation scene in a war movie. People trudging through the dark weighed down with satchels and backpacks. idling cars spewing exhaust even darker than the night. Headlights splitting the murky air. And i am searching to say goodbye to friends. 

But there is no time. I have to load  all of my possessions including a water filter, floor fan, bicycle, buckets, suitcases, backpacks into the waiting sept-place, a beat up old Peugeot wagon--the most reliable means of public transportation between cities in Senegal. And i have to do it fast. Actually, I am not sure why i have to do it fast. What's the difference if we arrive at 10:00 or 11:00 or even sometime in the afternoon. Practically, there is none. But that's the Peace Corps way. 

So we got there by 10:30 and I spent four days decompressing, exploring, shopping for Christmas presents and swimming. 

I am here for a few days, and Wednesday some Peace Corps folks will come pick me (and all my stuff) up and take me to Louga, take me to meet people I need to meet. And then I am on my own.

***

Now, my first day in Louga is just about done. I think i can do this. I got up early and went to the sandwich lady around the corner and got an egg sandwich and a cafe touba (75 cents) without any problem, and chatted a bit with my neighbour on the way there. Then i got on my bike and rode to the Cultural Center in town when we have a small demonstration garden. I wasn’t expected there, but i found the gardener whom I had met when I was here a month ago. I checked out the garden then made plans to come back next week and help him out. (Basically I was only speaking Wolof there.) Then I went to the outdoor market and tried to find the Eco-bank. Everyone i asked sent me in a different direction and i never found it. I did find a bike shop  though. Then I went to my family’s house for lunch and told my “dad” that my mini-fridge wasn’t working. “It has no ice,” I said. I had a long lunch there then came back to my place to meet the other Louga PCV. (She’s in economic development, not ag.) Then my dad came by with a refrigerator repair guy. We made a call to the Peace Corps and found out i wouldn’t be reimbursed for the repair but I told him to go ahead. Soon, i will head back to my family for dinner. (I won’t be doing that every night, but don’t have the energy for cooking tonight.)

Oh, and i got a new name. I am now Cheikh Niang. 

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.