Written on August 7th, 2010
A wonderful part of being a Peace Corps Volunteer, other than getting to live in a foreign country and helping people, is having lots of free time to do things you've always wanted to do but never had time for. You can read all these books you've always meant to read but never had the time to, try new hobbies, practice drawing, write poetry etc.
One such activity for me is gardening. Despite my last name I've never really has a very green thumb. I love being outside and observing nature but I've never really been one for growing things. I'm the girl who couldn't grow a potted flower in a Ben & Jerry's pint container that you just had to water and I'm pretty sure my senior year at Beloit I killed a cactus. Also, gardening has always kind of intimidated me.
Here in the Gambia however its the rainy season. This means most members of my village are spending a considerable amount of time in their fields and when they're not in the fields they're resting/exhausted from all that manual labor. Needless to say they have neither the time or energy for health talks or demonstrations or project planning meetings. Also, school is out so I don't have peer health or health lessons to fill my days. This drastic slow down in my work, along with the arrival of seeds from Courtney in a package made me think I should get off my butt, face my fears, and start gardening.
I decided to set up the Lindsey Green Inaugural garden beds at the skills center because of the good fence and hand pump but realized after I committed that I had picked an extremely public space, meaning my successes or failures will all be out there for the village to admire or criticize. But as they say "What better place than here, what better time than now."
So this week my army of small boys and I tackled the skills center project under the watchful, and sometimes overly critical, eye of my counterpart, the chain smoking attaya drinking skills center manager.
We cleared a patch of land and made three raised beds. Today I planted my first crop with seeds from Grandpa Bill, carrot, beets, squash and beans. I'm cautiously optimistic that it will work but also prepared for absolutely nothing to grow.
My gardening exploits have obviously got me thinking about how much of my Peace Corps service is a game of trial and error. Everything is a risk and I feel like most activities have a fifty-fifty chance of success or failure. Though this is sometimes incredibly frustrating and discouraging I also think, when else in my life will I be able to so freely just try things for the hell of it and see how it goes-whether that's gardening, a shorter haircut or a community development project.
Though I've signed up to spend two years of my life helping the development of the Gambia, I also have been given the chance to try whatever I want, within reason, for the next two years. This freedom gives me the opportunity to try to make innovative change in KJJ but also to expand myself. If I want to try vegetable gardening why the hell not? If I want to try poetry I can grab a pen and write, if I want to have short hair I can do just that. When I get frustrated I feel its important to remind myself of this and to not let fear or self-doubt discourage me either. I might dry out/drown/kill all of my plants but whats the hurt in trying??
Friday, August 13, 2010
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Down on Baay Waly's Farm
Written on July 14th, 2010
Since the rains really started to fall at the end of June almost everyday my compound empties out from about 8:30 am to 12:30 pm as everyone goes to work in the fields. In my village the main crops are groundnuts and coos (a type of millet-like grain). For the first few weeks only Baay Waly and the boys went to plow and sow the seeds but now that seedlings are beginning to pop up everyone goes out to weed and hoe. Today that included me.
Now that school has finished I'm much less busy with health lessons and peer health club meetings so why not spend the morning "working the land"?
Baay Waly's coos fields are about 1/2 kilometer outside of KJJ so after breakfast Yaay Amie and I walked into the bush. Once at the fields we all spent the morning bent over at the waist weeding and thinning the coos. For the record coos and grass/weeds looks exactly the same so in my mind this was not an easy process. As usual I was quickly deemed slow and incompetent so my host brother Ous had to lead me up and down the rows saying "Ramatoulie start here." While Alhagie walked beside me assessing and correcting my work. "Ramatoulie, get rid of this. Leave this. Reduce this. NO!!! Don't get rid of that, that's coos"
It was a beautiful day with a blue blue sky, white white clouds and green green fields and trees. I realize that I had the luxury of reveling in all this beauty because I will not be going to work in the fields everyday for the next few months. But nevertheless it was a nice day to be out in the bush.
We worked for about three hours pausing every so often to squat in the shade. After about an hour consensus was reached that I knew how to farm. Phew! I was relieved to know that at least for today I was considered a productive member of the family. After three hours of running after Ous I was told that I needed to rest and was sent to collect bissap leaves for the sauce for lunch. Upon returning I found some very antsy host siblings sitting in the shade of the donkey cart, so what's a good toubab to do? Teach them a song of course! So I proceeded to translate and sing "Old McDonald had a farm" in Wolof. The "eeyah-eeyah-oh!" was every ones favorite part and Yaay Amie even joined in the fun at one point doing a killer impression of a goat. So that was my day on Baay Waly's farm.
Since the rains really started to fall at the end of June almost everyday my compound empties out from about 8:30 am to 12:30 pm as everyone goes to work in the fields. In my village the main crops are groundnuts and coos (a type of millet-like grain). For the first few weeks only Baay Waly and the boys went to plow and sow the seeds but now that seedlings are beginning to pop up everyone goes out to weed and hoe. Today that included me.
Now that school has finished I'm much less busy with health lessons and peer health club meetings so why not spend the morning "working the land"?
Baay Waly's coos fields are about 1/2 kilometer outside of KJJ so after breakfast Yaay Amie and I walked into the bush. Once at the fields we all spent the morning bent over at the waist weeding and thinning the coos. For the record coos and grass/weeds looks exactly the same so in my mind this was not an easy process. As usual I was quickly deemed slow and incompetent so my host brother Ous had to lead me up and down the rows saying "Ramatoulie start here." While Alhagie walked beside me assessing and correcting my work. "Ramatoulie, get rid of this. Leave this. Reduce this. NO!!! Don't get rid of that, that's coos"
It was a beautiful day with a blue blue sky, white white clouds and green green fields and trees. I realize that I had the luxury of reveling in all this beauty because I will not be going to work in the fields everyday for the next few months. But nevertheless it was a nice day to be out in the bush.
We worked for about three hours pausing every so often to squat in the shade. After about an hour consensus was reached that I knew how to farm. Phew! I was relieved to know that at least for today I was considered a productive member of the family. After three hours of running after Ous I was told that I needed to rest and was sent to collect bissap leaves for the sauce for lunch. Upon returning I found some very antsy host siblings sitting in the shade of the donkey cart, so what's a good toubab to do? Teach them a song of course! So I proceeded to translate and sing "Old McDonald had a farm" in Wolof. The "eeyah-eeyah-oh!" was every ones favorite part and Yaay Amie even joined in the fun at one point doing a killer impression of a goat. So that was my day on Baay Waly's farm.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Big Love: The Gambia
Written on June 28th, 2010
A few weeks ago I was talking on the phone to someone from home about my host family and she exclaimed, "I never realized you have two host moms" implying that she didn't realize that I live in a polygamous family. So yes folks, I have two moms, Yaay Amie and Yaay Sarjo. Yaay Amie is Baay Waly's first wife and she has four kids. Yaay Sarjo is his second wife and she has five kids but Yaay Sarjo's oldest is probably around 15 so its safe to say that my family has been a big happy family for a while now and has thus had a while to figure out how to live harmoniously.
The fact that my friend hadn't realized that my family was polygamous caused me to consider how, if at all, my life here is affected by this fact. The answer is not a whole hell of a lot, which is probably why I never thought to mention it before. From afar, coming from an American cultural context, it was very difficult for me to imagine living in a polygamous family and furthermore to imagine that I would mostly have positive things to say about it.
First, polygamy is common in the Gambia. According to Islam a man can have up to four wives. Here, it seems to me, the norm is about two. In my village if a man has multiple wives he has two, I can think of some with three and only a handful who have four.
Husband and wife relations here are very different than in America. This is a conservative, patriarchal society so the women are the "work horses" of the family, they cook, clean, raise the children and farm on top of that. The men are responsible, in theory, for financially supporting the family and they are the decision makers. Men and women don't share the same house or bed here and as for sexual rights men hold all the cards.
Due to the women's role in the family polygamy can actually end up being a benefit because having a co-wife means splitting all the work. In my family Yaay Sarjo and Yaay Amie alternate cooking so they only have to cook every other day. If one of them has to do something the other person can pick up the slack. For example, right now Yaay Amie has gone to Senegal for a week to attend her younger sisters wedding/naming ceremony. This is only possible because Yaay Sarjo is still here. For now Yaay Amie is mostly the only one to enjoy this benefit of polygamy because Yaay Sarjo has a ten month old baby but as they get older I think they both will be able to start attending programs out of town. In other compounds this division of labor also holds true and in most compounds there is so much extended family living together that work is split between the multiple wives of multiple husbands.
I think its important to note that my positive view of polygamy, expressed here, mostly comes from the fact that my two moms get along really well. As time goes on I realize more and more what wonderful people Yaay Amie and Yaay Sarjo are. They are kind, considerate and powerful in their own unique ways. They get along because it seems that first, they are friends, second,they help each other and third, they have some groups of friends that are the same and some that are different so they're not constantly together. The other weekend Yaay Amie's friend in Kuntair had an engagement ceremony and Yaay Sarjo and I went with her and spent the day at the program. Because we were gone all day we brought the baby, Mam Goor, with us and throughout the day I was touched by how Yaay Amie made sure Yaay Sarjo was doing OK by helping with Mam Goor and keeping us all fed and full of attaya.
Now, though I think polygamy works well in my family, I am in no way jumping on the bandwagon. As I frequently say, when turning down marriage proposals from already married men, "If I only get to have one husband, my husband only gets to have one wife." My number one problem with polygamy is that it represents an overarching societal patriarchy. Women here are not equal to men and do not have very many personal freedoms. From the time they are girls they have very little agency in deciding how they live their lives or spend their time. The fact that most Gambian women lack these freedoms and human rights can be difficult for me to observe on a daily basis. But this shouldn't lead you to believe that Gambian women are weak, rather they are very strong and from my perspective its because they find contentment within their situation. If you're going to have a co-wife you might as well try to be friends with her and in that friendship something beautiful and powerful can be found.
A few weeks ago I was talking on the phone to someone from home about my host family and she exclaimed, "I never realized you have two host moms" implying that she didn't realize that I live in a polygamous family. So yes folks, I have two moms, Yaay Amie and Yaay Sarjo. Yaay Amie is Baay Waly's first wife and she has four kids. Yaay Sarjo is his second wife and she has five kids but Yaay Sarjo's oldest is probably around 15 so its safe to say that my family has been a big happy family for a while now and has thus had a while to figure out how to live harmoniously.
The fact that my friend hadn't realized that my family was polygamous caused me to consider how, if at all, my life here is affected by this fact. The answer is not a whole hell of a lot, which is probably why I never thought to mention it before. From afar, coming from an American cultural context, it was very difficult for me to imagine living in a polygamous family and furthermore to imagine that I would mostly have positive things to say about it.
First, polygamy is common in the Gambia. According to Islam a man can have up to four wives. Here, it seems to me, the norm is about two. In my village if a man has multiple wives he has two, I can think of some with three and only a handful who have four.
Husband and wife relations here are very different than in America. This is a conservative, patriarchal society so the women are the "work horses" of the family, they cook, clean, raise the children and farm on top of that. The men are responsible, in theory, for financially supporting the family and they are the decision makers. Men and women don't share the same house or bed here and as for sexual rights men hold all the cards.
Due to the women's role in the family polygamy can actually end up being a benefit because having a co-wife means splitting all the work. In my family Yaay Sarjo and Yaay Amie alternate cooking so they only have to cook every other day. If one of them has to do something the other person can pick up the slack. For example, right now Yaay Amie has gone to Senegal for a week to attend her younger sisters wedding/naming ceremony. This is only possible because Yaay Sarjo is still here. For now Yaay Amie is mostly the only one to enjoy this benefit of polygamy because Yaay Sarjo has a ten month old baby but as they get older I think they both will be able to start attending programs out of town. In other compounds this division of labor also holds true and in most compounds there is so much extended family living together that work is split between the multiple wives of multiple husbands.
I think its important to note that my positive view of polygamy, expressed here, mostly comes from the fact that my two moms get along really well. As time goes on I realize more and more what wonderful people Yaay Amie and Yaay Sarjo are. They are kind, considerate and powerful in their own unique ways. They get along because it seems that first, they are friends, second,they help each other and third, they have some groups of friends that are the same and some that are different so they're not constantly together. The other weekend Yaay Amie's friend in Kuntair had an engagement ceremony and Yaay Sarjo and I went with her and spent the day at the program. Because we were gone all day we brought the baby, Mam Goor, with us and throughout the day I was touched by how Yaay Amie made sure Yaay Sarjo was doing OK by helping with Mam Goor and keeping us all fed and full of attaya.
Now, though I think polygamy works well in my family, I am in no way jumping on the bandwagon. As I frequently say, when turning down marriage proposals from already married men, "If I only get to have one husband, my husband only gets to have one wife." My number one problem with polygamy is that it represents an overarching societal patriarchy. Women here are not equal to men and do not have very many personal freedoms. From the time they are girls they have very little agency in deciding how they live their lives or spend their time. The fact that most Gambian women lack these freedoms and human rights can be difficult for me to observe on a daily basis. But this shouldn't lead you to believe that Gambian women are weak, rather they are very strong and from my perspective its because they find contentment within their situation. If you're going to have a co-wife you might as well try to be friends with her and in that friendship something beautiful and powerful can be found.
World Cup!
Written on June 26th, 2010
So tonight was the "Group of 16" World Cup game between the USA and Ghana. I went to Kerr Omar today to work on a project proposal with Asso and Mamet but made it very clear that I needed to be back to KJJ before the game. So at 6:30 I made my way over to the skills center where myself and most of the KJJ male population between the ages of 12 and 45 crowded around the tiny TV. The second I walked in it was very clear that no one was going to take toubab pity on me and support USA to make me feel better. Once Ghana scored in the first ten minutes all hopes of building some base of support for myself within the group was shot. After the first half when we were still down 1-0 Mr. Sanyand, the nursery school teacher, looked at me with deep pity in his eyes and told me "not to be sad." It was interesting because until then I hadn't really thought about how they were perceiving my cheering. I think that my presence is so strange (women never ever attend the matches) and the fact that I know anything/follow football is so unexpected that they assume I am a huge devotee rather than the textbook definition of a fair-weather fan. In addition however I was surprised at the surge of nationalism I felt after we equalized in the second half. Being away from the US in a place like this, representing America as a Peace Corps volunteer definitely makes me watch a game like this much differently than I would in the US. When I talked to my Mom briefly today she told me that they probably would watch and not root for America and I thought, "If I was home that probably would be me too."
After the pain of 90 minutes in an ever growing group of Gambian men with ever increasing levels of rowdiness I still had to sit through the 30 minute extra time. When Ghana scored at the beginning the room erupted in screaming, clapping and dancing and all I could think was, it sucks that were losing but witnessing this explosion of joy makes it totally worth it. As I walked home under the full moon to the calls of victory and apology I was a little sad (but I'm a Red Sox fan so I can handle it) but mostly excited that I would get to see Ghana continue to represent Africa in Africa's World Cup while living in an African village.
[As I type this now, last night Ghana lost to Uruguay in shoot outs. It was very disappointing. Since I was in Kombo I got to watch the match on a huge projector screen at a bar in Kombo. Right after the end of regulation time a huge storm hit and the satellite power cut out. We had to run four blocks in the pouring rain to get a taxi to go back and watch the conclusion of the match at the small Lebanese restaurant around the corner from the Peace Corps House. Needless to say the drizzling rain matched our moods afterwards.]
So tonight was the "Group of 16" World Cup game between the USA and Ghana. I went to Kerr Omar today to work on a project proposal with Asso and Mamet but made it very clear that I needed to be back to KJJ before the game. So at 6:30 I made my way over to the skills center where myself and most of the KJJ male population between the ages of 12 and 45 crowded around the tiny TV. The second I walked in it was very clear that no one was going to take toubab pity on me and support USA to make me feel better. Once Ghana scored in the first ten minutes all hopes of building some base of support for myself within the group was shot. After the first half when we were still down 1-0 Mr. Sanyand, the nursery school teacher, looked at me with deep pity in his eyes and told me "not to be sad." It was interesting because until then I hadn't really thought about how they were perceiving my cheering. I think that my presence is so strange (women never ever attend the matches) and the fact that I know anything/follow football is so unexpected that they assume I am a huge devotee rather than the textbook definition of a fair-weather fan. In addition however I was surprised at the surge of nationalism I felt after we equalized in the second half. Being away from the US in a place like this, representing America as a Peace Corps volunteer definitely makes me watch a game like this much differently than I would in the US. When I talked to my Mom briefly today she told me that they probably would watch and not root for America and I thought, "If I was home that probably would be me too."
After the pain of 90 minutes in an ever growing group of Gambian men with ever increasing levels of rowdiness I still had to sit through the 30 minute extra time. When Ghana scored at the beginning the room erupted in screaming, clapping and dancing and all I could think was, it sucks that were losing but witnessing this explosion of joy makes it totally worth it. As I walked home under the full moon to the calls of victory and apology I was a little sad (but I'm a Red Sox fan so I can handle it) but mostly excited that I would get to see Ghana continue to represent Africa in Africa's World Cup while living in an African village.
[As I type this now, last night Ghana lost to Uruguay in shoot outs. It was very disappointing. Since I was in Kombo I got to watch the match on a huge projector screen at a bar in Kombo. Right after the end of regulation time a huge storm hit and the satellite power cut out. We had to run four blocks in the pouring rain to get a taxi to go back and watch the conclusion of the match at the small Lebanese restaurant around the corner from the Peace Corps House. Needless to say the drizzling rain matched our moods afterwards.]
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
A Koranic Experience
Written on June 6th, 2010
Today was the Islamic school equivalent of an end of year school assembly and school play all rolled into one. All of the kids and most of the village gathered under a big neem tree and one by one each kid went up and recited (in a very sing-y way) a portion of the Koran. The kids were all dressed in their best clothes--complets, clean jeans and even a "Barack Hussein Obama" shirt. My host brothers, Alieu, Ous and Alhagie were beautifully coordinated--not on purpose--in purple, orange and mustard yellow complets. As each kid came up they turned their eyes down, gripped the microphone tightly and put it as close to their mouths as possible in the hopes, I think, that this would muffle their recitation so not as many people could hear it. Like any good situation of public speaking there were forgotten lines and tears. But my four host brothers all did great. I took pictures of them all with my digital camera, like the good toubab older sister I am, and did feel a surge of pride every time on of them went up. I think its because I know what good, kind and happy kids they are and it was nice to see them each have their moment to shine. By lunch the program was over so we all shuffled home for a family lunch of bena chin and baobab juice. Quite a Sunday!
Today was the Islamic school equivalent of an end of year school assembly and school play all rolled into one. All of the kids and most of the village gathered under a big neem tree and one by one each kid went up and recited (in a very sing-y way) a portion of the Koran. The kids were all dressed in their best clothes--complets, clean jeans and even a "Barack Hussein Obama" shirt. My host brothers, Alieu, Ous and Alhagie were beautifully coordinated--not on purpose--in purple, orange and mustard yellow complets. As each kid came up they turned their eyes down, gripped the microphone tightly and put it as close to their mouths as possible in the hopes, I think, that this would muffle their recitation so not as many people could hear it. Like any good situation of public speaking there were forgotten lines and tears. But my four host brothers all did great. I took pictures of them all with my digital camera, like the good toubab older sister I am, and did feel a surge of pride every time on of them went up. I think its because I know what good, kind and happy kids they are and it was nice to see them each have their moment to shine. By lunch the program was over so we all shuffled home for a family lunch of bena chin and baobab juice. Quite a Sunday!
The Gambian Sleepover
Written on June 1st, 2010
This past weekend I went on my first Gambian sleepover. I have spent time away from my site in other villages but always in the relative comfort of another PCV's house. This time however I was going to stay with my friend Asso in a village about a 30 minute bike ride from me. After lunch on Friday I set out, not before Yaay Sarjo and Yaay Amie independently verified that I had brought the right amount of complets for the weekends events. I was to stay over Friday night and then attend a big village religious event on Saturday and go home on Sunday morning. I predicted that the sleepover would be a test of my integration, patience, Wolof skill, flexibility and sanity, and in these aspects I wasn't wrong.
I wouldn't say that the principles of the Gambian sleepover are all that much different from the American sleepover: to spend time with friends, see a different family and how they live and escape your own life for a while, they just manifest themselves in very different ways. Here are some of my Gambian sleepover observations:
* As an adult spending the night at a friends usually includes chatting while you prepare a meal together. In this case I illuminated dinner with my head lamp while Asso killed and cooked a chicken for me--a huge honor.
* The imposed rest--while American sleepovers are usually defined by not resting/sleeping, here I was strongly encouraged/forced to rest 85% of the time. When we were not greeting, eating or drinking attaya Asso and her family were bringing me pillows, laying down mats and mattresses all in an attempt to get me to rest. Sometimes it seems the best way to show your gratefulness/comfort in someone elses home is to fall asleep on their bed/in their presence. Don't worry though, my Mom raised me to be polite, so I did take a considerable nap on the bantaba under a large mango tree. When I woke up they were all thrilled, Asso overfed me with greasy rice and then rolled out another mattress and told me to lie down while she brewed us attaya.
* Do you remember how as a kid a huge embarrassment would be if your Mom or Dad made you do a chore while you had a friend sleeping over? Asso's mom, Yaay Mattie, took this to a whole different level. Asso is in her late 30s, but like most Gambians of her age still lives with her family. At around 9:30 pm on Saturday night we were both showered and wearing our complets ready to go drink attaya and milk at the compound of our friend Mamet. (He and Asso are Wolof literacy instructors in the village and very active members of the women's skills group.) As we were about to leave, after feeding and bathing Asso's assorted children, Yaay Mattie told Asso that before we left she needed to cook the sauce for breakfast the next morning. So 10 pm found us in the kitchen hut in Yaay Mattie's backyard cooking chicken and chopping onion. This definitely makes me appreciate that at 35 I, inshallah, won't be living with my mother and even if that is the case she probably won't make me cook breakfast at 10 pm.
This past weekend I went on my first Gambian sleepover. I have spent time away from my site in other villages but always in the relative comfort of another PCV's house. This time however I was going to stay with my friend Asso in a village about a 30 minute bike ride from me. After lunch on Friday I set out, not before Yaay Sarjo and Yaay Amie independently verified that I had brought the right amount of complets for the weekends events. I was to stay over Friday night and then attend a big village religious event on Saturday and go home on Sunday morning. I predicted that the sleepover would be a test of my integration, patience, Wolof skill, flexibility and sanity, and in these aspects I wasn't wrong.
I wouldn't say that the principles of the Gambian sleepover are all that much different from the American sleepover: to spend time with friends, see a different family and how they live and escape your own life for a while, they just manifest themselves in very different ways. Here are some of my Gambian sleepover observations:
* As an adult spending the night at a friends usually includes chatting while you prepare a meal together. In this case I illuminated dinner with my head lamp while Asso killed and cooked a chicken for me--a huge honor.
* The imposed rest--while American sleepovers are usually defined by not resting/sleeping, here I was strongly encouraged/forced to rest 85% of the time. When we were not greeting, eating or drinking attaya Asso and her family were bringing me pillows, laying down mats and mattresses all in an attempt to get me to rest. Sometimes it seems the best way to show your gratefulness/comfort in someone elses home is to fall asleep on their bed/in their presence. Don't worry though, my Mom raised me to be polite, so I did take a considerable nap on the bantaba under a large mango tree. When I woke up they were all thrilled, Asso overfed me with greasy rice and then rolled out another mattress and told me to lie down while she brewed us attaya.
* Do you remember how as a kid a huge embarrassment would be if your Mom or Dad made you do a chore while you had a friend sleeping over? Asso's mom, Yaay Mattie, took this to a whole different level. Asso is in her late 30s, but like most Gambians of her age still lives with her family. At around 9:30 pm on Saturday night we were both showered and wearing our complets ready to go drink attaya and milk at the compound of our friend Mamet. (He and Asso are Wolof literacy instructors in the village and very active members of the women's skills group.) As we were about to leave, after feeding and bathing Asso's assorted children, Yaay Mattie told Asso that before we left she needed to cook the sauce for breakfast the next morning. So 10 pm found us in the kitchen hut in Yaay Mattie's backyard cooking chicken and chopping onion. This definitely makes me appreciate that at 35 I, inshallah, won't be living with my mother and even if that is the case she probably won't make me cook breakfast at 10 pm.
Dinner with Alieu
Written on May 13th, 2010
This (Peace Corps) experience can often best be described as a roller coaster in every sense that that word conjures. The most frequent roller coaster element of life here is the emotional mood swings that have become a part of my existence in a way they never were before. Today was one of those days where the best way to describe me would be "a mood swinging bitchy mess." Interactions/any venture out of my house is a an emotional minefield. A lovely morning of mangoes and attaya with fun women or an hour spent in bliss on my mat drawing with my host brothers will be decimated by one stray comment on the size of my butt or the way I speak Wolof. The pendulum swings back and forth at a break neck speed but inevitably on those types of days there comes a moment or interaction where I say--"That's it Lindsey, time to stop trying and call it a day." These moments usually happen at the pendulums extreme either an infuriating or beautiful moment. Luckily today's was the latter.
I had decided early this morning to cook dinner for myself and had bought a bowl full of bissap leaves (I was hoping they could king of imitate spinach) and some garlic and onions to make a kind of "development" spinach noodle curry. I really enjoy cooking dinner for myself three or four times a week because it breaks the monotony of rice and gives me a chance to supplement/balance my diet a little. Cooking can also however be a bit of a trying experience because like everything I do here I tend to attract a crowd of my host siblings who come in my house and all want to help/go through my stuff.
Today however was different, I put on a Bruce Springsteen based play list from my iPod and mentally prepared myself for the "kong kong" outside my door. Tonight however only my adorable and amazing little host brother Alieu showed up at my door. Alieu has become the kid who I spend the most time with, he has a great smile, little voice, pants that are constantly falling down and a killer rendition of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." Alieu came into my house proclaiming, "Ramatoulie, today I'm going to help you cook dinner because I know how." So Alieu perched on my food trunk and pet my new kitten, Biskrem, gently like I had showed him. The "help" he provided me was more mental than anything else. He poured the bissap leaves into my pot and then happily munched away on the excess ones. While we waited for it all to simmer down we danced to "Black Betty" and "Up On Cripple Creek." Alieu's smile erased all of the days frustration. When our "spinach curry" was ready I put Alieu's portion in a Tupperware and he proudly brought it outside to share. I had been able to convince him that he was instrumental in cooking dinner so much so that by the end he was proclaiming, "Ramatoulie, the dinner I cooked was very nice!" When the Tupperware was empty he licked the sides clean and handed it back to me, smiling with bissap curry all over his face.
If that's not enough to make you smile than I don't know what is.
This (Peace Corps) experience can often best be described as a roller coaster in every sense that that word conjures. The most frequent roller coaster element of life here is the emotional mood swings that have become a part of my existence in a way they never were before. Today was one of those days where the best way to describe me would be "a mood swinging bitchy mess." Interactions/any venture out of my house is a an emotional minefield. A lovely morning of mangoes and attaya with fun women or an hour spent in bliss on my mat drawing with my host brothers will be decimated by one stray comment on the size of my butt or the way I speak Wolof. The pendulum swings back and forth at a break neck speed but inevitably on those types of days there comes a moment or interaction where I say--"That's it Lindsey, time to stop trying and call it a day." These moments usually happen at the pendulums extreme either an infuriating or beautiful moment. Luckily today's was the latter.
I had decided early this morning to cook dinner for myself and had bought a bowl full of bissap leaves (I was hoping they could king of imitate spinach) and some garlic and onions to make a kind of "development" spinach noodle curry. I really enjoy cooking dinner for myself three or four times a week because it breaks the monotony of rice and gives me a chance to supplement/balance my diet a little. Cooking can also however be a bit of a trying experience because like everything I do here I tend to attract a crowd of my host siblings who come in my house and all want to help/go through my stuff.
Today however was different, I put on a Bruce Springsteen based play list from my iPod and mentally prepared myself for the "kong kong" outside my door. Tonight however only my adorable and amazing little host brother Alieu showed up at my door. Alieu has become the kid who I spend the most time with, he has a great smile, little voice, pants that are constantly falling down and a killer rendition of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." Alieu came into my house proclaiming, "Ramatoulie, today I'm going to help you cook dinner because I know how." So Alieu perched on my food trunk and pet my new kitten, Biskrem, gently like I had showed him. The "help" he provided me was more mental than anything else. He poured the bissap leaves into my pot and then happily munched away on the excess ones. While we waited for it all to simmer down we danced to "Black Betty" and "Up On Cripple Creek." Alieu's smile erased all of the days frustration. When our "spinach curry" was ready I put Alieu's portion in a Tupperware and he proudly brought it outside to share. I had been able to convince him that he was instrumental in cooking dinner so much so that by the end he was proclaiming, "Ramatoulie, the dinner I cooked was very nice!" When the Tupperware was empty he licked the sides clean and handed it back to me, smiling with bissap curry all over his face.
If that's not enough to make you smile than I don't know what is.
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