Written on April 27th, 2010
Oh food. Here in the Gambia it is both my enemy and my best friend. It sustains me, it makes me violently ill, it makes me feel happy, it makes me want to scream and vomit at the same time, it is a constant reminder of my "outsiderness" and a great comfort when the going gets tough.
So, you may be wondering, what exactly am I eating here. As far as Gambian food goes its rice, rice and more rice. My family eats rice for breakfast, lunch and dinner. On a handful of days (like the Prophet Mohamed's birthday) we've substituted rice for cheray which is a cereal called coos, pounded and milled into a flour like substance that's then sifted and cooked. Both cheray and rice are served with a few different kinds of sauces. My family rotates through two most consistently.
The first is called "chew" and its basically rice with fish cooked in an oil (vegetables or palm) sauce with vegetables (egg plant, cabbage, carrot, bitter tomato), onions, tomato paste, salt, pepper, Jumbo (an MSG cube) and hot pepper. Some days I like chew but it is by far the most common dish in my village so I get sick of it pretty quickly. The women love to cook it because it shows that they have enough xalis (money) to buy oil.
The second dish is called "mafe" or "domada" and this is rice with peanut sauce. The peanut sauce is made with peanut butter (which is made from the ground nuts they harvest each year), tamarind, tomato paste, hot pepper, Jumbo and sometimes dried salted fish. Mafe is definitely my favorite because a) the rice is not dripping in oil and b) I can feel all the protein seeping out of my body with every bite of peanut sauce I take. Mafe however is usually the Plan B meal for when the "Yah Boy" fish man doesn't come or there's not enough money for oil.
Another much less common meal is "sauce farine"--flour sauce--which I detest because it is a very watery version of mafe, though I do like the fish meatballs that are usually in it. For special occasions in village we get to have "bena chin" which is very oily spicy rice with meat and vegetables but because of the vat of oil it requires its to expensive for every day meals.
For breakfast we alternate between sweet and savory. Either it is some version of "mbaxal" which is spicy rice with pounded peanuts and green onion, spicy rice with fish or, my breakfast favorite, "churay gerte" which is a porridge of pounded rice and peanuts, salt and sugar.
When my mind or body just can't take Gambian food I have a trunk full of slightly more familiar alternatives. These can be found when I come into the city, in the form of yogurt, egg rolls, hamburgers, falafal, pizza and chwarma. Or in KJJ I have a trunk full of slightly more familiar alternatives. For breakfast I usually make oatmeal or cereal and tea with powdered milk. For lunch I always eat with my family but because we eat the same thing for lunch and dinner I can decide if I want to eat with my family for dinner or cook for myself. My "development cooking" experiments have so far been very successful. I've made curry a few times, macaroni and cheese, ramen noodles with vegetables and egg, tuna and my personal favorite, spicy creamy tomato sauce which is tomato paste, milk, hot peppers and whatever vegetables I can find. I am still trying to figure out what to do with the bags of dried beans I bought after swear-in.
When traditional meals aren't enough to quell my appetite I also have the comfort of cookies and candy sent from home as well as whatever fruits and snacks (salted peanuts, panketos-which are like donut holes, fish pies, oranges, cashew apples and mangos) I can find in village.
So for all my Jewish aunties out there--I am eating enough--and (most) of it is delicious.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Sunday, April 25, 2010
"Cocastic"- Better than Fantastic!
Written on April 18th, 2010
So last night Fern, Erica and I, along with some other PCVs went to a beauty pageant--yes a Gambian beauty pageant. It was so ridiculous and amazing I don't really even think I can do it justice in writing. It was one of those times that I was sitting in equal amazement and shock that I had found myself experiencing this and I was eternally grateful that the stars had aligned for me to be able to witness this.
The pageant was called "Queen of Companies 2010" and claimed loosely to be a fundraiser for kids education, mostly it was an excuse for each of the sponsoring companies to get women who work for them to strut their stuff and show their knees.
There were two very Gambian hosts, a male and a female. The male host had some great one liners and hit relentlessly on his female counterpart. She spent the evening scowling and looking confused. The male host started the evening by declaring "Tonight I am going to be the king of all queens," and very clearly stated, "I was informed by an informant that information has been shared." I wasn't quite sure about that one.
The beauty pageant's opening consisted of the eleven contestants participating in a five song opening dance number which consisted of much arm flailing and confused dancing. They moved from the stage to the runway all the while competing for attention and strutting with a combination of grace and awkwardness. At one point the competition for the coveted spot at the end of the runway got to be to much a a girl fell down. After the awe inspiring opening number was the traditional dress portion where each of the girls danced their way out onto the runway and then introduced themselves. Most of them were between 18 and 20 and almost every ones interests included reading (something I've never seen a Gambian do) and surfing the net. They also often mentioned people they admired, popular options were "my mom" and Kofi Annan but the best was a women who stated, "Michael Jackson is my hero because of his love for children." She went on to express the aspiration, "I want to be a surgeon so I can help my people like Michael has helped our people with his music." I took this to be an indication of the lack of news accessible to Gambians--apparently MJs trial didn't make it over here.
After the introductions while each Queen changed into her "fashion" outfits we got a stunning performance by some rap group who lip synched to a song that was blasting over the speakers at a deafening volume while the back up dancers sulked around in their saggy pants and swung around weird yellow towels. After the stunning musical performance an executive from Youki, a Gambian soda company, came up and expounded, "If you try Youki today, your tomorrow will be very different." Seeing as Youki grapefruit has vastly changed how I consume gin packets I would say that is definitely true. After this the Queens did a brief runway show of their Western "casual" outfits. It started out in a very lady like manner with each Queen getting her chance at the runway. By the end however it devolved into women running into each other and bumping shoulders down the runway.
After the fashion portion there was more horrible lip synching and a very strange comedy routine. It was in English but you couldn't understand any of what they were saying. Basically it was two men in skin tight leggings goofing around on the runway and shaking their butts/clenching their butt muscles. They had a field day with all the toubab presence and proceeded to make jokes about us that we couldn't understand other than the brilliant lines, "Toubabs speak out of their butts and kill your mothers." To add to the annoying nature of their performance they stole the lollipop I was sucking on to stay awake. The next section of the beauty pageant consisted of the Queens giving presentations about the companies they were representing. Ms. Africell (a cell phone company) bribed us all with free lanyards and holders for our cell phones. Overall however whatever sales talents these women had was minuscule at best. They mostly just stuck out their boobs to emphasize the company name on their skintight T-shirts. By the time the product presentations were done it was probably close to 2:30 am and we had talent, Q & A and evening gowns remaining. The three of us took quick power naps on sofas in the lobby and were able to stay awake long enough to see half the talent section which consisted of the Queens lip synching to dated American pop and hip hop; think Whitney Huston, Toni Braxton, Beyonce, Cassie, J-Lo etc. They all forgot about the mic they were "singing" into after the first thirty seconds and then proceeded to dance with moves commonly seen in close proximity to a stripper pole. After a rousing number by Ms. Africell with a guitar as a prop it was almost 4 am. As the sun rose over the Gambian beauty pageant we made our way home exclaiming the whole way about the glorious ridiculousness of what we had just seen.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Kerr Jarga Jobe: A Planners Perspective
Written on April 8th, 2010
Dedicated to the past and present staff of The Planning Commissioners Journal
[In a recent email it was brought to my attention that I haven't really described the village of Kerr Jarga Jobe (KJJ) yet for all of you. So here comes my attempt to paint you a picture of a small Gambian village.]
KJJ is a small-ish village of between 60-65 compounds. Compounds can have anywhere from 5 to 35 residents and their respective houses. Houses are usually either square one room grass roof huts, like mine, or row houses with multiple doors that lead into 1 or 2 rooms with separate or communal backyards. Inside the house is used mainly for sleeping resting and seeking shade/temperature relief while doing work like shelling peanuts. I would say that 80-90% of socializing and 95% of work takes place outside. The backyard serves as bathroom, bathing area, kitchen and laundry room. The front or communal space in the center of the compound is used for socializing, working, eating, resting, fires for light and/or warmth, attaya brewing and sleeping under the stars.
My living situation, i.e. the fact that I have a house and backyard of my own is not the norm--usually only the head of the compound has this luxury. For everyone else their days, nights and even beds are shared with their mothers, children, brothers and sisters etc. It becomes easy to understand why American notions of privacy and personal space are not really understood here.
Now imagine yourself standing on Gambia's North Bank highway (a two lane road), your coming from the west and on your left about 1/4 of a kilometer off the road beyond the spindly trees and dry grass you will see the beginning of KJJ. The village center with the grand mosque is probably 1/2 to 3/4 km from the NB road but with time and growth the village has moved from the center out towards the main road. My compound is on the outskirts of town and my compound as well as those around ours represent the most recent settlement in town. There are already compounds being built beyond mine closer to the main road so eventually the village will probably start at the NB road rather than 1/4 km off of it. I suspect because the village has slowly expanded towards the road village resources--water taps, communal sitting spaces under large trees and bitiks (small variety stores essential to Gambian life) are spread out to all corners/sections of the village.
About 100 meters from my compound is the KJJ cooperative which is basically a huge parking lot with a high concrete wall around it where all of the peanuts grown by this and surrounding villages are stored until they are bought en masse by the government. Next to the cooperative is the tap my family uses and next to the tap is the village market under a big tree where every day about six women sell ingredients and vegetables to make lunch. On the left of the cooperative is the "main road" which runs from the NB road all the way into the center of town. On this road is the skills center, small mosque, small school, milling machine, my favorite bitik, the big tree where the guys who sell fish come in the morning, the district chiefs compound (with electricity) and finally the road ends in the town center.
The town center is only notable because of the large mosque with a domed robins egg blue roof which faces a large covered bantaba (a bench on steroids). Now that I think about it the "village center" is historically where the village started. The alkali's (village leader) compound is on the opposite end of the "square," but for all practical purposes it represents the norther edge of the village. Beyond the "square" and mosque the village gives way to an open savanna dotted with baobabs and one dirt path/road leading to our neighboring village, Torro Alhasan.
Aside from the hug bantaba in the center of town, the water taps and to a certain degree the skills center there are not any other public spaces in town. But at the same time even private space is public. To get most places you walk through peoples "private" compounds. The blurring/lack of distinction between public and private space is also assisted by the fact that basically everyone in the village is related in one way or another. The two most common family names are Jobe (as in KJJ--the family that founded the village) and Cham. Here, as it is everywhere else in the country, people don't move somewhere unless someone they know and are related to already lives there. My family is a fairly new addition to the village hence why we life on the edge of town, but my host father moved here because his sister is one of the district chiefs wives. This coupled with the fact that most marriages are arranged means that people move between compounds through marriage. Many who live in the village were also born here and the women who have left have left because they were married to people in other villages. Since my village is fairly close to the city there are a fair amount of people who move back and forth but this is mostly men seeking work and kids whose families send them to live with relatives in Kombo to go to school.
So there's a snapshot of KJJ, I hope I did The Planning Commissioners Journal justice! If you're dying to know more come visit!!
Dedicated to the past and present staff of The Planning Commissioners Journal
[In a recent email it was brought to my attention that I haven't really described the village of Kerr Jarga Jobe (KJJ) yet for all of you. So here comes my attempt to paint you a picture of a small Gambian village.]
KJJ is a small-ish village of between 60-65 compounds. Compounds can have anywhere from 5 to 35 residents and their respective houses. Houses are usually either square one room grass roof huts, like mine, or row houses with multiple doors that lead into 1 or 2 rooms with separate or communal backyards. Inside the house is used mainly for sleeping resting and seeking shade/temperature relief while doing work like shelling peanuts. I would say that 80-90% of socializing and 95% of work takes place outside. The backyard serves as bathroom, bathing area, kitchen and laundry room. The front or communal space in the center of the compound is used for socializing, working, eating, resting, fires for light and/or warmth, attaya brewing and sleeping under the stars.
My living situation, i.e. the fact that I have a house and backyard of my own is not the norm--usually only the head of the compound has this luxury. For everyone else their days, nights and even beds are shared with their mothers, children, brothers and sisters etc. It becomes easy to understand why American notions of privacy and personal space are not really understood here.
Now imagine yourself standing on Gambia's North Bank highway (a two lane road), your coming from the west and on your left about 1/4 of a kilometer off the road beyond the spindly trees and dry grass you will see the beginning of KJJ. The village center with the grand mosque is probably 1/2 to 3/4 km from the NB road but with time and growth the village has moved from the center out towards the main road. My compound is on the outskirts of town and my compound as well as those around ours represent the most recent settlement in town. There are already compounds being built beyond mine closer to the main road so eventually the village will probably start at the NB road rather than 1/4 km off of it. I suspect because the village has slowly expanded towards the road village resources--water taps, communal sitting spaces under large trees and bitiks (small variety stores essential to Gambian life) are spread out to all corners/sections of the village.
About 100 meters from my compound is the KJJ cooperative which is basically a huge parking lot with a high concrete wall around it where all of the peanuts grown by this and surrounding villages are stored until they are bought en masse by the government. Next to the cooperative is the tap my family uses and next to the tap is the village market under a big tree where every day about six women sell ingredients and vegetables to make lunch. On the left of the cooperative is the "main road" which runs from the NB road all the way into the center of town. On this road is the skills center, small mosque, small school, milling machine, my favorite bitik, the big tree where the guys who sell fish come in the morning, the district chiefs compound (with electricity) and finally the road ends in the town center.
The town center is only notable because of the large mosque with a domed robins egg blue roof which faces a large covered bantaba (a bench on steroids). Now that I think about it the "village center" is historically where the village started. The alkali's (village leader) compound is on the opposite end of the "square," but for all practical purposes it represents the norther edge of the village. Beyond the "square" and mosque the village gives way to an open savanna dotted with baobabs and one dirt path/road leading to our neighboring village, Torro Alhasan.
Aside from the hug bantaba in the center of town, the water taps and to a certain degree the skills center there are not any other public spaces in town. But at the same time even private space is public. To get most places you walk through peoples "private" compounds. The blurring/lack of distinction between public and private space is also assisted by the fact that basically everyone in the village is related in one way or another. The two most common family names are Jobe (as in KJJ--the family that founded the village) and Cham. Here, as it is everywhere else in the country, people don't move somewhere unless someone they know and are related to already lives there. My family is a fairly new addition to the village hence why we life on the edge of town, but my host father moved here because his sister is one of the district chiefs wives. This coupled with the fact that most marriages are arranged means that people move between compounds through marriage. Many who live in the village were also born here and the women who have left have left because they were married to people in other villages. Since my village is fairly close to the city there are a fair amount of people who move back and forth but this is mostly men seeking work and kids whose families send them to live with relatives in Kombo to go to school.
So there's a snapshot of KJJ, I hope I did The Planning Commissioners Journal justice! If you're dying to know more come visit!!
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
The Compost Pit
Written on April 5th, 2010
About a week ago Wells was visiting me. Inspired by al of his Ag-Fo-ness while we were biking to Kuntair I stopped and with the help of my tall friend collected some moringa seeds. Since I now have seeds sitting on my table waiting to be sown I decided that I should probably get to digging that compost pit I've been meaning to dig since about my first day here. On Sunday I was able to spend the morning on some preliminary digging/hacking at the ground with my machete but blisters, lunch, attaya and dancing at a wedding ceremony forced me to postpone pit completion until today. After a morning of weighing screaming babies and stuffing my face with rice and greasy fish I started finishing what I started. As usual everything I do here attracts a crowd. Pretty soon I had Bakar Jeng perched on my plastic lawn chair overseeing the work and Alieu my five year old, three foot tall shadow friend/host brother wielding a shovel because whenever I touched it he exclaimed, "Ramatoulie, you don't know and I do."
So we shuttled piles of dirt from by the compost pit around the dividing fence to a sunken in spot by my bathing area. Next we swept all the dead leaves and grass which I had been avoiding cleaning up from my backyard into the pit, next went in all of the food scraps I had saved in a tomato can and finally a bowl of foamy kidney beans from a failed attempt at chili. On top was some top soil I saved from Alieu's shovel wielding. As all this was going on Alieu kept reminding me that when we were done I should say thank you to him. So after top soil were we done?
Of course not--we were left with the piece de resistance--animal poop. Something that cannot be found in my backyard but abounds everywhere else in my compound. I went outside to consult Yaay Amie and Baay Waly and was told that everyday Yaay Amie sweeps goat and chicken poop out of the kitchen so if I just give her a tomato can she'll fill it for me--everyday. Judging my work complete I turned to Alieu to say thank you when Alieu asked--"Ramatoulie can I bring you cow poop?"
Never one to pass up that offer I agreed and Alieu and my other host brother Ous scampered off with my shovel and a big tray to collect it. I sat on my stool in the shade waiting and soon enough they were back with Alieu balancing a heaping tray of dried cow poop on his head. Just picture a three foot tall person with a 6 inch circumference tray plate heaped with cow poop on their head, wearing pink stripped saggy gym shorts that were once probably owned by a Florida retiree and an enormous proud smile. We carefully transported the tray through my house and into my backyard and dumped it into the pit. Then I turned to Alieu and Ous and said thank you.
Let the composting begin!
About a week ago Wells was visiting me. Inspired by al of his Ag-Fo-ness while we were biking to Kuntair I stopped and with the help of my tall friend collected some moringa seeds. Since I now have seeds sitting on my table waiting to be sown I decided that I should probably get to digging that compost pit I've been meaning to dig since about my first day here. On Sunday I was able to spend the morning on some preliminary digging/hacking at the ground with my machete but blisters, lunch, attaya and dancing at a wedding ceremony forced me to postpone pit completion until today. After a morning of weighing screaming babies and stuffing my face with rice and greasy fish I started finishing what I started. As usual everything I do here attracts a crowd. Pretty soon I had Bakar Jeng perched on my plastic lawn chair overseeing the work and Alieu my five year old, three foot tall shadow friend/host brother wielding a shovel because whenever I touched it he exclaimed, "Ramatoulie, you don't know and I do."
So we shuttled piles of dirt from by the compost pit around the dividing fence to a sunken in spot by my bathing area. Next we swept all the dead leaves and grass which I had been avoiding cleaning up from my backyard into the pit, next went in all of the food scraps I had saved in a tomato can and finally a bowl of foamy kidney beans from a failed attempt at chili. On top was some top soil I saved from Alieu's shovel wielding. As all this was going on Alieu kept reminding me that when we were done I should say thank you to him. So after top soil were we done?
Of course not--we were left with the piece de resistance--animal poop. Something that cannot be found in my backyard but abounds everywhere else in my compound. I went outside to consult Yaay Amie and Baay Waly and was told that everyday Yaay Amie sweeps goat and chicken poop out of the kitchen so if I just give her a tomato can she'll fill it for me--everyday. Judging my work complete I turned to Alieu to say thank you when Alieu asked--"Ramatoulie can I bring you cow poop?"
Never one to pass up that offer I agreed and Alieu and my other host brother Ous scampered off with my shovel and a big tray to collect it. I sat on my stool in the shade waiting and soon enough they were back with Alieu balancing a heaping tray of dried cow poop on his head. Just picture a three foot tall person with a 6 inch circumference tray plate heaped with cow poop on their head, wearing pink stripped saggy gym shorts that were once probably owned by a Florida retiree and an enormous proud smile. We carefully transported the tray through my house and into my backyard and dumped it into the pit. Then I turned to Alieu and Ous and said thank you.
Let the composting begin!
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Crazy 8s
Written on March 29th, 2010
I recently taught my host siblings how to play crazy eights. It really wasn't that difficult because they play a very similar game here which is like a souped up version. Jacks skip, 10s reverse, 2s mean the person next to you takes two and Ace elicits the question "Are you strong?" if the next person can't also throw down an ace they take three card. All of this is done rapidly with rampant cheating and cards being slapped down everywhere. So introducing crazy eights only required me to implore them all to not cheat and wait for their turn.
We play sitting in a circle on my mat in the shade and when ever someone wins I sing "Champion, Champion" in a deep voice. Since we started our card games I noticed that my second mom-Yaay Sarjo- would often come and sit near us and curiously eye our game. Though she never joined in.
Today after lunch it was the kind of hot that makes me wish clothing was optional, the wind was blowing hard and hot so it provided absolutely no relief and made doing anything but sitting seem like a horrible task.
I was laying on my mat in the shade about to pick up pen and paper to write a letter to the walking ladies (Hi guys! I miss you), when Yaay Sarjo who was sitting near me brewing attaya said with a little hesitation in her voice. "Ramatoulie, teach me how to play cards." I was blown away, I sensed that she wanted to learn but was truly impressed that she actually asked.
Yaay Sarjo is illiterate, she's never been to school and I'm pretty sure she can't even recognize numbers. So I sat down to teach my illiterate mom to play crazy eights all the while explaining in kindergarten Wolof at best.
But she got it! Before I thought her eyes looked crazy but now I just think there is a depth of understanding behind them. After two games she was recognizing the numbers, distinguishing pretty well between the four suits. When some other younger girls came along to play she told them off when they tried to help/play for her and by the end she had beaten me!! The only thing I could think of to say in order to convey how impressed I was with her was, "Yaay Sarjo! Mus nga, yow am nga xel." Which translates to, "Yaay Sarjo you are a cat, you have a mind." Which is the only way I know of in Wolof to say you're smart--something tells me however that Yaay Sarjo understood.
I recently taught my host siblings how to play crazy eights. It really wasn't that difficult because they play a very similar game here which is like a souped up version. Jacks skip, 10s reverse, 2s mean the person next to you takes two and Ace elicits the question "Are you strong?" if the next person can't also throw down an ace they take three card. All of this is done rapidly with rampant cheating and cards being slapped down everywhere. So introducing crazy eights only required me to implore them all to not cheat and wait for their turn.
We play sitting in a circle on my mat in the shade and when ever someone wins I sing "Champion, Champion" in a deep voice. Since we started our card games I noticed that my second mom-Yaay Sarjo- would often come and sit near us and curiously eye our game. Though she never joined in.
Today after lunch it was the kind of hot that makes me wish clothing was optional, the wind was blowing hard and hot so it provided absolutely no relief and made doing anything but sitting seem like a horrible task.
I was laying on my mat in the shade about to pick up pen and paper to write a letter to the walking ladies (Hi guys! I miss you), when Yaay Sarjo who was sitting near me brewing attaya said with a little hesitation in her voice. "Ramatoulie, teach me how to play cards." I was blown away, I sensed that she wanted to learn but was truly impressed that she actually asked.
Yaay Sarjo is illiterate, she's never been to school and I'm pretty sure she can't even recognize numbers. So I sat down to teach my illiterate mom to play crazy eights all the while explaining in kindergarten Wolof at best.
But she got it! Before I thought her eyes looked crazy but now I just think there is a depth of understanding behind them. After two games she was recognizing the numbers, distinguishing pretty well between the four suits. When some other younger girls came along to play she told them off when they tried to help/play for her and by the end she had beaten me!! The only thing I could think of to say in order to convey how impressed I was with her was, "Yaay Sarjo! Mus nga, yow am nga xel." Which translates to, "Yaay Sarjo you are a cat, you have a mind." Which is the only way I know of in Wolof to say you're smart--something tells me however that Yaay Sarjo understood.
Bakar Jeng
Written on March 25th, 2010
So a few days ago I came home from a brief trip to my friend Wells' village. We were doing a CDDP sensitization and VDC training there for three days so I decided to spend the night with Wells rather than biking back and forth. As always in KJJ, where things are usually moving at less than a snails pace, when I leave a ton of changes suddenly and inexplicably take palce. ie. Baay Waly finally built my shade structure outside my house and surprise I have a new sort of pseudo host brother.
He is about 3 and his name is Baboucar "Bakar" Jeng and through him I am seeing KJJ and the Joof clan in a new light tuned by almost three months of calling this place home. As Bakar and the rest of my family navigate how to integrate him into my family I find myself wondering, "Is this what they felt like with me too?"
Granted I can wash my own hands and use the bathroom by myself but other than that my negotiation of the Joof's and my place within the family is much the same. My language skills are better than his, if I do say so myself (yes I can speak more Wolof than a 3 year old). But a lot of the family culture stuff I was just as lost on as little Bakar. Where to sit around the food bowl, when it's acceptable to take a nap, who to take seriously (Yaay Amie) and who to joke with (Baay Waly), and where you fit in in the fracas of it all.
So if you had to sum it up it's taken the presence of a slightly developmentally impaired three year old Senegalese/Gambian with a slight pot belly and a great smile to show me how far I have really come as Ramatoulie Joof. I know where I'm expected to sit around the food bowl, who to seek out for different information/conversation, how to peel the vegetables for our staple dish "chew" and where to put my mat around the fire. Not to say that I'm funny integrated or 100 percent sure of what's going on but at least I've learned to live with the uncertainty.
So a few days ago I came home from a brief trip to my friend Wells' village. We were doing a CDDP sensitization and VDC training there for three days so I decided to spend the night with Wells rather than biking back and forth. As always in KJJ, where things are usually moving at less than a snails pace, when I leave a ton of changes suddenly and inexplicably take palce. ie. Baay Waly finally built my shade structure outside my house and surprise I have a new sort of pseudo host brother.
He is about 3 and his name is Baboucar "Bakar" Jeng and through him I am seeing KJJ and the Joof clan in a new light tuned by almost three months of calling this place home. As Bakar and the rest of my family navigate how to integrate him into my family I find myself wondering, "Is this what they felt like with me too?"
Granted I can wash my own hands and use the bathroom by myself but other than that my negotiation of the Joof's and my place within the family is much the same. My language skills are better than his, if I do say so myself (yes I can speak more Wolof than a 3 year old). But a lot of the family culture stuff I was just as lost on as little Bakar. Where to sit around the food bowl, when it's acceptable to take a nap, who to take seriously (Yaay Amie) and who to joke with (Baay Waly), and where you fit in in the fracas of it all.
So if you had to sum it up it's taken the presence of a slightly developmentally impaired three year old Senegalese/Gambian with a slight pot belly and a great smile to show me how far I have really come as Ramatoulie Joof. I know where I'm expected to sit around the food bowl, who to seek out for different information/conversation, how to peel the vegetables for our staple dish "chew" and where to put my mat around the fire. Not to say that I'm funny integrated or 100 percent sure of what's going on but at least I've learned to live with the uncertainty.
Community Driven Development!
Written on March 20th, 2010
Another day another CDDP (the World Banks Community Driven Development Project) meeting that I have to mentally prepare myself for. As we plod through the packet on VDC (Village Development Committee) organization I'm struck by how slowly development goes here. I think it's partially because of culture but another large part of it is a lack of education. This lack of education effects the training in two really important ways.
It means we have to go really slowly to make sure everyone is understanding. This means asking endless clarifying questions ie. when talking about the responsibilities of every position in the VDC.
Me: Who is the chairperson? [Chairperson raises his hand.] What are the responsibilities of your job? [Chairperson lists responsibilities.]
Me: Ok, well here are the things a chairperson is commonly in charge of. [I read off a list of things.] Now, who can tell me the responsibilities of the chairperson?
[Another couple VDC members struggle to regurgitate the information I just gave.]
Also, because CDDP is a World Bank program all the training manuals and information is in English so I present in English and then one of the other people at the meeting (Lamin/Baboucar) has to then translate it into Wolof. Needless to say it is an incredibly slow process. At the end of the day I often don't feel as if I've accomplished anything. So personally I am working on realizing that developments slow pace here can mean months and months of meetings where I don't feel as if anything is being accomplished to build a base for a successful project months down the road. And that project may be as simple as a coos milling machine or a covered well but for this community it's vital. These are all things I should probably start meditating on every morning to ensure my continued sanity and stability.
Another day another CDDP (the World Banks Community Driven Development Project) meeting that I have to mentally prepare myself for. As we plod through the packet on VDC (Village Development Committee) organization I'm struck by how slowly development goes here. I think it's partially because of culture but another large part of it is a lack of education. This lack of education effects the training in two really important ways.
It means we have to go really slowly to make sure everyone is understanding. This means asking endless clarifying questions ie. when talking about the responsibilities of every position in the VDC.
Me: Who is the chairperson? [Chairperson raises his hand.] What are the responsibilities of your job? [Chairperson lists responsibilities.]
Me: Ok, well here are the things a chairperson is commonly in charge of. [I read off a list of things.] Now, who can tell me the responsibilities of the chairperson?
[Another couple VDC members struggle to regurgitate the information I just gave.]
Also, because CDDP is a World Bank program all the training manuals and information is in English so I present in English and then one of the other people at the meeting (Lamin/Baboucar) has to then translate it into Wolof. Needless to say it is an incredibly slow process. At the end of the day I often don't feel as if I've accomplished anything. So personally I am working on realizing that developments slow pace here can mean months and months of meetings where I don't feel as if anything is being accomplished to build a base for a successful project months down the road. And that project may be as simple as a coos milling machine or a covered well but for this community it's vital. These are all things I should probably start meditating on every morning to ensure my continued sanity and stability.
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