Gambian Adventure

You know you're a Peace Corps Volunteer when... you spend the entire night expelling amoebas from your digestive tract in all conceivable ways and instead of cancelling your 60 kilometer bike trip you stick a trowel and a pack of tissues in your saddle bag and hope for the best.

Luckily my gamble paid off. Despite its inauspicious beginning with a sleepless night of intestinal rebellion my trip to The Gambia was really fun. I met my closest neighbor, Jen, in our road town at 6:30am on Saturday to start the first leg of our trip...a 60k bike ride to Elizabeth's site in Nioro. Due to bad roads and a few stops to buy more water the ride took us about 5 hours and we rolled into town just in time for lunch. We stashed our bikes and ate at a restaurant owned by a group of women from a local trade school, topped it off with ice cream then waited out the hottest part of the day at the local Catholic compound. Jen and Elizabeth indulged in a local brew and I sipped on some oral rehydration solution to try and recover from the previous night and our long ride.

At four we took a charette to the garage to catch an alham to Danielle's site in Kaymore to spend the night. I didn't see much of the road on the way there because my amoebas were acting up and I was concentrating on not throwing up on the other passengers, but I felt every bump and bounce on the 45 minute trek out into the bush on dirt paths. We went to bed pretty early since we would have to be up at 5:30 the next morning in order to catch a car headed to Poste, the town bordering The Gambia.

We had expected to take another alham to the border, but we ended up scoring a ride with six other people in the back of a truck for 600cfa (a little over $1). We congratulated ourselves on our good luck since that meant we wouldn't have to wait around for a bigger car to fill up, but it turns out we spoke too soon. About 10 minutes down the road we got a punctured tire that flatted almost immediately, so everyone piled out of the truck to help lift it up and change the tire. Unfortunately the spare they put on wasn't in much better shape, so we had to stop again at the next village to find a pump to fill it up. After our driver spent 20 minutes filling the tire as much as he could with a bicycle pump we were once again on our way. Things were going splendidly until we got to the river. Thanks to the recent rains the road was completely flooded up to a foot deep in some places. The driver went halfway across the road before chickening out and reversing all the way back to dry land.


There were groups of men hiring themselves out to push/guide cars across the road and a lot of other vehicles made it across just fine, but our driver refused to budge. Instead he paid a passing alham to let us squeeze into their already full vehicle and we slowly trundled across an invisible road riddled with 1-2 foot deep potholes. Once across the river it was only another 15 minutes to Poste where we met up with Ari, another volunteer, and headed towards the border crossing. Typically Peace Corps volunteers are supposed to be allowed to cross the border with just their Peace Corps IDs, but we all had our passports just in case. Turns out if you show your passport you are also required to have a visa, so we had a rather long and complicated argument that involved all of our shared languages: Wolof, French, Pulaar, English and Seereer. Once we had the confusion sorted (if you don't show your passport you don't need a visa) we took a charette into Farafenny.

Sunday is luma (market) day we took a quick look at the giant vegetables and bought some fried dough before heading into the town proper. Everyone says the Gambia is the place to buy fabric so we all bought a couple meters before we went to the local dispensary to sample the Gambian brew.

We met up with a Gambian Peace Corps volunteer and some VSO volunteers (England's version of the Peace Corps) and it was nice to see whether the grass really is greener on the other side of the fence. The Gambia was settled by England so the national language is English, although people there speak English about as well as people in Senegal speak French. That is to say not very well. Still it was an interesting change of pace. After happy hour we went for some critically acclaimed chicken that was served with mustard, mayo, spaghetti, onion and cucumber. Our meal was accompanied by some ridiculous Nigerian music videos that included women in booty shorts dancing with people wearing masks of former US presidents. I wonder if Bill Clinton and Gerald Ford are aware that they are the stars of a bad Nigerian rap video?

After our late lunch it was time to head back so we jumped on a charette for the bumpy 10 minute ride back across the border. At the garage we squeezed into another alham for the long journey back across the flooded river to Danielle's site. On the way our vehicle was stopped and everyone was ordered out so the police could search the car for contraband...sugar. I'm not sure why, but it is currently illegal to bring Gambian sugar into Senegal, and I think the penalty is pretty steep for anyone caught with it. 

A lot of it makes it through though since the only sugar available in Senegal that isn't from The Gambia is expensive French imported sugar cubes. Every time I put granular sugar into my oatmeal I'm breaking the law! We got back to Danielle's village just as the sun was setting and the mosque was calling out the evening prayer and went to bed right after our dinner of millet and beans.

The next morning we slept in until 7 and then went out to help Danielle trench some mango seedlings to protect them during the dry season and plant some live fencing and wind break trees at the local community space. We did a good 6 hours worth of weeding, digging and transplanting which was more than enough to justify our trip as work related travel. We also went out to look at her Master Farmer's field and check out all of the crop demonstrations. Overall it was a really productive day and its always nice to do work with other volunteers...things get done so much faster when everyone speaks the same language and you don't have to have circular discussions about the best way to do something.

This morning Jen and I got up at 6 to catch a car back to Nioro. The original plan was to pick up our bikes and ride the 60k back to our villages, but by the time we got to Nioro it was already 8am and blazingly hot, so we opted for the back up plan and put our bikes on top of a station wagon going to Kaolack. Since we had to pay the full fare whether we got out at our crossroads or went all the way into the city we opted to come in for the day to check our mail and charge up the electronics. I was originally planning on heading back to site after my last post, but a massive thunderstorm rolled in (cross your fingers that my hut stays standing!) so I'm stuck in Kaolack for the night. I'm really anxious to get back to my site and assess the condition of my hut and just get back into my own routine, but you know what they say...when it rains make lemonade and the world smiles with you...or something like that. Anyway I figured I'd use the extra time for another blog post.

The Downside of the Rainy Season

 So far the rainy season has been pretty good to me...I've only had to pull half the daily amount of water from the well, my garden gets watered for free, The temperature retreats into the 80s...but last week mother nature took it a bit too far. In one night we got enough rain to completely fill up my 16 liter bucket and completely demolish 7 huts in my compound. As a result of bone rattling thunder and large amounts of sand being washed away from beneath it, my hut now has a large crack running from the bottom to the top of the left hand wall and extending horizontally all the way around the back wall to the other door. I also have a big fissure splitting my cement bed in half from floor to wall. Several of our huts collapsed with little or no visible signs of damage, but when I asked my dad if my hut was going to fall down he told me it would be fine. He also told me to sleep on my cot on the other side of the hut just in case.

Until the rains stop in late October/ early November we can't start construction on new huts or work to repair the crack in mine. Since the largest of our collapsed huts is threatening to fall on the two huts closest to it, those are currently out of commission as well. We've got approximately 40 people in my compound crammed into 6 small huts, which is my motivation for staying in my room despite it's current architectural flaws. The village mason assured me that when a hut collapses the walls always fall outward, so as long as I sleep on the side farthest from the damage I should be safe.

Considering my hut is less than 5 months old it should have withstood the rains better than it did. All of the other huts that fell were over 3 years old. Turns out there were a lot of corners cut during my hut construction, using mostly mud bricks and only a paper thin layer of cement on the walls...which explains why my walls kept crumbling away with every little bump. I have a feeling a lot of the money Peace Corps gave my village to build my hut went into someone else's pocket. So now I have to front the money to get my hut repaired out of my own pocket, when a single bag of cement is going to cost me an entire day's salary. Corruption is such a way of life here though that skimming a little bit off the top of any project/community donation is practically expected, and no one even tries that hard to hide it. Take home lesson: I'm going to have to keep a very close eye on the finances for all of my projects.

Collateral Damage

The mud walls cracked right along the seams of the bricks

Horizontal branch of the crack on the left wall

The rest of the crack extending along the back wall

Mangrove Reforestation

This weekend I took a bit of a "working vacation" and went to Toubacouta with 21 other volunteers from the Kaolack region to work with local residents on a mangrove reforestation project. We got to Toubacouta late Saturday afternoon and headed directly for a water front campement for some cold beers and some diving off of the dock. Sunday morning was down to business, up to our knees in muck and mud sticking these oddly shaped seeds "butt down" into the tidal basin.

Mangroves are a type of amphibious tree that is found throughout the Saloum delta in Senegal and helps prevent soil erosion and provide habitat for fish, oysters, herons and (supposedly) otters, flamingos and manatees. A combination of human destruction and climate change have caused a significant decline in Senegal's mangrove forests over the last 50 years, but people here are slowly starting to realize their importance and do something about it. We spent about 3 hours at low tide (and consequently high noon) combating deforestation with over 60 local residents, here are a few of the best pictures:

Sunset over the water and a view of the dock

Ladies sorting out mangrove seeds

Mangrove seeds and muddy feet

Butt down in the ground

Mangrove seedling

PCVs and work and the tide coming in

Mangroves

Par for the course for Senegalese transport

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Sometimes I can't believe this stuff is real.

Relax, I'm In Good Hands

 I debated writing this post because I didn't want anyone at home to worry, but this story has a happy ending and I wanted you all to know just how well my family takes care of me here. This also includes unrelated pictures because no one wants a blog post full of words...think of them as commercial breaks.

The word sai sai has two different meanings...joking trickster or murdering rapist. Actually, to be fair its more of a spectrum, and most sai sais fall closer to the former end, but last week I had an encounter with one closer to the latter. The short version is I met a man at a boutique in Kaolack while I was trying to bargain to exchange my new cell phone for an older model (long story). Since Seereer is a minority language here (ie no one in the city speaks it) and my wolof and french are both pretty limited this was a rather long and complicated process. While I was going from boutique to boutique greeting the shopkeepers, introducing myself and attempting to negotiate a fair trade this guy decided to appoint himself my "assistant." These services usually come along with a marriage proposal so I told him I didn't need any help, but he came with me anyway. After two unsuccessful attempts he asked me if I wanted to see his shop where he sells "merchandise." I had a feeling this guy had never done an honest sale in his life so I asked what time it was, pretended to be surprised and told him I had to get to the garage so I could be back in my village before breaking of the fast. He asked if I knew where I was going in the garage and I said Keur Madialbel (which is a town 20k past my village, but I take that car because it passes through my road town). I hustled off to the garage then doubled back on another street and hit a few more boutiques before I managed to exchange my cell phone (without any help thank you very much) and headed back to my village. Out of sight, out of mind right? Wrong.

The baby duck my friend Bass gave me after he saw a picture of Oxford

The next day I'm sitting in my hut with my eleven year old sister Aissatou and my four year old brother Modu when my mom comes in and tells me to "Greet your guest." And who should step through the door but Mr. Creepy. I didn't even recognize him at first because it was so improbable that he should even be in my village let alone in my hut. Before I can register what is going on my mom leaves and Aiou decides she wants to go finish getting her hair braided, and neither of them picked up on my hints that I wanted them to stay. So its me and a 4 year old and a sai sai sitting awkwardly in my room. This might be a good time to mention the guy doesn't even speak Seereer, so while I'm trying to ask him why he is here and tell him its inappropriate for me to have a man in my room, communication isn't really working out. Finally I ask him if he even bothered to greet my father and he said no, so I took him out to the courtyard and quickly and quietly explained the situation to my dad. My dad made small talk with him in Wolof for a while and then firmly told him to leave and not come back.

After he left I asked my dad what exactly happened, and my dad said that with just my name and the direction I lived, in the guy was able to track me down. That's the downside of being one of the only white people around...everyone knows you. Apparently he went to Keur Madialbel and asked around until someone told him I lived in Sambande. I immediately got on the phone to the Peace Corps Safety and Security guy and told him what had happened, and while I was on the phone the sai sai came back and said he had dropped some money in my room. My dad when to look, told the guy he was lying and told him to get out of town, then sent one of my siblings to spy on him and make sure he really left. It was clear that this guy thought I was a rich white person (I wish), but just how he planned on getting my money by showing up in our compound in broad daylight is a mystery to us all.

The monitor lizard that got into my room and ate the
baby duck, which was promptly killed and eaten by my
brothers. ((cue circle of life song from the Lion King))

Here's the happy ending to the story: my dad is protective of me that he has forbidden me to ever go to Kaolack by myself again (fat chance...) and he immediately called my uncle in Keur Socce to look out for the guy and make sure he really left the area. Then he called the gendarmes and the president of the community rurale (a pretty important guy) and told them what happened. Then that night when I went to bed my older brother Malik posted himself as a sentry outside my hut and stayed awake all night to make sure the guy didn't come back (it made me feel a lot safer, but I still slept with my machete). Even my four year old brother said that if the guy came back he would “beat him until he shits,” a common threat kids get from their parents here. So as you can see, I am nothing if not well taken care of here...nothing to worry about!

In other news, Ramadan ends either tomorrow or the next day (the Marabout has to officially see the moon to declare it over), and we celebrate with a holiday called Korite. We all dress in our fanciest clothes and every family kills a sheep and we eat and eat until we've gained back all the weight we lost while fasting. It should be a blast! I must say I am going to miss our 7:30 breaking of the fast with bush coffee (boiled leaves with a ton of sugar) and bread, although I will be glad to not have to wait until 9:30 to eat dinner...that's way past my bedtime.

My brothers Samba and Modou with the heads...

...and Aissatou with the rest of the chicken

Nothing Beats a Senegalese Dance Party

I finally had enough time at the regional house to upload this video. This is the dance party the ladies held after our women's group meeting. They all tied their head wraps together, and whoever's head wrap was pulled out of the pile had to challenge the other person to a dance off in order to get it back. The formidable woman in the purple is our village wedding singer, or more appropriately wedding screamer. She has a megaphone that she yells into at weddings and baptisms and if she improvises a song with your name in it you have to give money for the bride/new mother. Her improv is actually pretty good...think of her as a Senegalese Adam Sandler.

Garden Pictures

I have so much okra and I can't eat it or give it away fast enough!

Nothing that comes in care packages goes to waste...not even after its eaten! These are chinese orchid seeds that I got from the botanical garden in Mbour.

A forest of okra and tomato with cucumbers hidden in the back row.

Cucumbers!

The next round of tomato plants, sprouted and waiting for transplant.