Of Life in A Fish Bowl: Two Weeks to Go

Me with a new born goat. I named him Oreo.

The picture above is from my volunteer visit a few weeks ago. One goat gave birth in the compound at my host volunteer's site and I grabbed him up a few hours afterwards. They are so cute.

Only two weeks remain of PST and my nerves are starting to get the better of me. Today our community counterparts - respected, skilled, enthusiastic members of our villages - started to arrive for two days of sessions on what their job will be, getting to know what our training has been, get some of their own, and also getting to know each other. That last one is particularly important because we'll be working with them and relying on them for our projects, language learning, cultural interventions (ie - no, wearing pants does not mean she's easy), and friendship for the next two years. Mine showed up this morning around 10 or so. Did not expect that. They took the night bus apparently.

Nothing says, 'go study your Pulaar' like having your counterpart ask, 'you still don't know Pulaar?'

I'm doomed.

The last long stay in Mbour ended on a very tired note. The malaria medication I am on, called Mefloquine (no, I have no idea if that is really how it is spelled), does not agree with my system very well. At first I had dreams so vivid I didn't know if I was really asleep or awake, so when I would actually wake up (my alarm going and everything) I felt like I hadn't slept at all. I think I've finally moved passed that point, so now every Thursday night (as Thursday is the day I take the pill), I can't sleep until around 4 in the morning. So Friday's are extremely sluggish, and Friday is the day we left our site for Thies. I know my host sister in law, Asu, thought I was a little more sluggish than usual. Granted, I was up at 5:45 to pack nearly everything and the car picked me up at 7 - so it was earlier than usual anyway. We've only got a brief two and a half day stay left in the CBT site before we swear in, so I needed to get as much stuff as I could out.

The night before one of my other sister's in law, Nogoy, made me 'espaget' (their pronunciation of spaghetti), with just noodles, a hard boiled egg, carrots, onions and a greenbean-ish veggie. She only made it for me, so when her daughter came in with the plate and said 'Aan, goto' (you only/alone) I was both surprised and dissappointed. I never realized just how accustomed I had become to eating with other people until that moment. Every lunch and dinner I have shared a bowl with at least one other person. Breakfast is always eaten alone and I don't mind it at all. But dinner? NEVER. I felt lonely. I know she did this as a special dinner for me. I know she was trying to make something she believed I would actually eat (as I am fairly sure that they ALL know that I really can't stomach most of what they make - literally. I get the worst stomachaches and nausea after some meals), but the eating alone caught me off guard.

As did the sudden depressed feelings I had when I had to eat alone in my room.

Me, a girl who always prefers to eat by herself (as my parents can attest to), hated eating by myself.

I guess that is one of those personality changes the Peace Corps is famous for.

Another may now be my enjoyment of looking for, bargaining for and purchasing fabric. Never been a fabric person (I know my grandmother is probably laughing herself silly at the change in my reality), but to get clothes made and stuff that actually fits in with the culture it's what needs to be done. I do have my clothes made, but I have yet to get pictures of me in them. Will get those done and post them.

Haggeling is how business is done in this part of the world and when you're white, the quoted price is always at the very least twice what it should be, though usually three to four times higher. Arguing over price is awesome. From taxis to fabric, food to jewelry, haggle, haggle, haggle. So much fun. Friday I found that I needed a new duffle bag to pack some food in (for when I move in, I'm going to the supermarket and loading up). So I went to the market, found a bag I liked and got the guy to bring down the price from 3700 CFA - about $7.50 - to 2000 CFA - about $4. My language teacher said I did a good job, so I felt happy about it.

Turned out to be fortuitous timing as the same day I received two much awaited care packages and I had no other place to store all the food other than that new bag. (A big thanks to my parents and cousin, Cory, for the awesome food load!) I'm contemplating buying a second.

I've been struggling to figure out what to put down in these blog posts. Once I am at site, I will have no electricity and the nearest internet access will be about a 30km bike ride. Perhaps that will give me more of an incentive to plan out these posts ahead of time and make them a little more meaty/substantive and less 'daily activity'-ish.

At the moment nerves over my language and how I'll integrate in my village are overrunning all other emotions. Heat, dust, bad food - don't seem to matter when I have a test coming up next week and the prospect of moving into a village with high expectations and little ability to communicate.

From left to right: Mama, Umu - who is holding Abbey and Mohammed , Asu's twins

My host sister in law, Asu, and Jobar (in yellow)

My 'birthday cake'

Getting ready to find out our new home.
The map of Senegal is painted on the basket ball court. They
blindfold us and take us to the spot on the map where we will be