Ziguinchor, Tonsillitis, last days in Dakar

The past two weeks have been uneventful in Dakar, except for the occasional (and that means every day) losses of power. My family immediately blames Wade whereas Senelec, the company that controls the power, blames it on the heat. Ironically, when all the Americans leave, the temperature skyrockets. This isn’t the first time there were power cuts in Dakar; I did a project last spring on the same problem. Of course, this pales in comparison with the twice weekly six hour power outages of Ghana, but it’s still annoying nonetheless.
I had a sore throat for about two weeks, which then turned into an extremely painful one and brought with it a steady fever. Go figure…I have a throat infection, Tonsillitis. I can’t swallow anything, which ruins my last few days in Dakar because I can’t even eat Ceebu Jen.
On the 13th, I flew to Ziguinchor in the Casamance. Why? “Deemed the longest running conflict in West Africa, the low-intensity conflict in the Casamance region of southern Senegal has raged on for more than two decades. Appearing initially as a separatist conflict with ethnic overtones, the Casamance conflict is also inherently a geo-political and socio-economic struggle as well. Separated from the rest of the country by the former British colony, The Gambia, the Casamance region has very little infrastructural ties to Dakar. Attempts by the central government to increase rice yields in the region as well as the movement of non-indigenous Muslim farmers from the north has fostered resentful accusations of “land despoilment” and the destruction of Casamancais resources with the permission of the central government. Once the country’s breadbasket, the Casamance is now the poorest and most deprived region of Senegal. The Movement of Democratic Forces in the Casamance (MFDC), the rebel movement in the region, initially fought for independence for the entire Casamance region. However, recent conflicts within the organization have fostered a split between the predominately Diola, more radical and more militaristic southern group and the northern group who is more inclined for peaceful measures and more cooperative with the Senegalese government.” I am currently working on a research project specifically looking at international aid organizations’ support of women’s peace organizations during the conflict. I have been researching for months, so when I came to Senegal and was told by the CIEE director I wouldn’t be able to travel to the region because of safety reasons, I was a little upset. Nonetheless, I was granted permission at the last minute, and I took the safest route: plane.
I stayed with the Soumare family, which made for both an interesting and rewarding experience. I was lucky to stay with Lamine Soumare, the brother of my host mother in Dakar, because he works on a female literacy class project and knew exactly where I could find the offices of all of the organizations I needed to speak with. The family was way too kind and they wanted to make me gain weight (shows they gave me a good welcoming, I suppose), so they kept giving me cashews, mangoes, bañyes (fried doughy balls with sugar), and making me eat by myself with a huge plate. I didn’t gain weight though, because I told them I can’t eat that much. The sad thing about the Casamance is it really is the breadbasket and the most beautiful part of the country. Cashews in Dakar cost one dollar for a small bag, whereas in the Casamance one has only to climb a tree, grab some cashews and their fruit, and roast them. The same thing with mangoes, probably the most expensive fruit in Dakar. The Soumare family had a huge mango tree in their yard that we used for shade most of the time and it was weighed down with all of its delicious, green fruit. There were trees everywhere, the river was beautiful, and the people entirely too nice. It’s a shame that the conflict has destroyed so much for the region.The Soumare family was enormous; I can’t even count everyone. They were spread out between two houses and included at least 3 generations. I spent most of my time with Lamine, but I got to know the others little by little. They kept telling me they were poorer than the family I stay with in Dakar, but they were richer in so many other aspects. They loved having me as a guest: touring me around town, cooking special meals, dancing and singing for me. And it was the first time I have ever been called a Toubab. One of the younger girls kept yelling, “Toubab, xoolal!” (White person/Foreigner, look!) I kept telling her that I wasn’t a Toubab, but it didn’t stick. Maybe she hasn’t ever seen a white person (a real Toubab) before… Lamine blessed four pens for me and my brother to write our exams and blessed me as well (his father was a marabout), which made me feel particularly special. I was sad I only stayed for three days, but I made promises to return, inshallah. Photos here: http://elon.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2047028&l=ecc00&id=18203484

It's been a long time...

I just realized that I hadn't written anything in almost a month. And a lot has happened since rural visits, so bear with me.
I will start with this past weekend and go backwards.

Cinco de Mayo fete on ile de Ngor: Since everyone is leaving this weekend (except a few of us) we decided to have a large party for 5th of May and also as a going away ceremony. We made mexican food (as mexican as we could get without tortillas or taco shells) and I made a well praised mango cobbler. The house had two bedrooms and there were more than 35+ of us who were intending on sleeping there, so to say the least we stayed up really late and had to get creative on sleeping situations (I slept on a couch frame...without the cushion...ouch) then we had french toast for breakfast and chillaxed on the beach until it was time to go home. Making the cobbler. yum.

Friday, final CIEE dinner: We had dinner as a group with all of our professors and directors of the programs at a restaurant called Gormondais Africanes. Serigne, our awesome director, even hired the best band in town, Orchestra Baobab, to serenade us. We danced up a storm (and so did our crazy profs), showcased our student talent (dancing, drumming, singing) and then went out for ice cream afterwards. It was really sad though because Serigne and Victoria were talking about how we were the best group and were such good students and people and it made everyone sad.
Me and Victoria at the dinner.

Tuesday, May 1 TOUBA!!: Touba is a religious town that is really significant for the Mouride brotherhood. Their spiritual leader, Cheikh Amadou Bamba, lived, worked and died in this village. He was exiled by the French colonial government because of his anti-colonial stance, but this had little negative effect on gaining devout followers. Baye Falls, a sect of Mourides, can be seen all over Dakar and Senegal (they wear multi-colored quilted outfits; they are hard to miss). Every year, 48 days after the Islamic New Year, there is a huge pilgrimage to Touba celebrating the day Bamba returned from exile. Millions upon millions of people crowd into Touba to celebrate (I referenced it during my spring break blog; it was the reason there were no cars going anywhere in Senegal except Touba). Touba itself is an interesting ville…the Senegalese government does not regulate the city, the current Marabout owns all of the land and distributes it only to Muslims, there is no drinking or smoking or dancing, and no hotels or French schools. And it is home to the largest Mosque in West Africa. Babacar (Andrew) and I got dolled up in our best Senegalese attire, headed to the gare routiere at 7am and took a sept-place to Touba (a little less than 4 hours). When we arrived, Andrew swore he could see the mosque “just ahead” so we started to walk. Of course, I wasn’t wearing appropriate shoes for walking long distances and the mosque was not just ahead not to mention the lack of sidewalks in this country (just sand). We finally got to the mosque, took off our shoes, and commenced to wander. Since we are not Muslim, and Andrew stands out like a sore thumb, we were quickly stopped before entering rooms we were not allowed to go. We found a tour guide who took us around to the various parts of the mosque. There is a well, the spring of Mercy, which we drank from despite warnings about drinking un-treated water. It was salty. I think our tour guide took us into parts of the mosque we were not allowed to go, because there was one time in the grand library that he tried to sneak us in and a man already inside started yelling that Andrew wasn’t Muslim and the guide was yelling back, yes he is because look he changed his name. And they were pushing each other and there was a lot of yelling. It did not really involve me because, as a woman, I was not allowed to enter. That was frustrating…Everywhere we went I had to enter through another door, or walk in another direction that the guide. I couldn’t shake hands with any of the men and had to keep my hair covered at all times. The mosque itself was incredible. I was awe struck by its beauty and intricacy. Every room was elaborately decorated but not overly done like some Catholic churches I have seen. The mosque is over 100 years old, but it looks shiny and brand new. Beautiful Arabic scrolled across ceilings and doors and the serenity of people in prayer or meditation was touching. It was an amazing experience. We hooked up with the Islam class from CIEE for lunch at one of the Marabouts’ house and free transportation home. More pictures: http://elon.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2045497&l=f0832&id=18203484

April 20 – 22, STOP BUSH FIRE!: Our environment class went on an overnight weekend excursion to Toubacouta to examine the effects of bush fire on the area. We visited three villages and talked to the locals about their use of fire for agriculture and whether or not they believed that they were the reason for the destruction of the environment. Many of the villagers “swore” that they didn’t use bush fire, but how ironic was it to walk outside the village and see burnt ground? They did know that un-controlled bush fires destroy the food for their livestock, kill valuable trees necessary for shade, and ruin their attempts at raising bees for honey production. We taught some local kids who wanted to tag-a-long with us our mantra that we stole from a Gambian film, “STOP BUSH FIRES!” Inshallah, they will take that home to their parents and actually will stop destroying the landscape. Pictures: http://elon.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2044356&l=50032&id=18203484

April 19, Daara: With the education class, we went to a daara in Pikine. A Daara is a Islamic/Arabic school, but here they are sort of a money making venture for the Marabouts who run them (now of course, this is not always the case; there are decent daara’s but our teacher wanted us to see one that was far from decent). Half of the students hit the streets in the morning to beg for rice, sugar, and money. The other half stay to recite and memorize passages from the Qur’an. They can write in Arabic and read it, but they do not understand the context of the passages. They only learn the Qur’an and nothing else, which is sad because many of these students will never have the opportunity to go to school and learn science, geography, history or math. They slept on mats outside, rarely bathed, and descended on food as if they did not know where or when their next meal would come. The Marabout would keep the majority of the money earned and give the kids about 300 CFAs of it (a little more than 50 cents). Many of the children were ill and had skin disorders, but the Marabout said he could not afford to take them to the hospital. If they did not study or if they danced, the talibes were beaten by the Marabout. We asked them if it hurt and if they cried and they responded in the affirmative. All of the talibes were far from their parents who were in Touba. But this Marabout wasn’t bad at all; his brother, who had worked at this daara before, had tied up a talibe for more than two days and was run out of Pikine by the neighbors. A question I had that was never adequately answered was how this Marabout, who was proud to announce that he had four wives, supported all of those in his family and the children if he supposedly only kept a little of what the children begged? He didn’t appear to be hungry like his students…
I am done with classes, exams and papers Alhamdulilah. Now, I am just preparing for everyone leaving and the two trips I am making before I finally return to the U.S. I am going to Ziguinchor, Casamance (Southern Senegal) the 13th through the 16th and then Cape Verde to meet my mom, grandmother, and cousins May 19th through May 29th. I bounce back to Dakar for 24 hours and then depart for les Etats-unis May 30th.

My Obsession with Civil Society in Africa: Rural Visit and work with APROFES

NOTE: PICTURES OF RURAL VISITS AT LEFT; THERE ARE TWO LINKS.

CIEE organizes a week of rural visits where the students can decide whether they want to stay with a Peace Corps volunteer or stay with a local NGO in a rural area of Senegal. Most of the students opted to stay in the “bush” with the PCV, but I was really torn. The question was, when would I ever have the opportunity to stay in the bush? But I chose to go work with an NGO because A)they were doing sweet things for women in the region and B) I am obsessed with civil society/NGO/Non-profit/Grassroots development in Africa. So, on Monday I and three other girls headed to Kaolack to work with APROFES (Association pour le PROmotion de la Femme Senegalaise). Kaolack is about 3 hours away, whereas most of the PCV kids had to travel 8 hours plus to reach their destinations.
First impressions of Kaolack: It was HOT! When I got to my host family’s house, the conversation consisted as such (directly translated from French/Wolof):
“The heat here is bad.”
“Yes, it is hot.”
“Sure is.”
(The power goes out)
“It’s hotter now.”
“Yup.”
“You want this fan? Because it is hot.”
“Okay.”
“Is it hot like this in your country?”
“I don’t know, I think so.”
“Because it is cold in Dakar. This is bad heat. We can’t walk down the street, we can’t go anywhere but stay here. You want to take a nap?”
“Okay.”
And that was pretty much a daily occurrence. I would wake up, have breakfast, head to the APROFES office, then to a village, where we would “Noppalu” (rest) during the hot hours which meant us laying on someone’s bed or couch and sleeping, and then head back, all the while complaining about the heat.
My host family was two brothers, 15 and 10, and a 25 year old sister who is my twin (we both have jaay fondey and are left handed), my host mom, Bintou Sall, who worked at APROFES with the micro-credit union and a host dad who worked for the salt processing company.
About APROFES: first, let me give you some background on my obsession with developing Africa from the bottom up. Working with CDD in Ghana and now APROFES makes it so clear to me that the best system of development on this continent is through active civil society organizations like those two who are dedicated to correcting the poverty and corruption in their respective countries. Who better to develop a country than those who live there and actually have a stake in the outcome? Granted, organizations like these need the funding and capacity building from the West, but they are the ones that know how best to use the money to actually effect change. Okay to APROFES. Their primary objectives are the promotion of women’s rights, establishing women leaders in various spheres, providing access to health resources and information, giving women economic power and reducing violence against women. They work with community based organizations, directly with the women and children of villages, victims of violence, women leaders and entrepreneurs and their established credit mutual and health mutual. A brief list of their projects: sensitization projects on AIDS/HIV and women’s rights; capacity building for women’s organizations in the region; training sessions that range from leadership and advocacy training to functional literacy courses; microfinance projects; a health insurance program; alternative energy and other positive environment programs; and prevention projects through awareness about violence against women (which includes Female Excision practices). They have many financial partners, mostly European and Canadian, and technical partners like regional and national women’s networks. They work thoughout the Kaolack region as well as Fatick and as far as the Casamance. (In other words, they are AMAZING)
We went to a conference hosted by a regional network of women about women in politics and the idea of equity and a presentation in a village for the 15 days of women celebration. The first village we went to, Kacathe, was the location of a farming co-op that had been funded through microfinance credit and capacity supported by APROFES. They were growing mangos, okra, eggplant, peppers and onions in the small perimeter. It was about 10 years old with 39 women working plots. The women use the produce for their own homes and also sell it on market day to the surrounding villages. The men help, but it is mostly the women who are doing the work here. They all benefited from APROFES’s sensitization programs, workshops, and literacy classes in Wolof. For more evidence about how successful and great micro-credit systems are, look at this village. They received 15,000CFA ($30) per woman in loans from APROFES. The established the farm, cultivated peanuts and, through the sale of their produce, turned that 30 bucks into $120 each and together bought horse carts and sheep. Now each woman has about 57,250CFA ($115) in their savings and the loans have been paid off.
The second village we visited, Ngane Ndiougou, also had a farming perimeter, but it was much larger and had another plot close by. They were also cultivating trees for re-forestation projects and had just started a program of raising bees for honey production. Their farming co-op idea was actually from the youths of the village who came up with the proposal to take to the micro-credit mutual provided by APROFES. In this village we met the chief and provided the villagers with entertainment as we tried to dance to their drumming. Here I also had the best attaya, which I realized I never mentioned before on this blog. Attaya is strong green tea with lots of sugar served piping hot. It is not easy to make actually; it requires skill at pouring and mixing just right so that it is all frothy on top when served in shot glasses.
The third village we visited, Ngathe, generated income from a very different source: by collecting salt from a lake in the area. Every fifteen days the lake dries up and the people move to another location to collect about 500 kilos a day of salt which is then sold to a Senegalese organization that cleans it. This is the only source of income for the area during the dry season and there were a ton of people out there, ankle high in salty water. We tried out the whole salt cultivation thing, but it was tough because there was so much salt that it was sucking our flesh dry and made walking quite difficult. There are salt plots that the villagers can purchase for $30 where the water evaporates faster and yields more salt. It was very strange seeing all this salt out in the middle of nowhere. APROFES assisted this village with education programs using videos and theatre troops as well as through micro-credit loans.
So even though I wasn’t “out in the bush,” I had an amazing experience. I learned about the effectiveness of APROFES’ programs (for example, through education, the number of child birth deaths dropped 50% in one village where they worked). A bakery started by a women entrepreneur with funds from APROFES was flourishing (and we would know, because everyday we had something from the bakery). My host family in Kaolack was hilarious, welcoming and comforting, and the girls I traveled with provided good company as we discussed how in love we were with APROFES and how we were going to help APROFES save the world. So in other words, my rural visit was well worth it.

Birthday photos

Pictures

one: that is a crepe with stuff on the inside.

two: that is me at the reggae night party after dinner...I love Bob :)

three: the mousse with the candle and everyone singing.

Electric Sliding, What is Literacy?, Sine Saloum, Marabout fun

A lot has gone on since I last wrote. Pictures are to the right and I also posted the link to Lizzie’s Spring Break pictures, because she took better ones than me.
The Saturday after spring break was International Student Day at Suffolk. All of the students at the University prepared food from their native countries, displayed traditional clothing and dances, and also participated in a talent show. Lizzie, Andrew and I made chocolate chunk cookies, which tasted kind of funny, but they were still good. Another professor brought cheeseburgers (Senegalese style though…which means they had a huge egg on top). Countries on display included Nigeria, Burkina Faso, Senegal, Mauritania, Benin, Ethiopia, and the Gambia. Our “American” dance was the electric slide, haha. In the middle of the talent show, a pretty famous singer came to perform his extremely popular song “Blocaz.” He invited a bunch of people on the stage to do the blocaz dance with him; it was a lot of fun. Much later in the evening we went with him to this very nice discotheque.
The following week my Education and Culture in Senegal class went to an adult literacy class on a field trip. The class consisted of maybe fifteen women over the age of forty and who almost all held jobs as a vendeuse (seller). They did not speak French and their first language was Pulaar (Fulani in English), but they could also speak Wolof. What I found most incredible was the fact that their literacy class was not in the National language (and therefore most written and utilized language in the country) of French. Instead the women were learning to write Fulani, a language that has only been written down for 60 years and in which nothing is written in this country. Our class was faced with this conundrum: what is the point of learning to write in your native language if it isn’t the language that signs, newspapers, etc. are written in? One classmate of mine said it was difficult to learn an alphabet, so it was better for them to learn the alphabet of their own language before moving on to French, which is foreign to them. Yes, this would make sense if there were adult literacy classes in French, but there are not. Most of those women will live their entire lives without ever learning French. Another classmate said, well at least they will be able to recognize letters and numbers on street signs. But does that really help? At the beginning of the literacy class, the women repeated the saying that those who are illiterate are lost and do not know themselves. Perhaps the literacy course is only to empower these women, whose children probably speak French that they learned in school. The women will be able to better handle their commerce through having the ability to keep documents of sales and balance the numbers, as well as help their children with their homework to some extent. I also think it is a pride thing; the Fulani are a large group in Senegal, but Wolof is the most wide spoken language. Through teaching literacy classes in their native tongue, they are protecting their culture and language.
Last weekend we went to the Sine Saloum delta. That is where the Saloum River meets the ocean. It was a most relaxing trip; we took a pirogue down the river, a horse cart tour of the local village, and got to chill on the beach. Saturday night we went to a traditional wrestling match. The pictures aren’t very good (there wasn’t much light), so you are going to have to use your imagination. Think Sumo wrestling, but with thin, muscular black men (in other words, the only thing the two have in common is the little thong/underwear thing they wear). There were many participants in this particular match, so the ones not wrestling walked around the circle and danced to the drumming and singing. It was quite a spectacle; especially when our lovely “toubabs” joined in the extravaganza. Three boys and two girls from the USA wrestled Senegalese people in the middle of the match. All of the boys won and one of the girls defeated her opponent quickly.
Finally, on Wednesday of this week we went to visit a Marabout in Madina. Marabouts are religious leaders in the community and the one we visited, Thierno Madu Tall, was one of the top Marabouts who oversees many Marabouts below him. We were entertained in his enormous sitting room, the same sitting room, he proudly told us, where he had just meet with the Israeli ambassador. We discussed almost everything under the sun: how many wives he had (two, but always was considering a third), his role in the community (he blesses all weddings and funerals and people come to him for financial advice or even to ask him if the mate they have chosen is right for them), his opinion on beating children (he believes that adult criminals were not beaten in their childhood, so the students under his care are beaten), and of course, his thoughts on talibes begging for their Marabouts (he said it was practical because the parents abandon the children in the Marabout’s care and the Marabout cannot take care of all of those children by himself, so they beg to re-pay their teachers; however, Thierno said he does not have talibes begging for him). It was a rare experience because he was not surrounded by his “posse” and was able to answer all questions honestly, even though he did have a very round-about way of avoiding the questions at times.
My birthday is next week, and happens to coincide with Senegal’s Independence Day celebrations. This Saturday we are going to a water management plant for environment class. The following week we will be going on our rural visits to stay with either NGOs or Peace Corps Volunteers out in the bush. In other words, my time is flying by really quickly! There are only three weeks or so left of class, five weeks until I go to Cape Verde, and two months until I come back to the U.S.

Family Pictures

Here are some photos of my family: Baba (4), Nene (11), Samba (14) and yaay, Diodio (25) and Sona (18)

More like an Adventure than a Vacation (and another reason why I love West Africa)

While many people probably embark on a relaxing spring break ours consisted of: two flat tires, a horse cart, station wagons with more than 20 people inside and on top, non-existent roads, monkeys and bird watching, hitch-hiking and lots of Europeans. A vacation it was not, but we did get to spend an incredible time touring rural Gambia and Senegal and getting to know the locals. Before I begin my tale, I want to inform everyone about the country we visited: The Gambia is a former British colony that is smack dab in the middle of Senegal. The British wanted the river that traverses through the Gambia and refused to cede it to the French, even though it wasn’t a very productive colony. Thus, the Gambia is only slightly larger than Delaware, Not even 15 km wide. The language is English, though we found that most people in the rural areas did not speak English, but Wolof, Mandinka, or Fula. The official name includes “the,” so I always say “the Gambia.”

Pictures: The picture above is a map of where we traveled. The picture to the right is the River Gambia in the morning time, its pretty. The three pictures below are Bush Town, flat tire on the way to Velingara, Village en route from waterfall.

Day one: From Suffolk we head to the station to catch a sept-place (a station wagon that can fit 7 people…normally more expensive than a mini-bus, but slightly more comfortable) from Dakar to Kaolack. Here there were very persistent hawkers and drivers who poked and harassed while we waited for the car. It was a 3.5 hour drive to Kaolack, where we were harassed again by drivers and then when someone “helps us” they expect a cadeau (gift). Then we took a ndiange ndiaye to some village, where we were marauded by boys with horse carts who took us across the Senegalese/Gambian border illegally, I am pretty sure, because there was no border post that checked our passport when we arrived in Farafenni, The Gambia. The only reason we got stamps was because we asked for directions at immigration. It didn’t feel like a different country…the people looked the same, same religion, same landscape, Wolof, but the difference was there were people who spoke English. It was weird.
Day two: We left the hotel in search of the bank, where we thought there was an ATM…lo and behold, the only ATMs in the entire country are in Banjul at least 8 hours away! We crossed the river to get to Soma, where we waited a long time for a car to leave for Kwinella. Once at Kwinella, we realized that it was impossible to reach Tendaba camp where we were staying that night. We tried to hire a donkey cart (but they wanted $6!) so we preceded to just sit and wait. Lucky for us, a man who worked for the National Treasury with an air-conditioned car stopped and offered us a ride to the camp. Tendaba camp was expensive- being a tourist location- and was the first place we ran into difficulty because we were only two people. In order to participate in the safari or bird watching tours, we had to either pay for the other four people (i.e. 10 bucks per person) or we had to join an already existent group.
Day three: Thus, we took a bird watching tour on the river with four older European couples who were avid bird watchers. It was a boring trip, because all we looked at was “rare” birds that the couples excitedly checked off their lists. But the landscape was nice-savannah and mangrove swamps- and I guess some of the birds were too. We got a free ride back to Kwinella from the hotel, but waited three hours for a car to drive by to take us back to Soma. During that time we made friends with some of the small local boys who wanted our empty bottles, pencils, rings, anything that we could give, and taught us Mandinka, as well as performed dances and songs. The road to Soma is entirely pot-holed… Lizzie said “it’s got to be bad when it’s better and easier to ride on the side of the road and not on it.” We got stuck once and I flew out of the seat a couple of times. It was a pretty ridiculous ride, but the sad thing was that most of the roads were like this throughout the Gambia. Once in Soma, we crossed the river again to Farafenni, where I bought a drink at the ferry stop and was attacked by bees, and we stayed the night again there.
Day four: We try to head to Georgetown and are stopped by a man in a car who was handing money out to the talibes. He said he is headed in that direction and can give us a ride, but first he has to run a few errands, give him five minutes. We waited two hours, sitting next to a woman who was selling beef sandwiches for breakfast and spoke to us in Wolof, and finally decided he wasn’t coming so we would find a car there. But luckily he drove up right when we started to leave. His name was Jean and he was a half Senegalese-half Cape Verdean engineer who was part of the team working on the road on the northern bank of the river. He bought us some drinks from the shop, and we headed towards Georgetown. In the car he had a dvd player blaring Senegalese music, and he tells us that he is a salsa dance teacher in Banjul. All along the road he gave things to the people: sandwiches, drinks, money. He said that it doesn’t matter how much you pray, but what is in your heart. When his men were working on the roads, he had his cook make them all lunch and bring it to them, out of the kindness of his heart. He was also very cordial with all the police we passed. En route, we decided to check this village the book lists called Kuntaur where you can rent a boat to visit this Baboon Island. Kuntaur was far from the beaten path, but when we arrive we discover that the book was more than way off on the price…they wanted fifty bucks for the boat, six times more than what the book says! We most certainly didn’t have that kind of money, but Jean tries to help us out by discussing the price with the men, who tell us perhaps we can get a cheaper boat at a “nearby” village. We drive literally for 30 minutes away from Kuntaur through rice fields, savannah, and on dirt roads, to find that these boatmen also will not charge less. It was very nice of Jean to drive us all over creation for this stupid boat; afterwards he dropped us at the ferry stop for Georgetown where two local boys attached to us and tried to get us to stay at their hotel, which wasn’t cheap. After this we tried to get to Georgetown, but the boys were determined to stay with us. We went to the Governor’s guesthouse on recommendation from Jean, which was about $10/night. We searched out the Forestry Department to find a tour somewhere, but found some Danes with no shirts on who didn’t speak any English and a German woman who ran the forestry department who told us about these two parks we could visit for about $3 bucks a piece. We chilled at a “bar” with no beer, and got to really get to know some local guys who talked about development, politics (how women should be the leaders in Africa because they are more sympathetic to the problems of the people), and the owner of the restaurant, feeling bad because we didn’t have much money, offered to make us dinner if we bought the supplies. This was very welcomed because it was the first time I had eaten in three days. Finally shook off the men who were with us the entire day to sleep at the Governor’s residence.
Day Five: left governor’s residence after 8 hours of no power (and it was HOT) and walked to the southern ferry port. Here Lizzie got yelled at by a man for taking a picture of some rice fields where some inmates happened to be working. Lucky for us, this little confrontation brought the attention of some Swedish NGO workers who gave us a ride from Georgetown to Bansang in their nice vehicle. We took a boat and crossed the river again to this village Bush Town which is protecting this stretch of forest that we wanted to tour to see some cool animals. We saw some monkeys, the guide saw a snake, and a couple baboons, but overall it was kind of disappointing. The tour guide and his brother invited us into their hut and talked to us about how hard life is. One boy said he wanted to continue his studies but the school fees were too much for his family, even though he tried to contribute by making money ferrying people back and forth across the river. We crossed the river again to find a car to Basse Santa Su, but got a flat and hung out in a random village for a couple of hours. Once in Basse, we waited a long time for a car to cross the border to Velingara, Senegal. The car, a truck with a covered bed with two benches, ended up having more than 20 people crammed inside and riding on top to the border. Once at the border we changed to a car…no I wouldn’t even call it that because it was pretty much just an engine with the remains of a body that barely functioned. Twenty people plus in this car as well. From Velingara we took a car to Tambacounda (at this point it was 7:00pm but we didn’t want to get stranded in small town Velingara, so we risked it and traveled at night).
Day six: Took a sept-place to Kedougou (four hours, a crappy road) where we discover that there are no cars going to the waterfall in Dindefelo (the main reason for us traveling here) until Sunday. We would have to hire a 4x4, which would cost $80. Thoroughly frustrated from not seeing anything, we moped around Tambacounda and found some guys who enjoyed discussing various things with us and took us to a restaurant and a hotel. Tambacounda and Kedougou were ridiculously hot…over 100 degrees of heat that doesn’t make you sweat, but presses down on you like a ton of weights and dries out your eyes, nose, and mouth. It was also very dusty everywhere and we were always coated in a nice layer of brown.Day Seven: We were ready to go back to Dakar; we got nothing done because we were only two, and all we did was travel from village to village without actually seeing anything other than rural Senegal/the Gambia. Complaining to one of the hotel employees, he became determined to help us find a way to the waterfall. He found us a car to Dindefelo (how I don’t know, because there was only supposed to be one on Sunday?) and said we could catch a ride back with these two Italian guys who had rented a 4x4 with his friend. The road to Dindefelo was TERRIBLE and of course we got stuck. As fate has it, the 4x4 with the Italians drove by while we were stuck and we hopped in there with them (paying $20 bucks each) and headed down the non-existent road to the fall. The two Italian men didn’t speak English or French, but we didn’t really need to talk to them as we hiked up the trail to the waterfall. It was mostly just a trickle, but it was rewarding because we finally got somewhere.
Day Eight: Got up early to head back to Tambacounda with the Italians and a Senegalese guy who was headed to Dakar. In Tambacounda we discover that because of the Magal (a religious pilgrimage to the birthplace of the Mourides (a Muslim sect) ,Touba, on March 8…apparently it is a huge deal and all of the cars were headed there instead of other cities) there were no cars going to Dakar. Determined to get back that night, we got in a car to Kaolack at the hottest part of the day (100+ degrees), and one of the worst roads in Senegal, and arrived at Kaolack around seven. Found a sept-place headed for Dakar there, another four hours, and FINALLY made it to Dakar, safe and sound.

The best part of our spring break was talking to these local guys…many of whom were extremely intelligent (one guy knew seven languages, most self taught) but couldn’t afford to go to University or expect to do anything except stay at their villages. Many were able to use their talents as tour guides for foreign visitors (such as one guy who was practically fluent in Spanish in Senegal) or to work with local NGOs, but they constantly discussed how difficult it was to find jobs in their respective countries. Everyone was always friendly and offering to help us out (for example, from Kaolack to Dakar we met a Gambian woman who told us the next time we visit to call her and we could stay at her house). I got to see a lot of rural areas, savannah and dry landscape, and a ton of tiny villages. It made me wonder if it is possible to keep rural/village life intact in Africa while improving and developing the lives of those that live there. Apparently the only Americans that go to the Gambia were peace corps volunteers…actually there are more peace corps in the Gambia then in the whole of Senegal, which I thought was interesting. We met two at Tendaba who had mixed reviews of the program.

Election 2007

***Note: As of 9:00pm, Sunday February 25, Wade had won the election. This blog was written before the declaration.***
So this weekend is a very important event here in Senegal: the 2007 Presidential Elections. The current President, Abdoulaye Wade, was elected in 2000 and he is 84 (maybe 87) years old. A lot of people are not happy with him; they accuse him of corruption, not doing enough for the people of Senegal, especially when it comes to development, creating jobs, and improving infrastructure. My host sister, on the other hand, loves him and has been working on his campaign for the past few weeks. She rides around on a truck, wearing his colors (yellow and light blue) and a picture of his face on her t-shirt. He has a campaign song, Blockage, so when you hear that song blaring you know that his campaign parade is coming. The rest of my family does not like him, but they can't tell me who would do a better job. An interesting aspect in the elections is the role popular rap artists play. In 2000, they supported Wade because they wanted a regime change, and this was reflected in their music. Now, they want to get rid of him because he isn't doing what they had expected him to do. check out this link: http://www.africanunderground.com/ for more information.
Wade is supposedly trying to maintain power by purchasing voter id cards, by not widely distributing the cards (900,000+ people did not receive their cards before the elections, meaning those people were not allowed to vote), and perhaps rigging the military elections last weekend. It was the first time that the military was allowed to vote in the entire history of the country, but many think that Wade only wrote this into law to “guarantee” his victory. Friday night there was an enormous rally near my house on the VDN highway. The whole road was blocked, the adjacent neighborhood shut down, and the music blaring from the speakers could be heard miles away. My youngest siblings ran down to the extravaganza, donning Wade t-shirts, flags in his colors, and posters. My older siblings, all of whom dislike Wade except one, grabbed the little ones, because of the fears of violence. These fears, unfortunately, were not unfounded. Last Wednesday night there was a clash between the followers of a particular Marabout who is supporting Wade and a group of anti-Wade protesters. The clash was violent, a few people seriously injured, and took place in an upper class part of town (our neighborhood). Cars were burned, and a popular ex-pat restaurant, La Regal, suffered serious fire damage as well. The vendeur across the street and I had a lively discussion about the politics: he supported Wade in 2000, but said that nothing has changed in the past seven years. He said essentially everyone running was just a croonie who wouldn’t do anything for the general public. My sister’s boyfriend, a fervent political follower and quite good with English, gave a speech for another candidate on Saturday: one of the few candidates that wasn’t part of the Wade government or a politician at all - he is a history teacher at UCAD and is supported by the students there as well. As this is written, the believed fore runners are: Wade, Niasse (Alternative 2007), Tanor (Socialist Party), and Idrissa Seck (the former prime minister under Wade). Of course, these are only perceived front runners, because the government doesn’t allow polls to be published. Everyone agrees that this election is truly up in the air, which puts both a hint of fear and distrust in the general populace. The worry about fraud and fixed elections is why everything is shut down on election day, there is absolutely no travel between cities, and probably a curfew. My family went to vote early this morning, and have pink fingers to prove it. The majority of my family voted for Tanor, except Diodio. Baba, my littlest brother, is parading around the house shouting “Abdoulaye Wade!”
What I think is most interesting about this situation is three fold. First, I find it amazing how much praise this country receives for being “democratic” when there has only been one democratic election in its entire 40+ year existence. Not to mention, it is well known the rampant corruption of the current regime and there is rumor that if Wade wins, he will pass power down to his son, extremely un-democratic last time I checked. Not that I am bashing Senegal…but I think that the West is quick (maybe too quick) to reward developments in African “democracy.” Second, it is interesting, though a bit depressing, how much contempt the populace has for all politicians. My family can tell me all the reasons why Wade sucks, but cannot tell me who would do a better job. Every time we watched campaigns, my family would laugh at what the candidates were saying, telling me that all they did was “parle, parle, parle;” They have ideas, but no suggestions of how they will be implemented: empty promises that many Senegalese recognize. Third, despite this discontent, the candidates did do a great job getting people riled up in support. Each candidate had a song that they blared as they cruised the streets in caravans led by car rapides with people inside and on the roofs, followed by trucks/cars full of clapping, singing, identically dressed supporters (most of whom were probably paid to campaign). My youngest siblings ran outside during campaigns and helped put up posters in town. Fervent supporters marked out the faces of candidates on campaign posters – one of which displayed Niasse as a devil – while others just covered up rival candidates faces with their candidate’s picture. Boys on rollerblades with bright orange t-shirts handed out pro-Idrissa Seck pamphlets; my sister brought home tons of Wade paraphernalia to distribute to the family.
Being here as part of a historical moment in Senegal is a great experience. Granted, most of us didn’t leave our houses this weekend; I didn’t really think there was the chance of violence. I enjoyed staying in; my family and I made delicious crepes and some other fried doughy, sugary mass called bañey.