Happy 2013!

As many of you may know, the year started off with a tragedy here in Abidjan; sixty people lost their lives in a stampede on New Year’s Eve in the stadium where they were celebrating the New Year by watching the annual fireworks show in the capital. Many of the individuals who lost their lives were children under the age of 15. President Ouattara called for three days of mourning, while investigations are underway to determine the cause of the incident.

From: www.facebook.com/SaharaDreaming

The city is currently covered by a brownish gray haze brought on by the Harmattan winds from the north. Because the sun is essentially blocked, the temperature is a pleasant 25 degrees here in the capital, even a little “chilly” in the evening. At night the streets are lit by holiday decorations, especially orange, green and white lights lining the bridge crossing into Plateau and all the way to the airport. The University is also decorated in Christmas décor, even though the holidays are over.

I apologize for the brevity of this post and the lack of posting for the past month. Between various conferences and school visits, plus the holidays, I haven’t had a lot of time to write. I will do my best to get better at posting more often!

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.

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.

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.

Trashy Stories, Mirror dancing, et autres choses

note to Anna: Lan ngay wax Wolof? means Do you speak Wolof?, in Wolof.

On Saturday we went to the trash dump (the only one for the entire Dakar area) for environment and development class. Land fills are all over the world, used by countries as a way to store material waste. However, this particular area, Mbeubeus, is both interesting and disturbing. More than 300 trucks dump trash (all kinds of trash that hasn’t been sorted) a day at the dump where 800+ people call home. That’s right, there are people living in the dump. Their houses are actually in the midst of the trash. Most of the people that live there sort the trash in order to make a profit on what they can find (i.e. re-sell glass bottles back to companies, plastics to be recycled, weaves to be re-made into useable hair). It may sound like a good system of recycling, until you realize that toxic and industrial trash is dumped here as well, putting the people at extreme health risks. The doctor in the village said that many people come in with respiratory diseases and infections from cuts that they received sorting through the muck. We were wearing masks, but we could still smell the stench and possibly the toxic air that these people breathed in every day. There was absolutely no state management of the dump; there were places where the trash was stacked three to four times our heights. Right beside the mountain of trash were cultivated fields. The trash itself pollutes the water table which in turn affects the vegetation around, let alone the drinking water of the population. I won’t forget when we walked past a stream of multicolored liquid in the middle of the dump that was on fire. That wasn’t water, folks. There was a boy who was 13 years old and who had been sent by his parents to Mbeubeus to work, alone, five days a week. He was supposed to send money back to his family. There were little girls, barely 8, sifting through stacks of old clothes and carrying bags of garbage to be sorted. It was dusty; it was smelly; we had no idea what we were stepping in (or on). What was most remarkable to me (besides the people working in the trash dump) was the amount of trash a city can make. When you throw something in the trash, you forget about it. It gets picked up by a truck, and you never think about it again. But it has to go somewhere. It really makes you realize how wasteful society is. And here they recycle everything from clothes to plastic bottles before they throw it away, so to see that much trash…it makes you think what a landfill in the US is like (though we have decent recycling plants and there aren’t people living in dumps, but still).
After that we headed to a depression where people are living. A depression is where the land has fallen and is very close to the water table. This is a very unsafe place to live because depressions are very susceptible to floods. But, because of this, it is very cheap land. We saw a house which had been flooded recently and been overrun by vegetation. The water is a murky green because of a high concentration of nitrates, which are harmful to humans. Just outside of the village were about two dozen tents: for the refugees that had lived in the village but had been flooded out. Because of higher amounts of water in the village, malaria and cholera are huge problems. People have to keep re-building their houses because the water destroys them or they sink into the depression. To say the least, this is not a good situation.

Saturday night, we went to a discotheque s’appelle Nianey. It was a lot of fun, minus the slow techno music, but it was also an interesting experience. First, there were these mirrors, and I could not understand why people were dancing, by themselves, in front of the mirrors. It was like, can you be a little more conceited? Haha. Second, let’s discuss Senegalese music. It’s different from dance music in a couple of ways. There is the singer, who is usually singing slowly. Then there is the music played by the guitar and keyboard, which is the same rhythm as your typical dance hit. But then there are the drums. They are out of control majority of the time, making their own beat that doesn’t really match up with the rest of the song. You’re real confused: do I dance to the singer, which would mean extra slow, or do I try to keep up with the drumming or what? And Senegalese dancing is the entire body, involves a lot of movement, and many times jumping, which is definitely a workout. And for some reason, always when Senegalese are dancing in music videos, they have this huge grin on their face and make it look so easy to make your legs and hips do impossible things. We try to mimic, but I don’t think we have it down quite yet.

Pink lakes and turtles, “the gathering of white people,” parlez-vous français? Lan ngay wax Wolof?, L’école primaire de Point E

So, I realized that I haven’t written on the blog in a long time and much has happened. First, some more interesting cultural elements of Senegal. Walking down the street in Dakar, you will surely be approached by a small boy, often in ratty clothing, carrying an empty can or bucket and reaching to you with an out-stretched hand. At first glance, you think it is just your run-of the mill beggar, ignore, and walk on. However, you would immediately notice that the boy doesn’t pursue you, which is not normal of regular beggar behavior. That is because this boy is not an ordinary beggar. Called Talibes, these boys are innumerable on the streets of Dakar. They beg because their Islamic teacher, a marabout, forces them to. This system used to be one that was meant to encourage humility while these boys learned the Qur’an. They would beg, understand life as a beggar, take the money back to the Marabout, who was entrusted to feed, clothe and take care of these children by their parents. But today’s world is a different story. Parents give Marabouts their sons because they can’t afford to take care of them. The Marabout in turn uses the boys to make some spare change for himself, often leaving the children without regular meals or clothing. He often will beat the child if they don’t make a certain amount per day. So what do you do? Do you give them the money, that only goes to the Marabout and continues this horrible trend, or do you give the child some food, hoping that he can make the 1,000 CFA ($2) so that he doesn’t get beaten when he goes to the Marabout? I often give them food, which they are very grateful for, but this is a serious problem that the government of Senegal should be attempting to eradicate.
Eventually I will post an entire blog on Islam in this country, which I think if very interesting. In the meantime, you can enjoy reading about various travel experiences I have had. Last weekend, I traveled with three other CIEE students to le village de tortues, turtle village. It is a park that is for turtles (and tortoises) who are injured or endangered in the wild. Only an hour from Dakar, you can definitely get a feel for the drier, savannah like landscape of Senegal. There are tons of Baobab trees (giant trees who, as one CIEE student put it, look like they are turned upside down: huge roots, thick grey trunks, and a fruit whose juice tastes like coconut) and lots of tall grasses. We then headed to Lac Rose, via a pick-up truck on a dirt road. Lac Rose is this huge, extremely salty lake. It also is the final destination of the Paris-Dakar rally. It is pink because of the interaction between bacteria and oxygen. You could reach into the water and grab a handful of salt. We watched some of the locals extract the salt from the lake and make huge piles on the sides for drying.
Superbowl Sunday I went to a wedding party, which reminded me of the typical American wedding party (bride in white, bridesmaids in matching dresses, too many pictures being taken, small snacks). After the party, I went to the Marines’ house to watch the Superbowl, good times. This past weekend we took a group excursion to Toubab Dialow, an artist’s village on the petit cote, about 1 hour south. The village’s name means “the gathering of white people” because the Portuguese used to come there often to trade. It was therefore ironic that there were 35 of us “toubabs” showing up. I took a batik class (painting with wax on fabric to make cool designs and wall hangings) and lazed around on the beach. We then ate a three course meal, followed by a performance by the drumming and dance groups. The subject of the interpretative dance was immigration – the story of a Senegalese man trying to get to Spain via a small fishing boat. This is particularly pertinent, especially if you have been following the news (1000s of Senegalese have attempted to get to the Canary Islands in order to work in Spain, often in tiny canoes and if they make it to shore, they often get turned back). We then sat around and had deep, intellectual conversation on the problems with international trade, capitalism in Africa, top down versus bottom up development policies, education policy in the US, and the lyrics to “smack that.” (note: Akon is a rapper quite popular in the US; his songs include: I am so lonely, locked up, and Smack that. He was born in Senegal and his father was a popular Senegalese singer, which everyone here is quite proud of.)
Things on the political front are getting pretty heated. My sister has a yellow shirt and hat with a picture of the current president and she often attends his rallies. On the other hand, everyone else in my house doesn’t like President Wade, but they can’t tell me who is a better candidate for president (they say often “all they do is talk, talk, talk. Politicians say a lot, but do nothing.”). The former Prime Minister, Idrissa Seck, (who Wade ousted and put in prison without trial for embezzlement) is running under a new party, and he is supposed to be pretty popular. There are a ton of candidates (26), all bashing the past seven years under Wade, but not offering any solutions to Senegal’s biggest problems such as unemployment. Last night I had a lengthy conversation with my brother about politics in the U.S., auto insurance, and issues in the African-American community (he said that he heard there was a lot of black on black violence in the US). I was pretty proud of myself as the entire conversation was conducted in French, haha. I am finding it easier and easier to express myself, even if I don’t know the words (for example, I didn’t know the word for greedy, so I said “when a person has a lot of money but they want it only for themselves.” He totally got what I was saying). The Wolof is coming…I’ve got basic greetings down, and working on my vocabulary and verbs. People keep trying to have full blown conversations with me, but I only know simple stuff. My mom would love for me to speak it fluently so we can have a decent conversation (her French is not as good.)
I am volunteering/doing research at a local elementary school for my Education and Culture class. It is a public school, and working there makes me see how many things we take for granted in our education systems in the US. For example, the teacher hand writes all the exercises in students’ (30) notebooks because they don’t have printed sheets. Chalk and chalkboards are used by all of the students. They share writing utensils, desks, and seats. Students in the first grade are anything between 5 and 7, but sometimes even the occasional 13 year old. Their levels vary from some able to understand the numbers of syllables in a word to others who can barely write, or speak, in French. They are taught only in French, not their first languages, and are smacked or slapped for messy handwriting (my class, first years, were supposed to have mastered cursive). The teacher is allowed, I think, to smack students with chalkboards, slap the desks with yardsticks, and spank children for misbehaving. The students are all very respectful (they stand and say “Bonjour, Madame!” when I walk in the class, “Au Revoir, Madame” when I leave). They go to class from 8am to 1pm with a thirty minute break. They learn songs to practice their French and conjugations. The classroom is bare except for the chalkboard, the desks and a few posters on the walls. No book shelves nor a fan nor lights, students keep their bags on their back for the entire period, a bucket of water and a sponge serves as their erasers. But to think, this is one of the better schools, as most classes only have 30 students (versus the possibility of 80+ in other public institutions), and the teachers and headmaster seem to be genuinely committed to their students (the headmaster was able to obtain a few computers for the “library” that students can use). Hopefully, my volunteering will benefit some of the students, maybe the ones that have fallen behind.

Senegal versus Ghana: A generalized comparison

Disclaimer: I am going to make a lot of generalizations in this particular blog, but I want to paint a picture of what I can see are the visual, cultural, climatic, etc. differences between Accra and Dakar. Hopefully, no one takes offense to anything I may comment on.

Climate: At the current moment, it is very chilly in Senegal (I’d say 70s, which is cold if you ask me). I have had to wear long pants and long sleeves to bed every night. I think that this is because of the dry season, but it is a lot colder here than it ever was in Ghana. It feels more beachy here than it did in Ghana. We are like right on the ocean, too. Because of this, there is sand all over the sidewalk and it feels much dryer (i.e. I have to put lotion on my ashy legs everyday) than the humid Accra.

Education systems: We visited the Université de Cheik Anta Diop (the largest one in Senegal) last week. Apparently, the school is hardly in session due to strikes by students or professors. Sometimes there will be whole years (termed “année Blanc”) where the students never go to class because of the strikes. Also, the students have to pay tuition to the university, but often they get scholarships based on their performance on the extremely difficult baccalaureate tests in high school. The test is hard because there is only so much scholarship money and/or room at the university for the students. This is quite different from the university system I encountered in Ghana. There are three large university campuses (and a host of smaller, training institutions) – University of Cape Coast, University of Ghana, and Kumasi University of science and technology. There is no tuition; instead students pay fees and have to essentially pay back the government through the national service required to be completed after the student graduates.

Dakar vs. Accra: Dakar is much cleaner than Accra. I can see why it has been called “the Paris of West Africa.” It seems like Dakar was a planned city; laid out a certain way to avoid urban sprawl and with all the government offices located together. It also has green spaces, gorgeous statues, lovely town squares (like La Place du indépendance). This is much different from Accra – open sewers, trash everywhere, no rhyme or reason to lay out, sidewalks covered in people selling their products, etc.

Political system: Comparatively, Senegal has been more stable politically than Ghana. There have only been three presidents, no coups, and for the most part, those three were democratically elected. The presidential elections are coming up in February, but they should be pretty secure and stable, excluding protests and rallies. Still, Senegal is a poor nation that sees thousands upon thousands of its young male workers illegally immigrating to Italy, Spain, France. It also still is dealing with the political strife in the Casamance region.

Transportation: There are more options in Dakar when it comes to transportation. Your choices are: a DDD (the equivalent to the metro buses in Accra; government run, large buses with a fixed rate. Sometimes you will get a seat but most of the time you are standing in the aisle), a Ndiaga Ndiaye (pronounced Jaga Jie) which is most similar to a tro-tro (a large white van with seats rigged in the aisles, a driver and a mate.). One difference is that there are no side doors on the Ndiaga Ndiaye, only front or back doors. The mates often hang out the back. The other mode of transportation is the car rapide. These are highly decorated vans (painted yellow, red, and green, with Wolof and Arabic phrases all over them, and with ribbons of various colors hanging from the back, sides and mirrors). In many ways similar to the ndiaga ndiaye, these car rapides don’t have glass in the windows, they have benches instead of seats, and every time I have seen one, there is at least two people hanging out the back door. In a tro-tro, one would never stand up. In a ndiaga ndiaye and a car rapide, standing is the norm. Also, in a tro-tro, one is guaranteed their own seat. In a ndiaga ndiaye or car rapide, someone else’s butt may be in your lap. There is also the taxi, but these are the same as taxis in Accra.

Every day life: Hawking is less prevalent in Dakar than Accra, but it is still there. Tigo, a phone company in Accra, is also used in Dakar.
In Senegal there is something very intriguing called a “joking cousin” (suma kal). These are people who essentially make fun of others, all the time. For example, if your last name is Ndiaye (which is my last name here) than your joking cousin is the Diop. When you meet a Diop it is expected that you make fun of them in some way. It isn’t serious; it’s just sarcasm and petty jokes (comme ca: "Diops eat too much, they are lazy, etc.) However, if you don’t make jokes, that is considered offensive. There are also joking cousins among ethnic groups i.e. the Peulhs versus the Wolofs. The government used this popular cultural practice when they were attempting the peace process in the Casamance, using the joking cousin of the Jola people to encourage resolution.
Many people speak English, which was a bit surprising, but if you think about it, not really. Many students learn some English in school in hopes of migrating to the U.S., teens listen to American songs and to cater to tourists, vendors know the basics (“please, miss, come look at my items. How are you? I am fine.”) The U.S. embassy is much more heavily guarded here than in Accra; tons of barriers and a ton of gendarmes (police) patrolling the area.
Stuff is a heck of a lot more expensive here than it was in Accra. (500 cfa = about 1 dollar). Juice, for example, costs more than a dollar for a tiny bottle. Fruit is a lot more expensive as well (orange in ghana = less than a nickle, in Senegal = 20 cents), but we get a stipend so it’s okay.

Interesting info: Wrestling (la lutte) is more popular here than soccer. The sport is very traditional, with sumo wrestling-esque diapers and a huge circle. Two lutteurs battle it out as such: first they slap each other, girl fight/cat fight style. then someone throws a punch, and it's on. There is a lot of grabbing,kicking, punching,and then finally the winner is able to throw the loser down on the ground. I watched a battle yesterday with my host family and they were really into it, yelling, taunting the opponents, excited.

Une Semaine et ma famille

Well I have been here in Senegal for one week. The first five days were all orientation…which was annoying in many respects because they were telling me things I already knew. Not to mention, I think learning from observation and experience is better than just being told about the culture. For example, we spent like two hours talking about the way men will approach women to express their love. I feel like once it happened to you a few times, you could figure out what men do when they approach you (i.e. “what’s your name? your number? Your address? I love you.” Etc.) But some of the orientation was beneficial, such as the Wolof sessions and the information about Senegalese values.
Friday I moved in with my family. It is a very big family:
Dio-Dio (Jo-Jo) – 25 years (ma soeur). She is studying tourism. She also speaks a little English, which comes in handy when I am having communication problems. She also knows some Italian.
Uzin – 24 years (mon frère) – makes really delicious Senegalese tea (which is very strong and has lots of sugar. It’s a cultural tradition; it takes special practice to make it.)
Ndeye – 21 years (ma soeur) – A really sweet girl who hates to follow the rules in Uno.
Souba – 18 years (ma soeur) – Also knows some English but is studying Spanish at school as well.
Samba – 13 years (mon frère) – likes football and loves to play Uno. He was able to explain the rules of the game to the rest of the family, so we play often.
Nene – 10 years (ma soeur) – Full of personality, she reminds me of a little diva.
Baba – 4 years (mon frère) – wishes he can play Uno with us, but is completely satisfied as long as we include him in some way (he loves to yell « Uno » randomly and say my name and start giggling)
And ma mère – Yaay – really kind and outgoing, always asking me if everything is okay.

There is also another girl living with us, but I haven’t gotten her name (Rabah, I think). I also met my uncle, Tonton, yesterday. My father is in the military. We have three goldfish and a parrot. It’s a very nice house, located in Comico 2, which is where military families live. I am about 15 minutes from Suffolk where I will be taking classes. And I think I can totally get used to bucket showers. ;)
All the ladies in the fam are gorgeous and the men are cute, which only goes to show how the people in Senegal are. The tv is always on: either on music videos from all over the world, soap operas from Brazil and Spain, news programs from Senegal or foreign films ( I have watched one from India and another from Japan). They also love watching movies, whether they are dubbed or with subtitles (they have watched at least three of the American movies I brought from home already). The tv is on when they clean, eat, play cards, just as background noise. This will take some getting used to, but listening to French tv all the time may improve my comprehension skills.

Yesterday we went on a tour of downtown Dakar as a group. I can’t reiterate how much I hate being in touristy groups, so needless to say, it was quite bothersome because we stood out so much. After that, I rested a bit, then headed to the Suffolk soccer field to play a friendly game of football. We, the CIEE girls, played against the Suffolk girls’ team and got beaten 2-0. Nevertheless, it made me realize how much I missed being out on the field, and I am going to see if I can train with them and play on their team. My brother, Samba, went with me to the game, so that was fun (he helped me learn crucial words in French, i.e. goal, kick, referee).
Later, I will write a blog comparing my experience here to my experience in Ghana. One thing off the bat is “la nourriture” (food). The Senegalese food actually has taste and isn’t overly spicy. They also use more ingredients, delicious sauces, and a lot of baguettes. Often they serve fruit as dessert after a meal. It was really funny when the other students in CIEE learned that we would be eating with our hands out of bowls. After various Fufu/Kenkey experiences in Ghana, I was a little doubtful about the Senegalese food experience. But, the food here is much better, there isn’t some sketchy soup and sticky, doughy material, just rice or couscous or bread. You sit on the floor, minus shoes, wash your right hand, and wait until your host digs in. Then you can eat out of your side of the bowl, making sure to not reach into the middle. The meat and vegetables are in the middle, so the host distributes these evenly to the rest of the eaters. When you are finished, you can burp to say you are satisfied, or say “Net na barima” (it was good, I am satisfied). You then get up and wash your hands (this has been difficult to do with the host family because they want you to “mangez!” a lot, so you kind have to really be firm or just finish all your food).
One thing my host sisters love for me to talk about is my “jaay fondey.” This means “big butt.” The Senegalese want us to gain weight and have a “jaay fondey.” I am going to take a dance class, play soccer, and perhaps join the local gym in order to not gain a larger “jaay fondey.”

je suis arrivee...

I got to dakar yesterday after more than 24 hours of travel. I flew from RDU to LGA taxied to JFK flew to Madrid overnight then from Madrid to Dakar and arrived after 10. Immigration was a hassle to get through, but at least all my luggage arrived with me. We were (30 something kids) all picked up and taken to the hotel where we will be staying for this week of orientation. Today we met up in the lobby then walked to Suffolk University's Dakar campus. This is where we will be taking our classes. Suffolk here prepares African students for a degree at the Suffolk in the US. Most of the students speak French as their first language, so they have an exchange program where we help them with english and they help us with french.
So you ask about French...well, to be honest, I have said very little in French. We are mostly focusing on acquiring much needed Wolof language skills. The greetings here are very elaborate. Here is an example: Justine -Saalamalaykum (peace be with you) Senegalese person: Malaykumsaalam (and with you). Justine: Nanga Def? (how are you, in wolof) Senegalese: Maangi fi (I am fine). Justine: Naka waa ker ga? (and your family, how are they?) Senegalese: Nunga fa (they are fine). and then you ask about work and other things. And its rude if you dont greet people you know, everytime you see them. You always respond in the positive, you don't rattle on about your bad day. I can't remember the greetings, so i better start practicing.
I move in with my host family on friday, tomorrow we have the french placement test (yikes), and we start wolof courses tomorrow as well. There are a lot of kids who are really good at french, but there are also alot that are on my level, thank goodness. Everyone seems really interesting and nice, and pretty genuine about their interest in french language improvement and senegalese cultural understanding. I will post again soon!