Senegalese hospitality

My first month of village has passed surprisingly quick. I'm slowly adapting to life here, and more importantly becoming increasingly comfortable with my family and community. I'm still at a loss as to what my "job" here is at times, I've definitely felt rather ill equipped with my limited communication skills as of late (especially at the middle school where I'm organizing a scholarship, and most teachers speak French) which don't exactly let me show any type of other skills I may be able to offer. But I think that's the point, I have 2 years here for a reason. First I meet and learn, then I do some good work. So I've focused on meeting people in my village and the villages around me. Senegalese are very hospitable and the extent of it is downright amusing; I've already taken a mid-day nap at a women's house the very day I met her.
Foundational knowledge: when you visit a Senegalese person, you spend the day (if not many) with them.
Backstory to my napping experience: I head to the village over from mine (about 2 km away) to buy some phone credit. I go to their market to greet (always great extra language practice), and one woman says I have to go meet someone named Sohna. She mentions something about a garden, so I figure this has potential work involved and follow. She takes me to, who turns out to be, the president of the women's group in the village. After chatting for a bit, we head to see the women's garden (where she gives me fist-fulls of mint that is currently growing there). We go back to her place and after chatting for a bit I tell her I'll head home. She looks appalled and says no way, it's too hot. I have to stay, eat lunch, rest and then head home. I agreed, it was mid-day, around 110 degrees, and even the short 2km seemed like an unpleasant idea. After lunch (fish and rice, the usual), and a delicious iced sour milk and sugar refreshment, it was still rather warm out, so she told me to lay down and rest (hence naptime!). After a few rounds of tea, presents of fabric and hand-spun cotton, it was late afternoon and could finally make the journey back to my village (though not straight back.. we stopped at another house for a round of orange soda). This is an example of typical hospitality here, especially when in a slightly wealthier village like the one near mine.


My set up in village is pretty sweet- I've got my own free standing room in a family compound.

My room. Note the proximity to the mosque. 5:30am call to prayer is so much fun!

The bed I sleep on at night (outside) is the home of many activities during the day.. yeah, where that girl is washing dishes is where I sleep.

The view from my room. Cows are a common sight.

My host dad, the village chief. He spends most of his days sleeping.

Village life

I’ve skipped out to Ourossogui for the day to catch up with some fellow volunteers and get out of village for a bit; 2 weeks spent mostly within a 3 km radius can leave one a little stir-crazy. 

My install at village, where appropriately Shakira's "Waka waka- This time for Africa" was playing as I rolled into site, was relatively anti-climactic but a warm welcome from the villagers nonetheless. Village life is completely different to the life I got used to during training. It is a hundred-fold slower paced and I have no set daily activities. My current “job” is going and meeting the village, with limited Pulaar skills, while improving these Pulaar skills. As I am already on the shyer side when it comes to meeting new people, and I’m not necessarily the chattiest in these situations when I am to speak English, you can see how this has been mildly anxiety-inducing for me. Luckily I’m paired with 2 counterparts through Peace Corps, my community counterpart is the president of the women’s group in my village, and my technical counterpart is the school director of the college (middle school-ish grades). So when all else fails, I just go greet them and see who else I may meet there/on the way. The hardest part is remembering people’s names, especially when I meet them randomly, but I'm getting better at it. 

My village is an interesting work environment because it is relatively big, about 2,500 people, and because NGO’s have been very active in the area for at least 10 years. As the north is the most conservative part of Senegal, one NGO has been working on women’s empowerment projects such as female literacy classes in the local language, organizing women’s groups, etc. It makes my work here both more and less clear. I could pursue the direction of simply blending into this structure and working within these finely created development schemes. However, it’s hard to tell to what point these projects have affected what the people feel they need-- the men have already approached me for a men’s Pulaar literacy class. While I have taken to going to the literacy classes (though I am the only one there with the problem of being able to read the language, but not know what it means) to have a different way of practicing and to get my face known among the women, I can’t help to question the efficacy of teaching Pulaar literacy. It primarily is, and once only was, a spoken language. While I appreciate that it has been written down because that means I was able to study it the way I’ve studied all my subjects in the Western world, I can’t help but wonder to what end are these women learning to read Pulaar? My idealistic side and pragmatic side are dueling out this thought. 

I’ve also survived my first sandstorm. It was a bit of a shock. I was sleeping outside (which I do every night, my room is far too hot to sleep in this time of year) and all of a sudden a huge wind hits and my mosquito net flies off. I look around and everyone else in my compound is grabbing their nets and mattresses and scurrying inside, so I follow suit. Between my pillow, sheets, flashlight, keys and mattress I need to make 2 trips,  so I run against the wall of sand pushing towards me with everything except my mattress to my room. By the time I make back to my mattress it has been blown vertical, luckily stopped by the posts holding up the shade structure I sleep under. I got away with only eyes full of sand, and a great story to repeat to the villagers the next day-- my first sandstorm, they loved it. 

People love talking about me in my village, especially when I do something seemingly bizarre, like running in the mornings. I think it’s hilarious, and my perspective is this: if they are smiling when talking about me, that’s as close as they can get to liking me because my language is no where near where I’d need to to charm them by words. And it gives us one more thing to talk about. “You went running?” “Yes I went early this morning! Did you see me?” “No, but I heard from so and so you went..” and so on.. (Also: everyone in village will find out about anything I’ve done. After I went on my first bike ride, everyone was asking me where I went that day, despite the fact I only pass a few compounds to get to the road.)  So I sit, I smile, I laugh, I say my few words in Pulaar, I attempt to dance Youzza or Cahalgum, go about my “strange” routines and hope for the best.