The Usual Routine (With Some Variation)

It's morning, and I awaken to a high pitch noise and a notion that I am strangely wet. As I become more aware, I remember that the cat is hungry (and making it known) and once again, I’ve managed to sweat through the sheets.  After groggily getting to my feet, becoming entangled in my mosquito net, struggling bitterly for five minutes, I emerge ready to start the day.

First order of business is to dunk a bucket of water on my head and stand in front of the fan.  This morning step is crucial if I am expected to function.  Gradually I dress in a dirty tee shirt and torn pants to work in the garden, kicking the cat around in the process. It has an unfortunate habit of climbing my leg like a tree trunk. This makes it hard to put on pants. It’s low heat, only about ninety degrees farenheight. 

I grab my bike from the courtyard, evading my host mom as she judges my appearance with a disgusted eye. I think one day I'm going to wear a fancy, embroidered Senegalese outfit to work in the garden and watch her face as I come home covered in mud and manure. Maybe she'll stop heckling me then...of course I'm dirty, I work almost exclusively with dirt, woman. 

I meet my work partner at our garden, where a few beds await digging. This process entails heaving a giant pick at the hard earth until it is broken up enough to be shoveled out. Since I have been here, we’ve created twenty wheelbarrows worth of rocks after sifting through the minimal soil. And we’re nowhere near done! I resign myself to another morning of digging, shoveling, and learning. Today I might learn how a squash plant is pollinated, or why sage cannot be layered upon itself. Odds are it will be another day of realizing just how useless my degree in religious studies is.

Around noon, the sun is burning and even my motivated, vastly-stronger-than-me work partner can’t take the heat. I trudge home, feebly waving to kids who yell my name and ask me for money. 

When I arrive my host mom skips the greetings and waves me enthusiastically into the shower, imploring me to “stop being so dirty.” I go willingly and prepare myself for a lazy afternoon of dozing in the heat, reading, and drinking tea with the numerous ladies who visit my house.

In the evening, I return to the garden to spray for pesticides or transplant perhaps lettuce, fruit trees, or lemongrass. The rest of my day consists of socializing with my family and an early retreat to my room for sleep, armed with six bottles of cold water and the fan placed strategically at the corner of my bed.

--There have been certain variations to this day, but in general, I’ve been grateful for the stability. No more evacuations please - I've had enough excitement! Some deviations include the following:

Biking to the vet with my cat in a basket on the handlebars, exciting pure confusion and contempt on the part of the Senegalese

Arriving at the vet surrounded by old men with their sick goats and cows, trying to be taken seriously with my hot pink cat basket and pleas for vaccinations

Doing laundry with my host mom, only to realize she wasn’t washing her own clothes but merely following me and washing mine twice

Inviting a man and his young daughter to a girls’ leadership conference and dealing with the question “Uh…why?”

Wheelbarrowing a large pile of manure for compost…”What is that for? Why are you wheeling around a giant pile of cow poop? Is that for your cat? Does your cat eat cow poop?”

Attending a Senegalese wedding and being called into the center of a large, intimidating dance circle…I did my best

Hearing my cat’s distress calls and rushing out to find my young host sister force feeding it sand, consequently snatching the cat and saying in an angry huff “No! Bad! You…are bad!”

Realizing I need to study Wolof so I can politely say "Please, don't feed the cat sand, it will die, thank you so much."

Until I write again, you know where to find me!

<3 Phoebe

Tambacounda, Among Other Things

I've finally arrived!
...Well, sort of. 

I made it through our technical training, a pretty anticlimactic experience considering the phone call I received from the agriculture agent (see "Something Lighter").  He turned out to be one of the nicest men I've ever met, wholly concerned with our well-being and happiness in Senegal. Despite this (haha) I learned about double digging, zai holes, demi lunes, tree grafting, and don't ask me how to do them because I've already forgotten. It's going to be a steep learning curve, but gardening and I are going to be great friends by the end of my two years here.

At approximately six-thirty am yesterday morning, I bid farewell to my fellow volunteers and hopped in a rental "sept-place" (seven seat station wagon) to drive seven hours to my new site. The city is dusty, hot as all hell and full of garbage, but also graced with a large amount of character and potential. I unloaded my baggage, met my new work-partner and biked immediately to the demonstration garden where I will spend the majority of my time here. The garden is right next to the town dump and infused with the most rocks I've ever seen not in a gravel driveway, and so it presents its challenges. However, the volunteer I am now teaming up with has made huge headway and I'm excited to get started.

The garden is used to host gardening classes and introduce new techniques, hence a significant amount of pressure on the volunteers to keep everything growing healthily and strong. In a plot of land with more rocks than soil, this is no mean feat. I'll keep you posted on our developments and insh'allah report some future successes.

My particular situation is a little tricky given that we (Niger transferees) are being installed in a non-traditional manner. In any other case, I would not be working alongside a volunteer in my exact sector, and so figuring out the division of labor and where I fit into projects already underway is a bit difficult.  I haven't met my host family yet or moved in fully, because Peace Corps screwed up - what else is new? - and didn't give us any money to buy beds, mattresses, food, etc. I am currently bunking at the regional house until tomorrow when the offices open and I can access my funds. I can't tell you how excited I am to not be living out of a suitcase. One more day...one more day and I'll have a real home! Fingers crossed I'll live here for more than eight days. Maybe set up some pictures. Or have a real bed. Never discount the importance of simple pleasures...or necessities!

My host family is very small by even American standards; a young couple and one daughter. I am lucky to have running water (yes, we're definitely not in Niger anymore) and electricity. Essentially, I have landed in the lap of luxury, so I don't know that I'll be able to claim the classic "rough" Peace Corps experience. My host family even has a computer, allegedly. But don't worry - it's still 120 degrees!

<3 Phoebe

Something Lighter

The West African Intermural Softball Tournament (WAIST) was a blast - Team Cape Niger (Cape Verde + Niger) was undefeated until Team Niger had to deflect and head home for language class on Monday. Bummer! It was great to meet tons of people, and here's hoping they remember how nice I am and not how awkward I was. It was just so overwhelming! I was also misinformed about my new region, so I spent a solid morning introducing myself as the "new volunteer" in X region, being raucously welcomed, and then retracting that information and having to introduce myself to a whole new crowd. People are still confused about where I'm posted, as am I, to be honest. In the end it will all work out!
Just had an unexpected phone call from our agriculture trainer who will be working with us next week. It went something like this:

Trainer: Hjiggdskhfh
Me: Hello? What?
Trainer: Feeejgjjgkdk?
Me: What? Who is this?
Trainer: Fooeebbe?
Me: Phoebe! Yes! That's me!
Trainer: (Several intense agriculture questions that I didn't know the answer to)
Me: Uh...I don't know (several times)
Trainer: Well I guess I know what to work on next week during your training. So, you're Italian?

This is just my week for awkward interactions, I think. I'll let you know if any more crop up before Saturday. I'm also becoming quite adept at hair cutting - income generating activity, anyone?

<3 Phoebe

Casual Cruelties

Senegal is, in many ways, similar to Niger. It's hot. It's sandy. The people are friendly and welcoming. But what I've been sensing over the past two weeks is an underlying harshness in Senegalese culture, what I believe is the direct result of the improper meshing of Western and traditional culture. Let me further explain.
In Niger, life was very hard but simple. Up with the sun, down with the sun. Modern luxuries have been trickling in, such as cell phones and electricity, but most people don't seem to feel the loss of these in a place where family and friends are all within a half-mile radius, and forms of entertainment are few and far between anyways. In all certainty, life is difficult and often short. But it isn't complicated.

In Senegal, the people are currently caught between a more intense cross-fire of Western influence and traditional heritage. In my host family, we have electricity and everybody has a fancy cell phone/mp3 player. My older host sister is a tailor and runs her own business, while my father farms and my mother makes frozen juice pops to sell to kids after school. All in all, they are doing very well for themselves. Sometimes it's hard to remember that they aren't American, especially my older sister who wears tight jeans and fancy shirts, similar to clothing I own back home.
Unfortunately, this is causing a certain amount of strife between the more traditional parents and the trying-to-be modern children. Because my sister can sustain her habits through her lucrative tailor-business, she has no financial obligation to her parents. However, family is extremely important in Senegalese culture and she would be forever labeled if she abandoned her upbringing and religion. Which she is not inclined to do, in either case. A difficult situation.
Senegal is still a developing country, so while mobile phones and electricity may be more commonplace, water is still a precious commodity and so is food. Yesterday my Western clothing-wearing, educated, self-employed sister backhanded her younger brother viciously for dropping a plate of rice. He lay in the corner of the room with a hand-sized welt ever growing on his face and was refused dinner that night. I understand corporal punishment is more common here, and I was prepared. It's still difficult to stomach and made me very uncomfortable. He's probably upwards of six years old.
It's an inconsistency like this that bring out the underlying harshness to the culture, in which I find the people struggling to adapt to the new technologies; wanting the luxuries and the resultant status but retaining the same frugalness that is forever ingrained in those who know hunger. Sometimes it seems like a new piece of electronic hardware might be more valuable than a bag of rice, and so the food they do have is preciously hoarded. It becomes worth hitting a kid over dropping a plate, because there's just so little to spare.

(There is a a slightly related article on international development that I found very, very interesting. I think everyone should read it!)

I'd like to touch upon the horribly ironic story of Koranic schools in Senegal. An infuriating practice, and one that many a Peace Corps Volunteer has encountered.
In Senegal, as in many Muslim countries, it is considered an honor to have your child study the Koran from a young age until they have "mastered" it. Ultimately, this means sending your child away to a city to live with an existing Koranic master until a vague age in their teens when they return home, with theoretical honor.
In practice, the scholars who run these "schools" don't have housing or food for their students. Instead, they set them to begging for money all day long, so the streets are clogged with kids singing Arabic loudly and jangling bowls in your face until you submit and offer a coin. The kids return to the "master's" house late at night, surrender the money and are often beaten if it is not enough. They are then set to beg for their own food because they are given none by their teacher. Often they sleep in the streets. This, in theory, is to teach them "humility." Pardon my over-usage of quotation marks in this story, but I find this all incredibly ludicrous. How can someone identify himself as a Koranic scholar and treat children so inhumanely? The irony is obvious and painful. It drives me crazy!

When these now-adolescents return home, they are untrained in any skill applicable to village or city life. They don't even have the minimal education that all Senegalese citizens are entitled. Volunteers have started projects to try and train these students in gardening, farming, literacy, really anything and everything that they haven't been taught in the first eighteen years of their lives. And of course, many volunteers have tackled this custom head on. But, as I've mentioned, there is always culture to consider. It's just not easy.

As for me, details of my day to day life are fairly mundane. Today is the Gamou, Prophet Mohammad's birthday, so happy birthday I guess! All it means to me is that I don't have language class. That probably seems culturally insensitive, but after the past few days I'm feeling rebellious.

I found out that I will be posted in a city in the middle of the country come March 5th. I'm very ready to get out there and get going with my work. Training for five months is a little excessive. This weekend I will travel to Dakar for the first time for an NGO/All Volunteer networking conference which should prove fruitful, as well as the West African Intermural Softball Tournament (WAIST) sponsored by American ex-pats in the capital. There will be four hundred volunteers in Dakar this weekend for both of these events, so I'm prepared to feel overwhelmed by social anxiety - but in the end, it will be nice to meet other Senegal volunteers and build some relationships for the remaining two years of my service!

Missin' everyone back home, and hope the snow isn't keeping you down. Literally!

<3 Phoebe

Communication

Here is my Senegal phone number, and calls are always welcome but can be expensive! (Google calling and international texting is pretty cheap I think...)

Senegal is 5 hours ahead of the East coast in the States. FYI. :)

(221) 77 487 1097

My address for now is

Corps de la Paix
B.P 299
Thies, Senegal
West Africa.

Bismillah! 

A Musing on Development

I've been thinking a lot lately about international development and my role as a Peace Corps Volunteer. The issue of sustainability, lodged into our heads from the very beginning by the records and records of failed projects, continues to be a main concern. Senegal, a small country with over 200 volunteers, is well-known for innovative, successful work within the Peace Corps community. This is, in my opinion, due to the fact that the program focuses on cross-sectoral work, emphasizing collaboration between volunteers to the greatest extent. In Niger I was prepared to spend multiple days sitting and staring into space; that won't be the case here. 

As we become more and more immersed in local African culture, I begin to question my intrusion into these peoples' lives. Sometimes I wonder what right I have to come here, to preach about a better lifestyle, and to try and incite change. I worry about the effect I might have, positively or negatively. Of course this is ultimately an arrogant thought, for likely I won't be changing anything. 

It struck me, as I left Niger, that the local people in my village seemed indifferent to my arrival but devastated at my departure. This fact has been churning in my mind ever since. Did my presence mean something greater than I realized? By the time I left, I hadn't done anything to warrant my being missed. I'd only been there for eight days. Perhaps the impact of Peace Corps' withdrawal from Niger cannot help but be felt by its people, after so many years of service. That alone serves as proof that we did something. 

The debate about foreign aid in Africa rages on in intellectual circles. Why does the continent continue to be underdeveloped? Is it the culture, the climate, the poor structure, the political instability? A combination, surely. 

Cultural barriers are by far the widest and tallest. "I won't bring my son to the clinic because it is God's will that he be sick." At times I find myself wondering what right I have to question this statement, a dangerous position to take as an aid worker. It's easy to allow oneself to be sucked into the richness of African life and ignore the harder aspects, especially for me, one who doesn't suffer from hunger or thirst. The difficult part comes in seeing beyond the laughing, smiling teeth and looking into the hollowed eyes and sharp rib cages. I believe there is a better lifestyle awaiting those who will work for it (that's why I'm here, isn't it?) and I have to get over my hesitation of convincing those who will listen. But sometimes it's easier to eat my plain rice and laugh along with everybody else. 

<3 Phoebe 

"Wo-Holiday"

In Hausa, Wohala means "suffering", so Niger volunteers have aptly named the past two weeks a "Wo-holiday." It's amusing now to recall my anxiety about moving into site, when in fact, I had no idea what I was in for.
The first week at my post was eventful, to say the least. I worked in the health clinic every day, learning the basics of pre-natal exams (taking measurements, doing consultations, filling out the forms in French). I walked around the village, greeting, re-greeting, and re-greeting people, as custom demands. In terms of work and village life, I was slowly beginning to see myself settling in.

My house was another story - what a nightmare. Some of you may recall my excitement at having electricity and ceiling fans, but in reality the house was not only big, filthy, rat/bat infested, but also occupied when I arrived, causing slight confusion. My installation was done without half of my belongings because the one car couldn't fit everything belonging to the six trainees being installed on the same day (don't get me started) and so I lived in literal dirt piles for eight days with no means to do laundry or clean my house. The highlight of the house was the rat vs. bat battles that took place each night, during which I started taking bets just to keep myself entertained.

After four consecutive sleepless nights, it was beginning to become an issue. But then we got evacuated, so problem solved!

If you haven't already heard the news, Peace Corps Niger is officially on suspension due to security threats in Niamey. Three weeks ago, French aid workers were kidnapped and killed in the capital by an undetermined contingent, but that was just the bean that tipped the balance. Rumors say our program had been hanging on a thread for quite some time.  I returned from the clinic one morning after eight days in ville, saw that I had fourteen missed calls from the Niger Safety and Security officer, and got the bad news.

The evacuation was quick and successful, as far as Washington is concerned. For us, it was too fast, too painful and too chaotic. We were told on Wednesday that the program was finished and to be ready to be picked up the following day. We were flown out of the country early Friday morning and deposited in Rabat, Morocco, a window to the developed world we'd all but forgotten about.

In Rabat we attended a "transition conference", the existence of which is a sad testament to the frequency of such situations. We were offered various options including re-enrollment, direct transfer, or close of service. I was offered a slot to transfer to Senegal to work with Urban Development, and after much consideration, I took it. I was flown to Senegal last night and have arrived safely at the Peace Corps training site with seven other Niger "refugees" (if you will).

Direct transfer is a weird beast. We are able to continue service with only a few weeks of language training, and we can re-negotiate our close of service dates. I'm especially excited about the program I'm entering. However, we're not part of any particular training class, and we're put in regions without getting a chance to know any of the current volunteers. It is, as some say, a rather "hardcore" option to take and I think it will be worth the struggle. But it's definitely a day to day process!

The week and a half in Rabat was stressful and also delightful, hence the genesis of the term "Wo-Holiday." The fracturing of our class is heartbreaking and thoughts of the Nigerien staff and people we left behind are ever prevalent. Inshallah, Peace Corps will return to Niger, because it was a truly wonderful program.

I'll be continuing this blog with my new Senegalese adventure, so after my few weeks of training I'll let you know all about my new site! Keep Niger in your thoughts, and to all my fellow displaced volunteers, best wishes.

<3 Phoebe