The final countdown

Well, it's finally here, the last week of my program in Senegal. I have very mixed feelings. It's certain that I'm going to miss Alex immensely as well as the culture and life of this country. Yet, there are tons of people and places I've been missing during my time here and I'm anxious to return to all of that for a while. I don't know where my life will be going in a few months after the big graduation day. AKA scariest day EVER! I like the unknown actually. It keeps things adventurous.

I've been thinking for the past few days that despite my minor complaints about how the MSID program handled some student issues I would still recommend it to anyone. I can't think of any other three month period in my life that has changed me so much. Parts of that are nothing to do with MSID at all but it's sure that some credit is due to them. The classes weren't exactly what I was hoping for but I did, in the long run, learn an awful lot. Even though in the end things did not go flawlessly with my family I am still incredibly grateful to have had the opportunity to be welcomed into the home of actual Senegalese people to see how that functions. It's unfortunate that the differences between us could not be bridged because of the fact that it became so incredibly personal with me dating their son but regardless, it's impossible that the family and my time spent there could ever leave my memory. My internship was an irreplacable experience that I feel the program is completely responsible for finding. All in all I don't believe that most other people who are lucky enough to come discover this country have also the good fortune to find themselves being almost fully integrated as we as MSID students have been. There will always be glitches even in things that appear at first glance to be perfectly structured. The fact is that anything run by human beings- especially a program that works to mix individuals from very different worlds- is going to have some setbacks. Such is life.

I feel I've learned so much about development and poverty although I know that there is even more left to learn. The issue is very daunting but after being here I feel certain absolutely that I've found exactly the field I was meant to enter. What would've been really impossible to realize about development without having lived here is how cultural certain aspects of it can be. Or how some aspects of it are so intertwined that it becomes difficult to see any possible solution.

I've done a lot of traveling during the past four years and I thought of myself as very multi-cultural and very open-minded. If anyone described me as ethnocentric I would've been tremendously insulted. Now I almost feel ready to insult myself in that way. I can't help but compare the functions of my own country with that of things here. I hate that I can't change my own thoughts enough to see things in a different way. It proves only that I still have much to learn which is why even after I graduate I'll still be a student of the world.

Death by hangnail

No really. I might die from this hangnail. This is sort of funny, but also not really. I always imagined my death being a result of something way less painful than an infected hangnail, or at least way cooler. So, here's the scoop. The other day I get this hangnail on my thumb. Okay, I get hangnails all the time, no biggie. Except this little bugger hurts a lot and Alex is really concerned about it. A couple days later he tells me that I really need to take care of it because his friend had one once and hid it from his family and died five days later. I laughed at him. Then I waited two more days putting Polysporin and Band-aids on it the way I always do at home. I figured a couple nights of this would clear it up very quickly. However, instead it became more inflamed and more painful. Basically my entire thumb hurts now in a throbbing sort of way and if anyone touches it I have to cry out a little. Alex kept saying I had to apply alcohol to it and I kept saying NO! because that's going to burn like hell. Last night, though, I finally gave in and we went to the pharmacy to buy some. The pharmacist there looked at my thumb and said it's the beginning of what's called a panaris. I have no idea what that is in English or if it even exists in English. I've never heard of it before. Apparently though, Alex was right and if I hadn't let them care for it last night it would just keep getting worse and worse and I guess if the infection gets bad enough without being treated you could die from it. So, I let Bo, my new "brother" treat it with alcohol which hurt so much I could barely keep from screaming and then later that night my other "brother" Francois did it again with alcohol and I think mercury. This was not fun and I am not looking forward to them doing it again tonight. It's a good thing I have my boyfriend to inform what's normal and what isn't or else I probably would've ignored it and then maybe died. The inflammation is caused by the water. This has really made me think differently. People can die from something so little as a hangnail. It's unbelievable.

I only have two days left at the hospital. Those 6 weeks went as quickly as I'd anticipated. Yet it felt like a year because I cannot even gauge how much the experience has changed me. Yesterday morning I saw two deliveries. These weren't the first deliveries I've ever seen in my life. I saw the birth of my niece Macie and the birth of Lauren's baby Collin. But in neither of those instances did I see anything resembling this experience.

To give you an idea. When I first got to the hospital I tried describing an epidural to a maternity nurse of 14 years. She had never heard of it. Women here get no form of pain medication. The only thing that enters their bodies is a glucose drip. I haven't even figured out why. The first woman to deliver yesterday I was fairly certain might die. I thought to myself, the first delivery I see in Senegal and the woman is going to die. This is not good. Luckily she didn't. At least not before I left the hospital but she maybe would've preferred to. I think if I were in her place I would've chosen death over delivery. She came in fully dilated and looked about to pass out. The women guided her directly to a delivery table. They inserted something which I think was to break her water although I cannot be certain because I was always under the impression that labor takes hours after the water has been broken. Most of the work of the delivery was done by interns in their 2nd or 3rd of three years of schooling. There was no compassion in their directing her to push. No one coached her breathing or talked to her encouragingly. After pushing and pushing without repose they had to cut the woman to allow enough room for the head to exit. This is with no anaesthesia. There was kicking and screaming involved. After the baby was born it was a process to birth the placenta that didn't seem to want to come out. Interns were reaching into her and pressing on her stomach with enormous force. The woman was squealing in pain. This is poverty. This is suffering because of being poor. I have the luxury of never having to have a baby in that manner. A luxury that maybe I had never even known to appreciate before.

I have a week and a half left here. I hope it's not my last time ever in this country. I have found two English teaching jobs that would allow me to come back next September. I want to come back. I want to live with Alex. I know it will be a struggle and my grandma is sick and I can't imagine spending so much time away from home again but when I think about being with Alex none of that matters. I don't want to leave this life. I see more here before lunch than in two years at home. Yesterday there was a fight on my Ndiagne Ndiaye. A very large woman was very upset about something, I think maybe the fact that no one wanted to let her take up an entire bench herself, and took a teen aged boy by the ear. After that I saw two babies enter the world. The other day there was a cow walking down the sidewalk in front of me. No one uses fences here but he wasn't with anyone either. Everyone was trying to shoe him away from them. These things are so Senegal. It's going to be so boring to be home. If it weren't for college and my family and friends I wouldn't even bother leaving.

An ad for abstinence

So, it's really unbelievable that I can see myself on an airplane in the very near future and in my parents' living room. I have no doubt that everyone at home who's thinking that same thing is THRILLED about it. Mom even bought the Christmas tree earlier than I think ever before in the 21 years I've been alive and I'm certain it was solely to convince herself that her kids were going to be home very soon. No doubt, I'm excited to go home. I even changed my cell phone ring to We Wish You a Merry Christmas yesterday because the only evidence of December here is the fact that the Tubaab gas station went all out with their Christmas decorations. I asked Alex why there's no Christmas music and he said it doesn't start until about December 20th. This is probably one good reason why you will never find Senegalese people in a market wrestling over a toy for their kid; they aren't yet totally fed up with the holiday. Yet, actually, that's really sad as well because there are so many other reasons that would never happen here. There such a lack of materialism here. People don't have much and don't complain much about anything. I have no doubt they would find the idea of adult people waiting six hours in line the day after Thanksgiving in the freezing cold and then trampling people to get through the doors of a department store and running as hard as they can to the toy department before proceeding to tear each other's hair out until every last piece of merchandise is off the shelves as completely ludicrous. Sure, I'm American and I also find this behavior completely absurd but at the same time the very idea of consumerism that unleashes that sort of behavior is definitely way more alive in the minds of the American people than anyone here. Sooo, I'm having a little trouble adjusting to the idea of leaving the mentalities I've adjusted to. If I sat for a whole day thinking I don't think I could come up with anything I want for Christmas or could ever justify feeling material needs when I'm already so wealthy in a million other ways, including materially.
I love my new family so much and I'm so happy that I have been liberated from MSID housing and that I fought for my right to make my own decisions. The program was definitely not very happy with my neglect to inform them that I decided to leave my house practically in the middle of the night to move in to a room with three guys that are my age but I'm incredibly happy that they came to see my point of view. So many other people in the group are not having good experiences in their houses and internships and I feel very lucky in my own (even with my first family because aside from the mother I loved almost everyone in the house).

I changed my sector of the hospital for the last time this week. I am now in maternity. I can't do as much there which is unfortunate because I was really getting into the idea of all the hands-on stuff but the things I'm observing are amazing. Monday through Wednesday was a strike so when I went Monday it was pretty uneventful. There are also about 8 other interns there everyday who are actually going to be mid-wives at the end of their time there which leaves a much smaller need for me. During the strike people come only for emergencies. One of the interns gave an exam to a pregnant woman and then asked me if I wanted to "toucher" as well. I said, "Umm... well, I dont really know what I'm looking for". I suppose I'm grateful that I am allowed to stick my hands in just anybody's vagina without any knowledge whatsoever of what to do beyond that but I figured it wouldn't do any good having my hand up in some lady's ovaries and probably knocking her baby in the head while I'm saying, "yup- I feel something".

Later that day some of the interns bought makeup from one of the nurses who always sells things there. One of the girls thought it would be fun to give me a makeover. I couldn't decide if this was a great bonding experience or a great big joke for all the other interns to laugh at the ugly tubaab. I'm still not really sure. I know for certain that after she drew black eyebrows on me and then traced my pink lips in the same black pencil and colored it in with pink lipstick I looked like a real fool but everyone seemed sincere when they said I looked pretty and I couldn't take it off so I didn't quite know what to do. I waited until they left and then rubbed the shit out of my face with tissues.

Tuesday I woke up high on Benadryl because since it got down into the mid-70s here at night I now have a cold. I was so groggy and in such a deep sleep that I took another one and passed back out until 11. This is the latest I've slept since being here. Wednesday I had a meeting with my director involving my flight from my house. Alex goes to work everyday at 7 am but Wednesday his boss said he was going to Thies (the town we spent the day in last Saturday) to do a job. So, he ended up leaving Dakar at 3:30 pm from his non-paying internship and not getting back to Dakar until 6:30 am Thursday. He spent the entire night installing an internet cafe there. When I asked him if he was getting paid for that he said he doesn't know. Can you imagine working almost 24 hours straight in the US without being paid? Can you imagine going to work and being told that you aren't going home at the normal time and you have to go to another town? Anyway, this makes me very angry! But, as soon as he got back Thursday morning he came over and crawled in bed with me and I couldn't bring myself to get out of the bed for most of the day. We cooked eggs (which he did way better than me on a kerosene flame that's not a stove), and wrestled (which was totally hot because he's a brown belt and can throw me around a lot), and just spent the whole day together and I was totally happy.

Finally on Friday I went back to my internship, though. This was a normal day in the maternity and man was it .... interesting. Here having a baby is a wildly different experience than in the US. Sometimes I can almost manage to forget that I'm in Africa until I get to the hospital and see how incredibly different the health care is. So, in Senegal there's really just no such thing as privacy. It's just not... I don't know, important to people? The salle d'achoucement or room where women give birth is just one big room with about six beds. Actually, let me correct that- there are three "beds" which I would describe more like 30 year old pieces of foam covered in a plastic type material with no sheets or coverings whatsoever. These beds are for during the labor and after the birth. The other 3 "beds" are where the women actually give birth. They're basically just tables, not long enough for the woman's whole body with no where for her head. If you entered the place without any nurses there you might have the impression that it's some horrible room for torture. When I arrived there was a woman squealing in quite a bit of obvious agony. There was another women on a delivery table hooked up to an IV, and another in a bed with her baby next to her. There was a baby in a baby cart on one side of the room. The squealing woman was vomiting and contorting her body and moaning a whole lot. A few minutes later they took her to the table area. I saw these unusual metal pans under the table and wondered what they were for until they pulled one out and shoved it under the women's butt to catch her afterbirth. The only IV the women were hooked to was a glucose drip. Yup- all natural... mmm... I don't know what it was but I started feeling nauseous and decided to go look for my bottle of water. I figured I had plenty of time to see the birth since that takes a long time. Nope. I was wrong. I came back to a newborn on the scale and the woman no longer squealing. The afterbirth was mysteriously dumped into a plastic bag and weighed. Maybe the next week I will ask about this tradition. No family or friends are in the room with the woman while she's delivering. There's really not much talking at all between her and the mid-wives and interns. The baby comes and no one really pays that much attention to it. Or to the mother really for that matter. This is not because people don't love their children in Africa or something like that. I'm not really sure the reason, actually. I was really sort of stunned at everything I saw there. Even more so I think I was horrified by the very thought of ever having children myself. Anyway, the next and last week of my internship is sure to be exciting.

My new living arrangement has its ups and downs. I now sleep in a big double bed with a rotating fan. The fan would've been realllllllly nice back in September and October when I was sleeping in a major puddle of sweat every night. I can go out when I want and I don't have to disturb anyone to get back in the house (at my old house I had to tap on the window of my parents' room if I came in later than 11 pm and then they had to open two bolted doors for me downstairs before I had to proceed to pounding on the door to my floor succeeding in waking up most or all of the 10 or 12 people in my house). The boys are super nice to me and we have political and religious debates and conversations. They are friends with Alex so he's there with me all the time and we don't have to hide. They help to keep me as comfortable as possible as often as possible and I'm so grateful for it. The only downsides are that I now have to leave my house to use the restroom and the restroom is more like a dormitory/outhouse sort of setting. There are 9 stalls which 5 families have keys to (and families here can be like 20 people). The boys at my house lost their key so they always have to walk with me to the shower to ask another familiy to use their key and I think also because they think I am too weak to carry my own water bucket. Sometimes the stalls are pretty nast and I now take bucket showers. There are still the 2 inch long, 1 inch wide cockroaches and if I take a shower past 6:30 pm I have to use a candle but none of these things really bother me too much anymore. Since I live with boys there is occasionally a bad meal but that's to be expected. I feel so strong now that I'm almost pretty certain that I can do anything I ever imagined and I feel that eating hard rice every once in a while (or one time some cow intestines) or taking a bucket shower for three weeks are definitely things I can deal with. I'm so grateful for having a place I can feel comfortable and where I'm pretty sure people actually like me that I can sacrifice all the other creature comforts that were basically dead in me anyway. Plus, I feel that I am now living in a manner that is way more similar to the average Senegalese and I think that's really important. However, I have to admit, a warm jacuzzi bath in a clean tub with a light and no insects is going to be pretty heavenly, and that's why I'm so grateful for this experience.

Strange things are happening

Haven't written for a few days because things have been a little hectic. I mentioned that my family here were all aware that I am with Alex now. It seemed as if everyone approved or at least accepted that fact. However, it's true that things are not always as they seem. On Thanksgiving Alex went with me to a friend's place for about 2 hours and as soon as we arrived home the mother began yelling at us both. I don't even know what she said because I was on the phone with my family in the US and just walked away. Apparently she was mad that we had been out together or out at all; I'm not sure.
The following day she barely looked at or spoke to me. That evening I came home to discover that the 12 year old monster in my house had gone through my cell phone and read all my text messages from Alex. He thought this was very amusing until Alex told him that he was going to spank him if he behaved that way again. As a result of all these things going on in the house I began talking to Alex about moving out. With not much time left here I thought I'd give it a few more days of consideration.
Saturday Alex and I left in the morning to go to Thies. This is a cute little town that actual reminded me a little of Ohio towns. It's about 2 hours away by car. It'd probably be a lot shorter drive if there were more than one road out of Dakar but oh well. To go to basically anywhere outside Dakar you must take a taxi to what is called the garage. However, this is not at all a garage as in our sense of the term. The first time we went there I kept wondering... but wait, where is the garage? Basically it's a giant field or dead and dying station wagons with signs for pretty much any destination in Senegal. You have to find your sign and then bargain with the drivers to go there. At the same time you're being swarmed by people selling absolutely everything you can imagine from Q-tips to bananas. Once we'd found a car we climbed into the back where Alex's knees were about in his chin and his head was hitting the ceiling on every bump like it was Honey, I Shrunk the Car or something. The rest of the car is filled with strangers who are usually very friendly. We sat a good twenty minutes because the driver couldn't make change for us. We had given him a 5 mille (equivalent to $10) and the trip was 3 mille. This is a constant problem in Senegal. Due to the fact that I have a bank card only and the machines give only 5 and 10 mille bills I often get incredibly dirty looks. On the way there I saw a goat get obliterated by a truck which was rather sad.
Anyway, we spent the morning meandering the cute little town of Thies. The most exciting thing to happen was when a large mob of children literally chased me down the street to shake my hand and say hello. If you're white you're a total celeb here. After the morning we headed to Alex's cousin's house. This was not a planned part of our excursion but we bumped into her while we were at the 'garage' and took her number.
We had lunch with her and then Alex went to buy some beer. I have only consumed alcohol a handful of times since I've been in this country but I find that each time I do I feel ill afterwards. I told him the last time I didn't want to drink anymore but of course it was in front of me so I drank about a beer and a half. Afterward we took a nap and I started to feel sick. We decided to start walking for a car to go back to Dakar.
As he bargained for the car I started to feel a cold sweat coming on and thought maybe my legs would give out from under me. Most of the venders were leaving me alone and staring at me as if they thought, "whoa, what's with the tubaab?"
Once we got into the car we had to sit to wait for the other seats to fill up. Luckily when I bought a bottle of water that morning the man at the boutique had given me two plastic bags, neither of which had any use for... that is until now. So, at this point I knew there was no turning back and that I was going to vomit in a plastic bag in front of a bunch of staring Senegalese. After that was over I tied the bag up and Alex paid some kid a quarter to take the bag to a trash can. Since the kid was obviously very poor and handed a mysterious bag by a white person I made Alex make it very clear that he should not open the bag. After we had started off I used the other bag to throw up in two more times and resolved to definitely not drink again for the rest of my time in Senegal.
After all that I wanted nothing more than to come home, take a shower, and go to sleep. Yet, as soon as I got out of the shower I was told to go talk to my mother. I decided that whatever this conversation was involving would be the decision maker on whether I would finish the program at this house or not.
The conversation began with me being disciplined for asking informing Alex of his nasty little brother's antics instead of them, which I chose to do knowing they would do nothing to him. I was right about that because she defended her son's actions by saying he was young though I countered with, but not too young to know that wasn't an appropriate thing to do. Then I was also scolded for being on the terrace with Alex the night before. Something which I was never technically told I wasn't allowed to do. In the past she has told me to go upstairs and take tea with my brothers or eat with them. I explained this to her and she said that now all that has changed. So, I began to leave the room when she yelled out, "You and Alex cannot leave each other's side!" So I asked why that was a problem for her. She came storming out of the living room faster than I've ever seen her do anything because in the past all she's ever done is lay around shouting out orders to her daughter/slave. She went on to say that I was going to leave Alex and I said, "yes, I have to go back to my own family. he knows that. that's between us; it's not your affair. he's not a child". She then said, "this isn't the US, that's not how it works in Senegal. And Alex is going to leave you because you're not nice!" At which point I said, "D'accord, je vais quitter la maison" (okay, I'm going to leave the house.) and she yelled "Quitte!" (LEAVE!) Therefore, Saturday night, to continue the not so fine day I'd had, I packed my things and walked down the street to Alex's friends' room. The next day when I came to take my things his mom yelled at him to come in the house as he helped me to carry my suitcases down. Afterward she sent her sick daughter/slave running after me down the street to ask me for the money for the soiree she had invited us to. I laughed and said, "Margo, I'm not going to the soiree."
So, it's very tough having a cross-cultural relationship. The longer I'm in it the more difficult it seems to become. I have always been such a free-spirit and now I have a 28 year old boyfriend who I am crazy over but who lives with his mom and can't stay the night with me and doesn't like to kiss in public. None of that is because he's weird or a loser or anything except that he's Senegalese. The more I find myself getting frustrated with all these cultural differences the less open-minded I feel. Maybe I'm just tired. When you live with Senegalese people, work with Senegalese people, go out with Senegalese people, when you stop thinking in your own language and the only place you can go to be American is the computer lab at your school it gets really draining. Some parts of me are ready to come home, despite that I'm going to sorely miss this place and I'm going to be sadder than maybe ever in my life that my first real love is across the Atlantic. But, I miss Christmas music, and a warm house in cold weather, and couches, coffee shops with slow quiet music and the murmor of voices, taking classes, and all my friends and family. Sometimes I wish it were just easy to go back and forth, like when I go from Athens to Cincy. Just a hop skip and a jump and I'm home again. If that were possible I could have a little taste of home every now and then and it would suffice. As it is I'm just about ready to go back to my own world and maybe if the fates allow I will make it back here again because it's definitely got a big piece of my heart.

Giving thanks

So today of course is Thanksgiving, though I'm pretty certain I would have forgotten that completely had it not been for everyone else pointing it out to me. Haven't really thought much about the holiday since I knew I'd be missing it and figured I didn't have a reason to dwell on it. Interestingly this is probably the most thankful Thanksgiving I've ever had despite that I hadn't planned on remembering it. So- I thought today I would remind everyone of some things that maybe they don't think to be grateful for because they're just so used to having them around.
-Reliable energy
-Public systems that work
-Reliable and safe water
-Reliable and good health care
-Laws which protect human rights
-Privacy
-Justice (though it's not always served)
-A diverse array of foods which are safe and always available
-If you're a woman just be thankful you're American because I guarantee your life is better than a great percentage of the women of the world
-Individuality (the right to drive your own future, the ability to choose a career, a spouse, and the right to be yourself)
-Education for everyone
-A relatively accountable government
And now for the less essential yet practical items:
-Washing machines
-Air conditioners
-Ovens and stoves
-Free time
-A comfortable bed to sleep in every night
-Rain every once in a while
-Traffic laws
-Being born in a country that tons of people can only dream of ever even stepping foot in

I could go on with this list but I figure you get the point. However, at the same time, there are an awful lot of amazing things in Senegal that you just won't ever find in the US which is a shame but I guess somehow it evens out.

I know I haven't written lately so I'll give a quick update. Life is basically as usual here except that it's just about over so at times it's a little sad. Alex's/ my whole family now knows that we're together. They ask us if we're getting married because most of the time if you date someone in Senegal that is the intention. Don't worry, I'm not. I'm pretty certain still that they don't really like me but I can't bring myself to care too much. Though the other day Alex's mom did invite us to a soiree on one of my last nights here. I said that it was nice but Alex thinks it's silly. I guess now I have to go look like a white fool and dance in front of all his family and their friends.
Last Sunday Alex and I went to a party for his church. They're Catholic so they know how to get their party on. Afterward I had to pee so I told Alex I was going to do like the men and go on the side of the road. He couldn't believe I would do that until after I had.
The other day I saw a kid caught in the door of a bus while it drove down the street with everyone pounding on it to stop. This isn't that uncommon because the buses are overflowing all the time. A few days before that I saw a guy on a motorcycle get side-swiped by an Ndiagne Ndiaye who didn't stop when everyone pounded on it. This is why I was fairly certain when I first got here that I was going to die in the street. Looking back it occurs to me what terrible culture shock I had for the very first time. I had even imagined the terrible phone call to my mom to inform her that I had been run over by a Kaar Rapide.
Yesterday at work I saw a guy herding his sheep down the road which made me say, "wow, things are really different here" and also made me remember the time at the market when I was literally two seconds from being stampeded by a herd of them.
Apparently I was exposed to Tuberculosis yesterday I found out today. A woman came in coughing but said she had asthma because a lot of people hide the disease. Anyway, I'm feeling a little like a hypochrondriac today because my throat is a little bit sore and I found out that I was exposed to an airborne deadly illness but I'm certain I'm just being absurd. In actuality you have to have prolonged exposure to contract it so I don't think my five minutes with the woman will kill me.
I'm almost finished in Family Planning- tomorrow is my last day. I'm kinda going to miss looking at boobs and vaginas all day. Though, I guess I'll be in maternity next so there will probably be no shortage of that. At least they haven't expected me to actually perform any gyno exams yet.
But! Today I gave my first injection at the hospital. I'm practically a doctor now or somethin'! Who knew with all that queasiness that could ever come to pass?! I'm pretty stinking proud of myself really.

Tick-tock, tick-tock

It's so hard to believe that today is November 17 and I'm leaving Senegal in exactly one month. I'm not really looking forward to it. In all my travels I've never become more attached to a place than here. I've never felt so changed by an experience abroad. I am so calm and content here. Sure, there are things I miss and things that sometimes drive me wild but at the same time- this place has such character. In the US everything is like it's under Big Brother. Here, people are free. You hardly ever see policemen, there aren't speed limits (or traffic laws for that matter), there aren't rules about how to raise children or about how to live your life. People don't have much but they're happy. They have less to give but they give more. There's hardly any crime, there's never been a coup d'etat or a civil war or anything truly violent. People call their neighbors aunts and uncles and cousins. It's like they don't even know the difference.
There is no such thing is the concept of imposition. If you walk by people eating the automatic first thing they say to you is "kaye, lekk" (come eat). This includes absolute strangers. If someone buys a piece of bread or a soda they don't then sit and eat or drink it themselves, they divide it equally among everyone present.
People here help me cross the street. If I get cheated out of money they help me get it back. They ask about all your friends who they've only met one time or sometimes never at all. They call you sister, daughter, suma xarit (my friend). Everyday I get talked to by strangers who want to know where I'm from and how I like Senegal. Sometimes they want to say also that they're in love with you but they're usually not mal-intentioned. You can't blame them for wanting a different life.
Everything here has its ups with its downs. This week I've started working in Family Planning. There're a lot of personnel in the room so I basically just treat it as a research project. I suppose I could do some gyno exams if I asked to but my heart's not going to be broken if I don't get to look into any vaginas. So I've seen a lot of really sad things in the past four days. A lot of women who haven't even earned the right to be called women yet except that they're mothers. They're kids with kids. Girls who haven't even had time to love themselves yet and are now toting around 1 or more children. I saw a 16 year old in her fourth pregnancy. You do the math. There's also always the question "how many kids do you have?" followed by "how many kids deceased?" and it's not uncommon at all for women to have lost at least 1 child.
Then there's the talibe. These are boys that come to Dakar to go to Koranic school; something considered obligatory in Islam. The catch is that most Muslims know that a Koranic education is useless in life and send their kids to an actual school. The exception to this is people who have too many children and can't afford the burden. These families send their kids to the schools to live with marabouts (almost the equivalent of a Catholic priest except it's obtained divinely). The kids are essentially orphaned and spend most of their time begging in the streets for the marabout. If they don't get the amount of money they're required to each day they are beaten. It's incredibly sad and a huge problem because you see the boys anywhere you go. You give and give and you can't do otherwise because you know that they without a doubt are going to use that quarter a lot better than you would've. But, there're always more grungy hands than there are coins in your pocket and you still feel horribly guilty to walk away with any amount of money knowing the need for them is so much greater than it is for you.

There are so many problems here- like Alex, for instance. Alex has a job he goes to five days a week. He fixes computers. He's 28. He's worked there since April getting up every morning at 6 for no pay. This is incredibly common here. Before you can make money you have to put in your time as an apprentice, an intern. It's supposed to be a learning period but Alex used to have his own business. He's knows how to do things that other people at his work don't. People are taken advantage of. They live with their parents until they're married because they have no other choice. Young people have no place to work.
Anyway, I have to go meet a friend and I could go on about the problems here forever. I'll save it for next time.

Let's face it- I'm in love

Of course when my parents read this blog entry I'm going to get some sort of e-mail about how I've lost my mind. Three months ago if someone had told me I'd feel like this I would've told them they'd lost theirs. I can understand the notion.
Friday I wanted to pick up my package at the post office so Alex said he thought he should go with me because it might be hard to find. He called the post office for me in advance and then I went downtown to his work to meet him. We had lunch together and then went to the post office. It was Friday so they were on an hour long break for prayer, plus we weren't at the right post anyway. So, we went to the phone store so I could try and get my phone minutes at a reduced price. The guy said to come back in the morning. Then we went to the other post office and waited until the break had ended.
At 3 we were let into the post but made to sit and wait because after the break the employees apparently had to eat. Thus, we sat another 30 minutes and then were led into an office and then followed finger pointing in all different directions for an hour or so. Finally, after an hour and a half at the second post office- I had my box. The whole time he handled everything for me and never got frustrated with anyone.
After that we went to Francois' until about 8 and then did our usual thing of me going home, him waiting 30 minutes and then coming in after me. Since his parents don't know about us everything is like this. I've become a good liar- though I never wanted to be. I don't like lying and I always feel like they know I am even though they really don't. I figure that all is fair in love and war and with his parents I feel that it's both.
Yesterday I got up at 7:30 to meet him in our usual meeting spot in the park near my school. He took me for some cafe touba because he knows how much I love it. After that we headed downtown to deal with my phone. Then he came with me to Ouakam for the baptism. We missed most of the traditional stuff so I was a little sad about that but I got to hold the baby for a few minutes and eat some good food. After that he decided that he wanted to get a new outfit so we went to a market and he made me pick out everything for him. Then he bought us each a bag of ice cream in honor of my friend Sara who is now in the village but who ate four of them at a soccer game one night and made us crack up laughing.
After that we went to Francois' and then to my favorite restaurant Chez Zeyna. Then back to Francois' a few more hours before heading to a karate competition. Then I discovered that my boyfriend can do all these amazing things like flip over and over again and probably kick a lot of ass because he's a brown belt. On the way there a little boy stood at the window of our taxi and Alex reached into his pocket and gave him a coin. I know he doesn't have a lot to give- he often does jobs for only $4. After that another kid came to the window and stood for a long time. Alex didn't do anything for a while but then I saw that he couldn't take it anymore and he reached into his pocket and gave away another coin. This is why I'm crazy over this boy.
He respects me like no man ever has. He's gourgous. He's smart. He works so hard. He does all that he can for me when he has so little. He thinks of me in everything. He has a big heart and we can be silly together. He speaks two languages and is learning English just for me. And the coolest thing is- he's never even heard of McDonald's. I cannot leave Senegal in a month and never see Alex again. I can't.

Babies, babies, babies

Oh, yesterday was kind of sad. I spent several hours at another student's internship at the orphanage. I'm not sure what I expected to feel there but maybe I just hadn't put enough thought into it. Maybe I was just thinking orphanage= loads of kids which I love which means it'll be fun! I mean, I knew on a certain level it was going to be sad but I don't think I realized just how heavy it would really be.
We arrived at 2:30 and put on our smocks. There were about 15 women, staff and volunteers. Mostly Senegalese but also an American guy, a French woman, and of course- us. It was feeding time when we arrived so we went to Sandy's room- Room 5 and grabbed some babies and started feeding. After we returned them to their room and began changing them.
There are five rooms in the orphanage- at least on the floor with the babies. Each room has 10 or 11 cribs. I'd say that all or almost all of the babies were under the age of 1 year. The babies have names but are mostly known by their numbers. Their clothing, beds, and bottles all correspond to their numbers. There must be at least 45 babies there.
The first thing I noticed when I held my first infant there was that she didn't smell like a baby. She didn't smell like baby powder and soap and fresh skin. She smelt like sour milk; like a baby who couldn't possibly be getting all the attention she deserves or needs. It's not anyone's fault. Most of the babies living there haven't been abandoned. Most of them had mothers who passed away during childbirth or shortly after. I wonder if they ever imagined that the child they loved for nine months in their womb was going to live its infancy being a number.
The women working there are sweet and the babies are all held but with 40 how can they ever be held enough? They're well taken care of, with vitamins and treatments, mosquito nets. In fact, some of them might be healthier than if they had stayed with their own families. Yet, they aren't loved uniquely. They aren't individuals. They are someone's job. They are babies in waiting for love.
Some of them are as young as two weeks. They cry and cry- they want to be held. You can't hold them all and it's so heartbreaking because how do you choose? They all deserve it equally. In the "playroom", as they all got layed out on mats together, mostly just to lay there and sleep or wait to be picked up for a little bit, I had such a mental conflict.
I'd pick up one who was crying and then another would start and I would want to pick that one up. I would put down the one I was holding and then they would cry and then a lot of babies would be crying at the same time. I couldn't stand it. There just weren't enough arms. A baby should know a face. It should be familiar with at least one person in it's life. It shouldn't be so alone. Oh, I dreamt about the orphanage last night, and I couldn't stop seeing all their little eyes staring at me and hearing their cries as you just had to finally resort to walking away.
I was exhausted when I left there at 6:30. Physically and mentally drained like a lifeless entity. I was envious at first of her internship there but I think that maybe I couldn't handle 25 hours a week working there. I think it would be too hard for me. I think I would want to adopt a baby. So, I'm going to spend as much time volunteering there as I can before I leave. I really loved it but I hate that it exists.

Wounds make my heart go pitter-patter

Alas, another scorcher in Senegal, and once again there is the ever present element of surprise. I went to work today to discover that my work is on strike. No one really mentioned this to me yesterday. I suppose they figured it's not important to mention a strike to a non-paid employee. Oh well, I'm happy to have the morning off.
This afternoon I'm going to a friend's internship at the orphanage. It should be very interesting and probably pretty depressing.
After a week and a half at the health clinic I'm feeling pretty iron-gutted. Yesterday I cleaned lots of wounds and I started to get really into it. I am beginning to get excited about the nasty stuff that comes in. I think I'm beginning to like medicine. It's too bad that I would only ever qualify to work in it in the third world.
Tuesday was a vaccination day and I can not even begin to tell you the number of women who were there with their babies to be vaccinated. Each time I left the room I was stunned at the amount of people there waiting. The women got a total kick out of me attempting to call their names. There was one woman who helped me all day by repeating everyone's name correctly for me. I was so shocked when I called a name and she herself stood up. I had almost forgotten to notice that she had been waiting forever.
On my way here this morning I was terribly frustrated when my newly purchased shoes broke for the second time. They broke last weekend but I fixed them with a stapler. I was actually quite proud of my resourcefulness. I knew that I probably shouldn't wear the damn things anymore since I'm not actually Macguiver and I was probably pushing my luck. Which was correct because I ended up walking halfway here barefoot. Yet, I stopped for my usual cafe Touba from my pal around the corner and a woman there took the shoes out of my hand, called a guy over and in ten minutes my shoe was good as new. It cost a quarter. I love Senegal.
Speaking of love... it's a fact, I'm absolutely head-over-heels for Alex. Everyday that inches closer to the day I'm leaving I get sadder and sadder about it. I've become almost determined to find a way to see him again.
I'm such a different person here it's wild. I worry that I will go home and change again. I'm afraid I will forget all this and who I am here and I really hope not because I certainly like this me a lot. I've calmed down so much. I don't party here and I don't think about it. I'm happy in a whole different way than ever before. I can't ever be the same after being here, I know that's impossible.
I can't believe in five weeks I'm returning home. It's going to feel so foreign and crazy. I'm very excited to see my family and all my friends. I can't wait to eat Skyline, and to use my down comforter, and to hold a warm mug of hot chocolate and sleep in a big comfortable bed. I can't wait to spend a day watching Grey's nonstop. I wanna eat tomato soup and grilled cheese and see my breath when I stand outside. I'm excited to drive Julie and see Athens again. Yet, I know that all of that is still there for me to do. On the other hand I might leave here never to return again. Never to see Alex, never to experience the Teranga again, never to speak Wolof. I might never drink Bisap again, or see another baobab tree, or drink cafe Touba. I might not ever see all the wonderful people I've become friends with again. That thought frightens and saddens me a lot. The solemnity of leaving here perhaps forever far outweighs the excitement of going home. I hate goodbye, especially since I've met someone I hate leaving for even five minutes.

There is no such thing as an emergency in Senegal

So, I will never be able to look at sand the same way again. I'm beginning to think there's just no way to stop the practically inevitable hatred of it I'm going to have after this trip. Sand. Yes, I used to think of it as beachy and pleasant but now, now it's just everywhere. It's in my shoes everywhere I go, it's on my legs all day long, I sink in it as I walk down the street. It's enough to drive a person absolutely haywire. Sand is a perfect example of how there are no emergencies in Senegal. Who's brilliant idea was it to make sidewalks out of sand?! Honestly! It's like no one's in a hurry to get anywhere, the sand is strategically placed there just to slow you down so you don't get anywhere TOO fast.
But really, I don't think they've ever had an emergency here of any kind. No one is ever concerned about much of anything. That is except when it comes to soccer. My friend Sara was living across from the stadium until the internships started last week. One day a couple weeks ago a flaming tear gas bomb came flying into their courtyard. Oops.
Ambulances; I haven't really figured out what they're for. It takes them forever to get through to anywhere and at my hospital no one sick or injured ever comes out of one. People here treat everything so casually. Even the kids are calmer and less whiny. I'm not making this up. I know if I were in the US during those vaccinations last week I'd of completely lost my mind from all the screaming but here half the kids didn't even make a sound.
So, my internship. It's interesting. To get there I get to use public transportation now. It's actually sort of fun despite the fact that I'm sure no one in Senegal would say that. To get to the hospital I walk about 15 minutes and then take one of these white van/bus things called an Ndiagne Ndiaye. They stuff as many people as possible into the things so until it starts to move I sometimes think I might suffocate. It costs a quarter to get to work and a quarter to get home. That's actually pretty steep here. I could buy a shit ton of peanuts with that amount of money. Anyway, you just sit there until it's time to get off and then you stand up or hiss or tap on something and they let you off. If you're white you just stand up because everybody notices that.
Last week was quite different from my actual role at the hospital as it turns out. Today I was in with the pediatric nurse who I can't really figure out. There's a good chance that she hates me, or hates her job, or hates her life, or hates whites, or hates Americans... I don't know but her attitude is a bit like some kinda hater. She usually speaks to me in Wolof despite that she obviously speaks pristine French. Then she gets mad at me and looks at me like I'm stupid when I don't make any response. At home this would probably make me mad or make me cry or something but I think I'm just tougher now. She doesn't phase me at all. And actually, when she talks to me in French she's pretty nice to me. Thus, I don't get it. Today I think she wanted to get rid of me but everyone else said she had to put up with me.
So, today was a fun and interesting day. In the morning I saw lots of newborn babies. One of which was placed into my arms for a few minutes. I wasn't sure why but there are a lot of unknowns here so I decided to just enjoy the little gal. A few minutes later Dr. Evil came in and pierced the baby's ears with a needle and what seemed to be cord of some kind. That really took the fun out of holding the infant. Anyway, I think at some point I might be made to pierce ears of newborns too. Can't really decide how I feel about that.
Later a kid came in with some gauze around his knee and she handed me some gloves and a tray of different kinds of scissors and said something like "do it". I having utterly no idea what exactly it was. Thus, I cut off the bandage to find a rather large hunk of skin missing off this boy's knee all the way down to the bone. After that I didn't know what to do so I stood there trying not to be sick while she showed me how to clean it and then I wrapped it with new gauze. After that I stuck thermometers in some baby butts. That was entertaining.I have a feeling the nurse has not been briefed on the fact that I have utterly NO experience in medicine. She's probably beginning to figure this out on her own.
Then came the favorite of the day- an abscess. Still not really sure what this is but the very thought of it still makes me kinda wanna hurl. This boy came in barely able to walk and when she unwrapped his leg there was a very long stream of what I assume was puss which shot in a projectile like manner out of this hole going through his leg. Mmm... was that appetizing. I oughta have an iron stomach after this.
So, tonight I'm getting ready to go buy fabric for an outfit for a baptism Saturday. Last week a baby was born there and then abandoned by his mother so the doctor give the baby the nurse who happen's to be Ousene's Aunt. Therefore, I get to go to my first baby naming ceremony! This is quite thrilling.
In other news, Alex has recovered from malaria and I am happy. Last night was my neighborhood's final soccer game and they lost. There was no celebration which was sad. Other than that, I'm just praying that nothing more disgusting happens at the hospital tomorrow because it will be really embarrassing to vomit or pass out in front of Dr. Evil.

No end to surprises

Dammit, this is the third time I've started this frigging blog entry and if this time doesn't work I'm giving up! Annnyway, life is good. Finished my first week at my internship today. I'm working at a health clinic which I think I'm really going to enjoy. So far I work with all women and though I can't understand anything they're saying pretty much all of the time it's still highly amusing. This week was a vaccination week so I spent many hours saying kaye, am (come; eat) to little kids before dripping Vitamin A down their throats and shoving chewable tablets in their mouths. After that I usually listen to them scream about their shot for a few minutes. I know I don't sound thrilled but actually I enjoy it.
The adventure of going to my internship was quite interesting. Monday we went in groups, each with two faculty members to our different work sites. We didn't get to my clinic until after the doctors had already left so they just instructed me to come to the research center in the morning and someone (I thought our director) was going to come with me to the clinic. So, I came Tuesday and as it turned out a kid named Ousene who works in the research center library was taking me. His aunt works at the clinic (and is super nice).
So, Ousene and I went in a cab to Ouakam, the town about 20 or 30 minutes from Dakar where my clinic is. Sidenote for members of the listening audience such as my parents, no lectures or worries regarding the following passage.
So, Ousene and I descended the taxi and started to walk in the direction that I knew was not the hospital. I was like, "uhhh...." and then he explained that he was taking me to meet a friend before I started. So, we chatted with some folk in this French schoolyard and then went into this vacant building and up some stairs past a bunch of sleeping people. Then he introduced me to a guy and handed me a joint. So, this made me laugh because I have not seen pot since being in Senegal and here all the sudden when I'm not even looking someone just hands it to me. Sooo, I was thinking... this probably isn't such a good thing to be doing before my first day at my internship at the HOSPITAL but what the heck. Sooo, we smoked a little and then said bye to the neighborhood and then I started.
After work Ousene came to pick me up and took me back to the deserted building, which I then found out was a future library for the school (it's really common to found people crashing in construction sites in Senegal). So, we smoked some more and hung out with his friend and Ousene explained to me about all the marabouts and I laughed hysterically because he's hilarious. Then we started to head out but he asked me if I wanted to go to his music shop first and since I'd heard him say about 20 times that day, "I'm very busy, I have my OWN shop music", I felt that I should probably go.
The whole time I was there I wished Ben was with me. I felt like I was on the set of High Fidelity. The music shop was great and so is Ouakam.

Things that make us laugh

There's no end it seems to the surprises that happen in Senegal. For example, let's just go through a few of the things that happened this week.
I've been walking around for several weeks with a dime sized hole in one of my flip-flops. Pretty much everyday all my friends point out how disgusting it is for me to be walking around like that here of all places. It wasn't that I don't agree with them about that but there isn't really a store to go to and I was afraid of buying shoes that would hurt my feet since I walk so much here. Nonetheless, my friend Sara and I were walking to Wolof class the other day when a man on the street was holding lots of shoes and trying to sell them to us. This happens a lot here with pretty much anything you can imagine. You can buy a scale or a bag of peanuts while sitting in traffic. Usually I just say Non, merci but since I actually needed shoes I bought them. I got to class and everyone started complimenting me and asking where I bought them. Uhhh, just now from some dude on the street.
Anyway, more funny things... Sunday night Alex took some friends and I to watch some soccer matches in the big ass stadium. We were definitely the only white people there and pretty much the only females so when I had to use the restroom we ran into some problems. Namely that there was no restroom for women. Thus, Alex walked me out of the stadium and across the street to a house where he asked if I could use their restroom. Of course they said yes because it's Senegal and people are so friendly. They walked me in and then there it was... a goat! right outside the bathroom door. I couldn't stop laughing as I was using the restroom and all I could hear was baaa baaaa baaa. Hil-arious. Anyway, my neighborhood's team won the game and my neighborhood in turn went nuts. Next Sunday is the final so I'm excited now about that.
Yesterday I went to work with my sister. She's a teacher at a preschool. The school was sooo adorable. Everything was bright and happy. It appeared just like a school back home would. There were three classes so everyone came in wearing there red, blue, and green smocks. In the morning they did their stretches and dances which I loved every minute of. After that they seperated into their own classrooms. Unfortunately this is where it became a little more sad. My sister's class of five year olds had 10 desks for a class of 30. The rest put their chalkboards on stools and sat in plastic chairs. The room was incredibly crowded and I was shocked at how well behaved everyone was. I feel like it might've been one of the better preschools as far as public schools go. The students were definitely better dressed than a lot of kids I pass in the streets and the school seemed to be in a more well to do area.
Also, Alex has malaria. I suppose that makes this a good time to dispell some myths about the illness. Yes, lots of people die of malaria; that is true. However, it's not really a terminal illness. People get malaria here all the time. It's basically like getting the flu for us except from the looks of it, a lot more miserable. The reason a lot of people die from it is just because they're too poor to afford the medication. If you aren't in that predicament you just take the pills or the injections and rest a few days and are well recovered. Thus, Alex has to get 12 injections over the next 3 days. Not fun but at least he's not going to die.
Sadly the man who bought me coffee last week decided to profess his love for me yesterday which really just ruins the whole experience of him buying me coffee. Sometimes you think that people are just being nice here and then you find that they had ulterior motives. Now I hate walking to my school because he blows me kisses and tells me all these mushy things despite the fact that I explained that I have a boyfriend already. Boys here are a dissappointment. Thank God for Alex because otherwise I wouldn't have any Senegalese friends. His friends are amazing and I love them all. And he's basically my favorite boy ever so that makes up for all the others.
For example, Saturday night much of the group went to a party in a nearby sicap (suburb). A party is basically just a whole bunch of people dancing in a house. They never even get started until around 2 am and then you can be out until 7. I started dancing with one guy and he was getting a kick out of spinning me around and how much I was actually responding to his dance moves. Then he started parading me around in front of everyone at the party and all the men started fighting over me. Finally my friend Sara came and pulled me away from all of them and then she spent 20 minutes literally dragging them off of me as they all tried pulling me in different directions. So, being white and female in Senegal is kind of a pain in the ass.
Last night was a giant prayer at my house. The second time this has happened. The first time Alex and I were walking down the street when we ran into Alex's brother Benj on the way back to the house. He was carrying a big wooden box and I couldn't help laughing when I asked what it was and he showed me the big shrine for Mary. Oh my. There were so many people at the house last night that I didn't really know where to go and with Alex being sick and in his room I sort of secluded myself in my own room for dinner. Later on in the night my brother Benj knocked on my door and when I opened it he stuck a beer in and popped the cap of for me. Another hilarious event at the Gomis residence.

Refreshing

Yesterday I realized why Senegal is so cool. On my way to class I stopped at the regular boutique (small stand which usually sells everything you can ever imagine) for some cafe touba. Btw, cafe touba is probably the thing I'll miss the absolute most about this country. The first time I tried it I thought hmm... this is really strange coffee but now I'm totally addicted. So, I stopped and one of the men began talking to me and said that today he was buying my coffee. I insisted that I really didn't want him to do that but he went on to talk to me for five minutes about how nice I am because I always greet everyone and smile everyday when I walk by or stop. In the end there was no arguing with him because he said I simply wasnt paying.
Would that happen at home? Would someone buy you coffee just because you smiled and said hi everyday? I guess maybe but I feel like it's a rarity. It made up for the fact that on Saturday I angered a group of people by not greeting them. Alex and I were spending the day together at his friend's place and I left to use the restroom which was seperate from the house. There was a group of people who stared at me as I gazed around so I explained to them what I was doing. They told me not very nicely where the bathroom was and as I walked away I heard them all yelling at me about not greeting them. Alex said I have to get better at greeting everyone and apparently he's right because it pays off!
That doesn't compare to the embarrassing moment last week when I felt totally defeated by a little girl. In Senegal there's a lot of poverty so on a daily basis your walking past little hands asking you for change. It's hard and you give and give to them but there are always more. So, I was sitting and reading in the "park" (or shaded area with some benches in the median of the street) ... actually, I was sitting with some chic who came up and sat with me. Alex had told me a few days earlier when we saw her there that she was crazy. Oh well, it was a little uncomfortable at first but we talked and she seemed harmless. Anyway, a little girl about the age of 8 approached me with her pretty little sister at her side. She had her hand out and said "Bonjour". I responded with the automatic, "sorry, I dont have any money" but I did not get the response I was expecting. She said, "what, I didn't say that; I was just saying hello". Talk about feeling guilty.
Korite was so great seeing all the little kids in their new attire. So stinkin' cute you could just go around pinching cheeks all day. Senegalese people are just beautiful. Our group always jokes that men are their last unexploited resource. It's true; they should really send modeling agents here. Okay, time for Wolof...

Dakar daily

Last night was awesome. I actually slept almost all night without waking up at all. Not that I don't sleep here; I sleep more than any time since I was like... well maybe since ever. The heat really just wears everyone out and by the time I get home and take a shower and have dinner I'm usually ready to pass out around 10 or 11. Pathetic, I know. Regardless, last night may have been the coolest evening since being here. Secondly, usually cool has it's downsides like when it's cool because it's really windy which also means that my mosquito net refuses to stay attached to my bed and envelopes me in it. This is enough to make a person go absolutely mad! A few times I've woken up in the middle of the night and wanted to bawl my eyes out in frustration. Once I decided screw the stupid thing and hung it up but then I couldn't sleep because I could feel little bastard mosquitoes as they made a meal of me. Therefore, I usually opt for being wrapped in the net rather than being eaten since being eaten usually leads to itching to a degree I've never known before. Itching that you can't stop scratching to the extent that you become animal-like. Anyway, there's that problem with the cool evenings or there's the cool evenings that are only cool because it's about to rain. Don't get me wrong, I totally love rain and the storms here are unbelievable. They last forever and it rains super hard and they have cloud to cloud lightning which is one of the coolest things I've ever seen in the sky. However, in my room when it rains it means I have to close my window because the rain comes in and onto my bed. This converts my tiny room into a virtual sauna which as you might imagine is not fun for sleeping. So, I am very grateful for the comfortable evening last night with no catch.

Korite = mange-ing

Today is the end of Ramadan and I don't really feel like moving much because I ate so much food. My family is Catholic so I was really shocked when they had me come downstairs for a traditional korite breakfast of millet and what they call milk. (It's actually something like powdered sugar and hot water but who really cares anyway) What seemed like just a few hours later I came down again for what seemed like a regular lunch. We had a new visitor who kept insisting that I believe in God which was really beginning to make me uncomfortable. I figure I'm not asking anyone not to believe in God so why can't they just not insist that I do? Then I was finally informed that he was my family's priest which I found mildly amusing. He's the first priest I ever told that I was atheist but I'm not ashamed of it; it's just what I believe. I wonder if my family is totally praying extra hard every night to forgive them for letting a sinning non-believer live in their house. I told them I'd go to mass, no problem and the first Sunday I was here I got all dressed for it and everything and no one even told me that it was already over. I figure maybe they're scared the church will go up in flames or something if I walk in with them. I can't blame them, they might be right.

Anyway, we ate our regular meal and the priest gave me lots of Senegalese beer (Catholics) and as usual once I had quit eating everyone insisted that I keep eating and I insisted that I could not do so. I don't know why they do this really. I am totally used to it now and just wait once I've put my spoon down to hear someone say it because it rarely ever fails. Today was not as always however because after I had stuffed myself full of couscous with sauce carrots and manioc and beef, they moved the dish and replaced it with an entirely different meal. Round 2. I knew they would never let me get away with not eating so I dug in. That was about 5 hours ago now and I can't think of food yet I know that I'll be returning soon to another meal; hopefully less filling. I suppose it's a good thing that I had just a salad last night and was actually feeling a little hungry for once. Salad is such an excitement here. It's so rare because most vegetables aren't safe. as some of our group discovered after a vegetarian dinner which had them all running to the bathroom for days. The only vegetables you can eat are apparently expensive so I cannot express my delight in getting handed a bowl of greens last night. It is my favorite food back home.
I'm really glad to be going back to class tomorrow; assuming that's what's going to happen. Senegal is such an example of disorganization. We had to wait until last night to know if we'd have class today. No one really seems able to explain why but it's something to do with seeing the moon and knowing if today was the holiday or not. And apparently about half the country got the moon all wrong in the beginning because everyone is still waiting on the president to announce if people have to work tomorrow or not. That's a pretty good example of everything here. It's no wonder the people are so patient and easygoing. They really have no choice.
I feel disgruntled that I hadn't begun keeping a travel blog sooner. I've spent most of my life being thoroughly against public journals. In keeping a journal since I was 12 I always thought it was the one thing I could have all to myself. Yet, in traveling it's a lot harder to write things with a pen and paper because it's so overwhelming you almost can't write fast enough by hand. Nothing I've ever said of any of my travels has ever done any of the experiences any justice. Not to be 15 or anything but I must admit that I still completely love John Mayer. I think he describes my feelings about traveling better than anything else I've heard in the song 3X5. http://www.lyricsfreak.com/j/john+mayer/3x5_20074304.html
Particularly striking to me are the lines:Maybe I will tell you all about it when imIn the mood to lose my way with words Today I finally overcameTryin to fit the world inside a picture frame
I actually had this exact experience when I was in Bacharach, Germany. I had travelled the seven hours by train all alone and the sights of this itty little German village in the Rhine Valley were amazing. It was so much different from Leipzig where I had been living. I climbed this mountain to a castle/hostel and kept snapping photos trying desperately to capture what I was seeing for all the people I wished could've been there with me. No matter how many I took I couldn't be satisfied. The scope of my camera just wasn't capable of really seeing what I was. Finally I decided, to hell with it! I'm here! I need to be seeing this myself.
The same thing happens everytime people ask me how my travels are. I have been so many places and seen so many things and there's so much to say and yet all I ever seem able to come up with is something totally lacking like "yeah, it's great!". So, I'm hoping this blog can be an attempt at saying better the things I haven't been saying now that I'm in like my 11th country or something like that.
Anyway, I have 15 more minutes to blow before I have to register for my classes and I'm currently sitting in the computer lab at my school all by myself and it's dark and today was long and I just want to go home really so I'm just going to keep on typing until 8 pm. This is my last week of classes and next week begins my internship. I had been under the impression that we all started working November 1 but according to Alex that's the holiday for the dead or something and no one works. Oh the ambiguity.
I know that I'm going to be working in a health clinic nearby and I keep wondering how on earth I wound up saying I wanted to do that. I must've had some mental lapse and forgotten who I was or something. I have a weak stomach and know absolutely zilch about medicine. Apparently Africa is the place to learn because they don't care if you know anything- if you're white they'll just throw you in and give you a few weeks to figure things out and then call you a doctor or something! Okay, so I'm exaggerating a little but I am really thrown off by the fact that I'm apparently going to be qualified to do something actually medical at some point during the next 8 weeks. Everytime I'm with Alex he tells me "tu aime les petits" (you love kids/little people) and now I'm so mad at myself for not saying that I wanted an internship working with kids! Why did someone else have to point this fact out to me?! Regardless, I'm excited for the experience despite how completely retarded I'm most likely going to feel there. They're I'm sure going to be throwing out medical terminology in Wolof and French that I wouldn't even understand in English.
Oh Wolof... that's a funny subject too. My Wolof class is just a bit ridiculous. I'm pretty certain based on my education of teaching languages that the curriculum at my language school hasn't changed one bit since about 1970. My teacher gets a kick out of my hysterical and uncontrollable laughter at some of the flashcards we use in class. As a result of this ridiculous curriculum we do over and over again countless dialogues. We spend soooo much time doing this. It works; we totally remember them. Everyone in our group walks around saying "Laayla, tubaab bi degg na wolof!" (My God, this white person speaks Wolof) But, try having a real conversation when all you know is a memorized dialogue. You're fine until someone changes it up on you a little and then all hell breaks loose and you look like a total moron. Oh well, everyone is amused regardless that you can even say two words in their language. Plus, they're just glad you're white and you're not French. Americans are such a commodity over here; I've never felt so special in all my life! Anyway, time to register and get home for some more mange-ing (eating, with a touch of English)

Sweat and R&B

Sundays in Senegal are slowish. Regardless, things are on the up and up. I spent yesterday with Alex. I'm amazed at how incredibly nice his friend Francois is. He did so much for us! I wonder if his friends just want me to marry him and bring him to the US so they're trying to help him out. I guess maybe they're just nice.
I'm pretty sure that my family does like me now. Maybe it was just a bad week before. Today they insisted that I eat vegetables and meat during lunch. This made up for the other night when I felt like they took all the vegetables out of my section which had to be a sign of hatred. I think I'm not giving enough credit to cultural differences and misunderstandings and simply jumping the gun with the assumption that they don't like me.

It's hard to believe that our seventh week is over. No classes tomorrow for coreytee which I have no clue how to spell. I'm glad that Ramadan is over. Maybe I'm not very patient with religion. I had respect for Ramadan at first because I thought the purpose of fasting was to better understand poverty. I was really frustrated to learn that even the hungry fast during the month. I fasted two days and I did not feel like I found any new solidarity in my life; I just felt ill. It also gets really tiring when your teachers are too tired to teach because they're fasting. That would never fly at home. But maybe that's me being culturally insensitive because religion is more personal than being professional and maybe that should be more important.
It's so hot lately. I cannot wait for cooler weather. I am pretty used to sweating and it doesn't really bother me all that much anymore I guess. It'd just be nice to stop.
I have been thinking about home a little more lately. It's the halfway point when you start to think about things like that. I cried when I was with Alex yesterday about my grandma. That was the first time I really felt like I was in a safe place and had someone there who cared about me. He was really sad to see me crying but he made me walk to the telecentre later in the evening and call home. I love that he's so thoughtful. He was so surprised yesterday when I told him that I had told my family I had a boyfriend. He said he was going to write a letter to my mom. I think it's adorable.
I just looked at Benny's myspace profile and saw that his cousin passed away recently. The other day a girl in another program was sitting and chatting with us when her mom called to tell her that her father had passed away. He had been terminally ill and she was sort of expecting it but it was still such a reality check. I hadn't thought of Benny a lot lately. I miss him, though. He was so much fun this summer. I am tired of leaving people. Now I'm here and with Alex and soon I will leave him forever just like Benny. It's nice to meet so many different people but I don't like having to say goodbye all the time.
I feel like I'm finally accepting the fact that I'm actually an adult despite the fact that I don't feel smart enough or brave enough or responsible enough for that title. I still feel like a kid about to get shoved out of college in 8 months into a huge unknown. My whole life all I've done is be a student. For the first time ever I don't know where I'm going to be in a year. It's horrifying. Being an adult is stupid! I'm not finished learning, I don't feel like I could be useful in any profession yet. Why don't they just let me stay in college?!