It was business as usual

Today was incredibly interesting. I'm running on very little sleep and a half-sedated mental state from the entire week's happenings. I was picked up at 4:30 this morning by some girls in my Global Leadership program. We drove to the OU airport and met a student's boyfriend where we boarded a six-seater airplane and climbed 10,000 feet. By 6:30 this morning I was watching a beautiful pink sunrise pop up behind the Smokey Mountains.

The more things I do where I find myself needing a suit jacket, or high heels, or nice jewelry the more I feel a certain part of me sliding away. By 8 am we had landed our single engine in Atlanta, Georgia at a small airport where they smacked down one piece of red carpet for us to dismount onto.

At 9:30 I was sitting in a cafe in the Olympic Centinniel Park in downtown eating a blueberry muffin and talking politics and feeling giddy from the two cups of coffee I downed between the two airports.

At 10 we were greeted in the chamber of commerce building by quite a number of people who seemed interested in knowing what a couple of students from Ohio were doing at this conference and who made small talk with us to make us more comfortable.

At around 10:40 we were greeted by the Polish Ambassador to the United States, Janusz Reiter, and sat down to speak with him awhile. Within ten minutes they were rushing us to stand up and have our picture taken with Reiter and shook hands one last time before being ushered into the conference room.As business occassions do in the US this was to start on time at promptly 11 am and our guest at the table was the conference guest of honor.

The conference room had a large number of people and we chose the most inconspicuous table we could find in the absolute back corner of the room where perhaps we might pass through unnoticed.

The US ambassador spoke briefly followed by Reiter and then it was already time for lunch by noon. Table by table they made their way to the buffet. A young man joined us with a name tag that indicated he had achieved his PhD. He seemed a bit awkward but we tried to make small talk.

By the time it was our turn to get dinner I was highly fed up with trying to remember how I was supposed to properly eat at a formal luncheon. I didn't want to care about something so petty. I got my plate of chicken and vegetables with the appropriately sized servings for such proper gatherings and had my seat. By the time my table was ready for dessert I wound up alone with the awkward doctorate chatting away about how cynical he was about his life and job as a computer scientist and how he hadn't learned any French during his three years in Quebec for his Master's. I told him that was a bit of a shame. He agreed. He said his head was just too full of Polish to learn another language. No- he was American, not Polish. I don't think he really spoke much Polish either actually.

Anyway, I dropped a spoon on the floor as soon as I got back to the table and couldn't refrain from quietly uttering the word, "shit". He made a crack about etiquette and then I realized it was only a crack and he was on my side.

It bugged me to have to worry how I was eating my food and if my posture was correct, to wonder if people were judging me. I'm not like that- I don't feel that way. What is it about the world of business that makes you feel that tension? Everything is about appearances. Why can't everyone just act naturally? You can't, you really can't. I felt like Roseanne in a five-star restaurant. You can't just come in laughing your head off and enjoying yourself, you have to button your suit coat all the way to the top and try not to crack a smile unless someone at the podium makes a lightly witty remark and everyone chuckles a bit. Anyway, the whole thing made me tense until the slight conversation with the computer science PhD who didn't seem to know or care about much of anything and didn't even want to do computer science. Ok, I'm doing better than this guy.

The rest of the conference was slightly more interesting, "Poland is great because of this and that; invest in Poland, yada yada yada". The conference ended, we thanked our hosts and decided to stroll across the street to the CNN headquarters.

We had about an hour to spare and the behind the scenes tour was only 55 minutes. $12 per adult ticket. I really wanted to see it, thankfully we had one other journalism major on my side, and a three person crowd that was somewhat interested. we were sold on the tour. I beeped like a bomb when going through the metal detector. The security cop laughed when he used the handheld to scan me all over in my suit and I didn't beep a lick. He said he just didn't know what it was. Well, I guess it doesn't matter much, they let me into a number of Senate buildings in D.C. with a swiss army knife.

We then rode what we later learned is the longest escalator in the world to the eigth floor or this incredibly unique structure, a 5 minute ride of horror in my opinion. The first stop on the tour was a room like a movie theater where we sat and watched the projected images of background scenes. We saw what was being aired at that moment in the middle of the screen, with numerous boxes all around showing the teleprompters, the anchors currently off air, scenes that had yet to be ready to cover the news. We watched several minutes of the Anna Nichole Smith story. After that we were moved to a stairwell where we stood staring across at the rooms of the Omni for around 10 minutes. Welp, that puts the tour down to around 30 minutes left.

Next was a room to demonstrate to screens where everything is projected and the two way mirrors that force the anchors to look at the camera while they read the scripts. Next room- a giant overlook into the newsroom. Ok, this part is cool. There in the center of the room are the anchors, they're broadcasting right there in the middle of mobs of people at their computers. Just sitting putting news together. They had news of September 11th aired in 5 minutes. There are anywhere between 100 and 300 people in the room with the anchors at the same time. If you watch the news you won't hear anything but the anchors.

Then we got paraded down a number of other steps, we were told some historical facts about the building and about the large number of diverse channels CNN actually has. People were walking past us at this point who were not on tour because we were basically in the mall now. We began to realize that we were robbed a bit. I'd say the tour was worth $6, maybe 8 with the rise in minimum wage. It was a cool day, and for me a very interesting one. Not bad, though. Not bad at all.

Crazy little thing called life...

Last night was really amazing and insightful. Going uptown for five minutes and then ending up spending the night with a bunch of friends in my own living room talking about things I feel only adults talk about makes me somewhat certain that I really am one now. The thrill of going out 4 nights a week and getting sloshed and acting like a fool has gradually lost its appeal. That feeling of goofiness pales in comparison to the feeling of real connection with people found in intimate conversation. Is that being grown up? If so, I kind of like it. Though, it definitely has its downsides.

Things like, understanding how the world really works. How money truly is the root of all evil and how it permeates every aspect of our existence. To understand the astounding greed that motivates so much of politics is heartbreaking. The weight of America's happiness is on the shoulders of the rest of the world and it seems that no one is doing anything about it.

Last week I was asked to come talk about my experience in Senegal in front of some first year students in the Global Leadership program I'm in. I was really happy to go back in time and attempt to put myself there again. Yet, I felt so limited. Given countless hours it would be difficult to summarize, giving credit to everything, the experience I had there. I want to not just describe the experience but open people's eyes to the grave injustices I witnessed. Babies who are numbers, women who are nearly slaves to their families, men who work so hard for nearly nothing. Maybe this is why I am so thrown off when people ask me, "how was Senegal?". What do you say to that? It was the most incredible, wild, eye-opening, exhilarating, heartbreaking three and a half months of my life. But every one of those words has so many stories and faces behind it. There's absolutely no way to summarize it. What's more, Senegal is one of the most stable countries in the whole of Africa, considered to be "doing well", and I myself can be there and take bucket showers and live among them but I will always be American and no matter how much I strive to put myself on their level, if I am injured, I will never end up at the Post de sante of Ouakam where I watched so many people receive inadequate health care.

A part of me feels like I'm still in the air, in limbo. When you're on the plane you're someplace in between. You're not really anywhere. I feel like I never actually landed, I'm still someplace 34,000 feet above ground floating in between the US and Senegal. I've been home over a month- I wonder when that'll stop.

Alex still calls me on a regular basis and I get messages and e-mails from him all the time. My heart is so apart from him now and I am consumed with guilt. How can I explain to him that I will probably never be his again? I don't want to have to do that. I feel like I did something destructive. When I was there and with him I was so in it. Part of me missed home but overall I felt right where I should be. Now that I'm back it's clear to me that I could never marry a person who doesn't challenge me. Challenge me to grow and educate myself. Someone who doesn't stimulate me on an intellectual level. I don't know why, I don't understand it. I'm so angry with myself for being so detached from someone I love and who seems ready to never stop loving me. He just turned 29; what did I do to this person? I was his hope for something more, something better than that life. Looking back I'm so furious with myself for things I said to him, things to give him that hope. I meant them then, I really did. There was some innocent part of me that was naive enough to believe that this love was just. I wanted to be in love and I was but it was some completely other me. I feel that I did something selfish and unfair. In the beginning I kept telling him I would leave and it would be over but I fell so hard that stopped feeling like an option. I felt that I had to see him again and that he was the only person I'd ever met who really deserved my love. Perhaps it's true that he is the most deserving but somehow you cannot align your heart and your head to always love the one you know you should love.

When I came back I realized how terrified I am of commitment. I've worked incredibly hard to do what I'm striving to do and I always promised myself I wouldn't sacrifice my dreams for any man. I don't know if sacrificing love for dreams will find me happy in the end but that's life. I know I'm going to be a workaholic because I'm already obsessed with being almost a professional. Like everyone I'm floating through hoping to bump into another person going my direction and it's horrifying to think that maybe we will miss one another somehow but in the meantime all I can do is live and love myself and keep hoping.

Where in the world

My head is absolutely spinning lately. I can't get my thoughts straight for five minutes. It's like I've gone completely mad. I'm left, I'm right, I'm all over the board in between... I have absolutely no idea what's going on. I feel so overwhelmed by the fact that I'm practically finished with the four lightyears of college that just passed.

I have not stopped thinking for a single day about going back to Senegal. I can't stop imagining those little brown eyes in that classroom which should be mine. I can't stop thinking of Ousseynou and what an amazing friend he is and how I need back to him. I keep seeing myself on the beach,and in the hot sun, and walking through the damn sand that I hated every single day there. I can't stop imagining cooking eggs with Alex in the apartment that we talked so much about having together.

I sent the woman who offered me the job a confirmation that I had accepted. I don't like to be dishonest but she wanted a decision before I was capable of making one. I really want my acceptance to be true. I just want to say that's that and go back. The day after I told her I was coming, though, I got a perfect job offer in China to do the same thing. Contrary to the Senegal job, this one offers me airfare, visa fees, stipend, food allowances, a fully-furnished apartment, and Chinese language and culture lessons. Not to mention the obvious perk of being in China. This is the exact opposite of the life I would be having in Senegal making around $300 a month and being entirely responsible for my living costs, airfare, and somehow working to scrape through my loan repayments... all $28,000 of them.

Plus, I'm getting invitations to friends' weddings, or seeing so many of my friends in at least semi-serious relationships and I'm scared of never finding that myself. When I do a reality check I know that I'm super young and totally don't need to be worried but what's it going to feel like when my best friends have children and I'm still single?

I went to a lecture entitled, "The Many Avenues of Development". I was somewhat dissatisfied to find that the director of the African Studies department (whom I have never met, by the way) and professor of development here at OU seemed practically oblivious to the criticisms of Development work. When I posed the question of what organizations he knew which were not helping to perpetuate the problem of dependency he really found no answer for me. He responded that the organizations work like a business and why would they want all those employees to lose their jobs by not being needed? Well Mr. Walker, I kind of thought that was the point and that's the life that development workers commit themselves to. Why get involved if you are in it for a job and not for the honest betterment of mankind?

What worried me much more than that, though, is when he went in to describing his past graduates who had lived in as many as ten diverse countries before settling into a real career. Does that mean that I am facing the possibility of sacrificing a family for my career? I am utterly in love with what I'm striving to do. I, in fact, cannot even imagine myself doing any other thing in the world. Yet, is it really worth it to sacrifice my own reality for the bleak discovery that the difference I can make in this world is so minute?

Before Senegal I had never wanted to visit the same place twice. At least not until I had stepped foot onto every continent and numerous countries around the globe. Only under those conditions would I allow myself to start visiting old homes. Leipzig never took hold of my heart like Dakar did, though. I loved Leipzig absolutely but it just never touched me the same way. The people never made me see myself in an entirely different way. I never felt so myself in Germany. In Africa I felt at my most genuine.

Now, maybe I should go to China. Take the job that it makes sense to take. Explore a new opportunity. I've never been one to back down from a challenge. Both jobs would be one. Going to China would be a whole new start after just having one in September and coming back to have basically another, and with another running closer with graduation in June. It's practically certain that I will be out of the country again within the next 9 months. But, where in the world will I be?

Everyone else says China, my heart says Senegal, but my brain just cannot decide.

Dementia

Growing up is like a constant state of hallucination. When you begin to widen your horizons and see the world for exactly what it is at this very moment, you have to pinch yourself. How can that be reality? Maybe a lot of people have the luxury of never delving into these things but as a student of development, a student of world issues, sociology, political science, and anthropology, you are forced to swallow reality whole.

The thing that most people don't realize about the world is what a strange state it's in. They're so adjusted to life as it is today and haven't ever thought of how that came to be.

Yesterday my political anthropology professor said, "You might think that the police are your friends..." Most of the class had to laugh at this because we are taught from a very young age to believe that the police are in fact our friends. As she further explained, they come to your house when the crazy robber is breaking through your window. They make us less afraid, they protect us. Sure, this is all true. Yet, at the same time, the very reason that they exist is to maintain control over society and prevent rebellion. They make certain that you're not breaking any of their rules.They protect society as it has come to be known.

The next point she brought up was how this society we have come to know is so stratified. This means that say, someone sees a starving child in the road in the city of New York and walks on by without even a second glance. Then that person goes to their nice high rise apartment where the starving child's father tries to break in so that his child can eat. The woman then calls the police to protect her from this man. He is arrested, his crime- wanting his daughter to eat? What about the woman's crime, letting the child starve.

Of course, we must consider that maybe some of these people who beg want to take our money and buy a bottle of Jim Beam, but, that's not the point. The point is that our society is in place to keep some people starving while others strive to protect their wealth, and it is they who are protected.

My prof explained that these are the things imposed on world order by the new international organization, and the concept of states. I felt during class that I was only hearing one point of view, but the more I listened the more I realized that it was one point of view, but though there may be benefits to the state system, the reality is, more than half the world suffers because of it. My father thinks I'm way too liberal. He thinks it's my professors and that I can't think for myself. He's wrong.

When I was in Senegal I didn't really see many cops. They really didn't seem to be there to protect you. In my three months there I never saw a cop doing anything other than directing traffic or escorting a politician. There is this real sense of freedom there. No one in the US would ever believe me that Senegal is more free than it is here.

There is of course the argument that maybe life is better here. For some people that's definitely true. Don't get me wrong either, Senegal is definitely stratified as well. There aren't many societies left which aren't. I don't know of any myself.

There are so many things about the world that you could never possibly understand if you never leave the United States, or even if you travel within Europe. In fact, to make it even more complicated, you could never understand if you took a tourist agency's 21 day tour of the underdeveloped world. There's nothing you could see or know from the window of a bus, or from private beaches and 5 star hotels, or guided tours, even with a native tour guide.

There is no way to believe these people could be happier than we are, or know things that we don't know. They are struggling, but they are struggling from systems that were IMPOSED on them by another world, our world. A world that made them forget egalitarianism and strive for money and power in everything. The United States has become the world capital of those pursuits. Our government will do anything and everything- humane, inhumane, and even unimaginable to adjust the rest of the world to our hegemony. Realizing this really is like being on drugs. It doesn't seem real, it doesn't seem possible, you can't imagine it, and that's exactly how they get away with it. Most of the world, especially our world, chooses to ignore these structures because it's easier, it's more convenient, and because they wouldn't even be able to believe it if they tried. They're far too brainwashed to ever accept it.

The United States is the best place in the world to live. It's the freest country in the world. We're the top because we're the best there is and no one else is doing it any better. ...Really? Are you sure about that? Why do you know, because that's what you've been taught? Well, I wouldn't be so sure if I were you... maybe you should do a little of your own investigating.

This view is incredibly liberal, that's true. I don't like that label, "very left wing"... Liberal means to be free, right? What is it about liberalism that gives it the bad connotations? I don't understand conservatism, is that the desire to be less free? To tell people that they have to wear their seat belts in their cars or that they aren't allowed to smoke marijuana.

Why is marijuana illegal? This may seem silly but honestly ask yourself. It doesn't hurt anyone else if you decide to smoke marijuana. I've never heard of anyone dying from smoking it, or killing someone else. It's natural just like tobacco. It kills brain cells supposedly, but so does playing football and that's not illegal. In fact, it's supported by millions and millions of dollars. It seems to me that alcohol is more dangerous than marijuana. At least you can think straight if you're high, it's a different story if you're drunk, and drunk people hurt other people sort of often.

Yet, my views are crazy to the average person. It's silly for me to think of terrible marijuana being condoned or allowed by the government, why would they let us do something so crazy? If you smoke pot you're automatically labeled differently. Maybe some people think you're irresponsible, or crazy, or stupid, a bad person, or a loser. Why do we not think all of those things when we see someone smoking a cigarette, or drinking a glass of wine? Well, I think it's because we're taught to think all these things. The truth is that not being allowed to smoke marijuana is just another way for the government to control people. So, maybe you'll think I've become the craziest extreme of left-wingers now. Well, whatever that means, this is the way I see it.

20 somethings

I pretty much despise girly magazines that have practically the same material in them every single edition. There are always the same stick thin women on the covers in virtually the same poses with their only distinguishing feature being a different colored top. Every month they offer the same topics- "How to have the best sex of your life", "lose belly fat in 10 days flat", get organized by tomorrow", "how to know when he wants to dump you", "how to fake an orgasm" and so on like that. Somehow these journalists have the DL on just about everything imaginable AND it comes fresh every month. Who knew the best sex of your life could keep on getting better? Exhibit A- Cosmo.

Yesterday at work, however, I found an article amidst this sleaze-filled crap that really hit home. In fact, I might even go as far as to say it was the most satisfying and relieving thing I've read since being back in the States. The article was entitled "Life in Your 20s" and it basically hit on (and made normal) every fear I can come up with about growing up and about refusing to.

Point number 1: "I have no idea what my calling is"- Ok, so actually, this isn't a real problem for me. When I first got to Senegal I went through a major period of doubting that I had chosen the right field to enter. African Studies isn't very flexible to begin with and I just spent almost four years of my life working towards that degree. A degree that can get you probably to about exactly no where except just where I want to be. Thus, the scary part was not being sure about wanting to be there. After some adjusting to Senegal the answer turned out to be yes, more than anything. Now though the question is, how do I follow through and end up to that exactly where I want to be place? How many secretarial jobs will I have to take, or errand boy positions, with waiting or bar tending on the side, before I can reach that point of being secure? And why, after four years of college and all these experiences is that so hard to get to?

Which leads to another scary point: "I've never been in a long-term relationship"- The example given, "Zoe, 26, has tons of experience under the covers, but her longest romance lasted just three months." Average life expectancy for my relationships: almost exactly 3 months. When I was in Senegal I felt certain that I wanted to marry Alex, no matter how crazy that may seem to most people in the US. I was sure that I was absolutely in love with him. Now, after less than a month in the States I've broken things off with him in an effort to understand how I feel. I don't think I want to marry Alex. The very thought of marriage scares the living hell out of me. Picking just one person that you're going to spend the rest of your entire life with. That's kinda crazy anyway. Yet, the alternatives are even more terrifying, like being alone, for instance. Why, at the age of 21 am I combating the fear of ending up that way? Most of my girlfriends aren't in serious relationships or relationships at all. That's changing a lot all the sudden but many of them still aren't. Pretty much all of the men I know would consider the thought of settling down right now ridiculous and I think I almost agree with them. Yet, here I am, worrying that soon it's going to be painful as hell still being alone and hard as hell to find someone. But, I don't have any idea if that's really true. And, after what happened with Alex, how am I really supposed to know who to settle down with? I could find that with a little time in another country I can forget my feelings for just about anyone. Love is so elusive. At the same time I'm so angry with myself for not absolutely loving the one person who loves me that way. A person I know would make an amazing husband and the perfect dad and a phenomenal person to pass a lifetime with, but who just doesn't give me the butterflies I still crave. Maybe the butterflies are only in the challenge and that means that settling down ends all of that. Maybe the point where I'm ready to sacrifice the butterflies is the point in which I've really grown up.

Point 3: "How long will I be emotionally dependent on my parents?"- Well, I wouldn't really say that I'm emotionally dependent on them, that would've made being in Africa pretty hard. I am however incredibly financially dependent on them. I pay for hardly anything myself and yet I'm struggling to pay off a $700 credit card bill. I feel like I work and work and before I know it everything is gone. I'm so incredibly grateful for not having to fall into great depths of debt because my family would never let that happen, but I am tired of being dependent. I want to be able to buy them dinner at a nice restaurant for once- all of them. My brother's 25 and he's never done that.

Related to that is point 4: "Paying the bills keeps me in a constant state of panic"- The worst part is imagining that you're doing so well then somehow managing to only scrape by when you had anticipated a surplus. This week for me was as if everything was against me meeting my goals. I got a parking ticket, my books cost a fortune, and I incredibly impulsively ordered something off ebay that wasn't even what I had intended to buy. I feel like I'm back at square one. Now I'm thinking about finishing school in March and wondering what other job I will be able to take on to attempt to finally get ahead with these bills. Those loans worth almost 30 grand are certainly going to come up quick.

Finally, point 5, and I think the overall point: "Am I ever going to have the life of a real adult?"- Honestly, it seems as though our generation has really managed to suspend that life for quite a long time. Am I going to be having kids all through my 30s? The quote in the magazine is, "My parents got married, bought a house, and had two kids by the time they were 30. They even had real furniture, like couches. My boyfriend and I live in a rental, don't feel ready to tie the knot, and all we can afford is a futon." Well I say at least this girl's got a boyfriend; she's off to a better start than I am. But like her, I wonder how and when I'll ever be able to afford a car that I don't have to constantly worry about breaking down in, or a real house with something other than Guinness posters on the living room walls in a grungy apartment that I have to share with friends, and of course, a couch (that didn't come from the thrift store). Is it always going to be one loan right after the other right until I die, only ever owning the things my dead relatives have left to me?

Growing up scares the shit out of me. I don't feel ready to be an adult, but I don't want to be a child anymore either. The fears of being alone, being poor, or being unsuccessful are so real. There's so much pressure from society it's amazing. Apparently nowadays all these things I'm feeling are known as the quarter-life crisis. Well, whatever you want to call it, I hope it's over soon.

Reality bites.

Well, reverse culture shock is a definite but sometimes it's very subtle. For the most part I just keep asking myself- did any of that really happen or was it just all a dream? Today, actually, has been my very first day completely to myself to actually ponder over that. From the time I've gotten home I've gone from one holiday party to another, spent time with family and friends, talked about my grandma's cancer like it was an object you could see or touch while looking at her and barely even noticing an ailment and gave the robotic answers countless times the questions about my trip. Before I left I couldn't wait to sit down with my family and friends and banter endlessly about the experience without being able to stop, boring everyone to tears. Yet, coming home the truth is, I have no idea what to say about any of it because it's completely surreal. Do I really have a boyfriend on the other side of the Atlantic? Did I really work in that clinic? Can I actually speak French? And worst of all, am I going to go back in September and start it all over again?

For the most part everything here is the same. The same feelings, the same thoughts, the same people, the same sights and sounds and life. Yet now I'm totally conflicted about all of it. In my room linger memories of my time with Benny. My best friend is no longer in Athens and I don't even feel like going out, let alone do I have the tolerance for it. My grandma might be dying. I see how tired my family is. On Christmas my three year-old niece opened all her presents, paid no attention to them and just kept saying, "I want more presents". Before I left I would've found that behavior hilarious and typical of children but now I just find it disgusting. Even children in this country are materialistic. I came back to my room at my parents' place and I realized that I have so many outfits and so many things and I wanted to cry out of frustration because I have so much excess that I'm not even sure what to do with it all. I just feel like I'm drowning in things, literally.

I'm not allowed to mention my boyfriend in front of my grandfather; he's racist. My family is actually afraid that my talking about my boyfriend could be bad for his health. My mom told me that if Alex and I got married and had children it would be kind of selfish. Selfish for two people who love each other to make a family just because our children would fall into the "other" box for the question of race. I realize that life would be very difficult for them but how could that be selfish? It's not my fault that people are ignorant, and even knowing that they are and that my children wouldn't have it as easily as someone totally white or even totally black I don't feel it'd ever be selfish for me to want children with my husband, regardless of the color of his skin.

I feel like going back to Senegal is the best thing for my future. I loved it there so much and I honestly left feeling like I wouldn't have to miss it because I'd just be right back. Teaching would help build my resume, get me into grad school. I could see where things could possible go with Alex or finish things in person if that's what needed to be done. I would have the opportunity to volunteer at some NGOs and start getting some real career experience and I could research and see a lot of things I didn't have time for before. On the other hand, I'd be totally poor and struggling like hell to make ends meet, probably living worse than in the dorms and eating rice every meal of the day but it'd be all a part of the experience.

I feel like I have so much on my plate right now. Alex doesn't understand that if I come back it doesn't necessarily mean I'm going to marry him. I don't understand what it does mean myself. I'm scared that I'll make a mistake. It was so easy when I was there to think about marrying Alex and having a million beautiful babies with him. It seemed unquestionable, why not? It was a fairy tale. Now I've been home for two weeks and the whole thing sounds a little ridiculous to me. How am I going to have a boyfriend who is so far away for at least the next 9 months? Do I even really love him or was he just the first guy to ever treat me the way I deserve? I'm terrified of marriage now that I'm back here. I'm too young and I'm too unsettled and I have no idea what I even want out of life.

I'm graduating so soon and time has gone so fast these past four years. I love that I've had the opportunity to pursue everything that I've ever wanted to and I believe there is still a lot more to come for me. Which is maybe why I'm afraid of tying myself down now or of tying myself into a relationship that would be a constant struggle to survive and a constant fight against society and a tough melange of cultures. At the same time I'm scared to death of hurting this person who's done absolutely everything right and who deserves no pain. Yet, you can't marry someone just so not to hurt them. It's so complicated.

I'm not ready to go out, I'm scared to walk around in streets I used to walk alone in all the time. I hear people talk about stupid drama and it disgusts me. I can't even think straight and I don't really feel anything at all. All I know is that time feels like it's standing still but in reality it's moving faster than I can even imagine and I just don't know if there is life after Senegal.

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.