Things I haven't done in over a year

- Seen friends and family
- Hugged anyone I've known for most my life
- Snuggled with a cat
- Seen snow
- Seen mountains
- Swing danced with a partner :'(
- Left Senegal
- Saved handshakes for formal occasions
- Gone a day only speaking English
- Attended a game brunch :'(
- Driven a car
- Driven a scooter
- Used a dish washer
- Used a washing machine
- Used a vacuum cleaner
- Gotten a professional hair cut
- Spoken with some friends and family
- Ridden in an airplane
- gone a week without eating rice

Eating and drinking section
- good beer
- brats
- Chinese food
- Thai food
- Wisconsin cheese
- deli food
- diner food
- edible corn on the cob
- cheese steak
- mom's banana chocolate chip pancakes
- tofu
- spinach borsht
- fresh berries
- artichokes
- salmon

Dazed and Confused...

Before lunch today I spent a good couple hours looking at myspace. I'm in Dakar for the week so the lure of free internet at the office proves to be too much to bare at times. I was glancing at my sisters' pages and then I noticed that my high school had a group there so I did a little searching for classmates. Finding a few it was pretty cool to see how people were doing, especially since I'll likely be missing my 10-year reunion next year. Yes people have real jobs, yes people have gotten married and yes people have kids (yikes!!). Anyway, this whole thing reminded me of this phenomenon that my friends and I experience after the slightest exposure to the world we used to live in. After the myspace surfing, remembering the good ole days at MHS, I stumbled out into the crowded, hot, filthy streets of Dakar for some lunch of rice and meat, and experienced a minor culture shock attack. This happens just about any time I use the internet, watch satellite tv or just about anything else that is able to transport my mind back to the simpler time in my life. The physical change of going from a room that is usually a little dark, quiet and cooler thanks to fans (or if you're lucky AC) to the bright, loud, blazing hot Senegalese street - paired with the mental adaptation that has to occur can sometimes throw off even the best acclimated ex-pats.

Absentee Voting

Last week, just like millions of other Americans, I voted. Now voting, no matter how exciting or maddening the elections or results may be, is kind of a mundane process. Mine differed some from the typical so I thought I'd share it.

Back in August I contacted the Town of Middleton (referred to as ToM from here on out) by email to request an application for an absentee ballot, being sure to leave plenty of time before elections. I downloaded and filled out the application, following the instructions very carefully, because I know one little slip could very well negated the entire application. I mailed the request in and began to wait. Next thing I know Mid-October is rolling around and I haven't heard a thing from ToM. I am allowed to mail the ballot itself in as long as it is postmarked on or before the date of the election, because the State of Wisconsin lumps Peace Corps together with Military (exactly what no one in Peace Corps wants) so I wasn't quite freaking out yet. I decided to send another email to inquire. I get an email back saying that I did something wrong on my request and that a letter of explanation and another absentee ballot request form had been mailed to me over a month ago. Now, why someone would go to the trouble to mail something to me that could've much more easily been emailed and downloaded, I am not sure, especially when it was mailed to a developing country with a postal system that is iffy at best. So I start racing to download another request and reading through the directions again to figure out what I did wrong. According to the instructions, I did nothing wrong. I write this back to ToM and they say that they have, against their better judgment, put a ballot in the mail for me, with two weeks to go till the election. The next day I went to the post and found the envelope in my boite postale from ToM. It had taken over a month to get to me, which is not uncommon here, usually stuff gets to Dakar in a timely manner but then takes quite a while to get from Dakar to the smaller cities and towns. However, after examining a little closer I found out exactly why it had taken so long, ToM had put a 39 cent stamp on a letter to go over seas. It really shouldn't have gotten here at all and was probably put on a barge to get here.

So I sat and waited for my ballot to show up, thinking it may very well take over a month like the first thing, especially if they put another 39 cent stamp on it. In true Senegal fashion, thought, the ballot showed up in my box on Tuesday. So I wormed my way into using the internet at the Post to check out the candidates. After I finished voting I filled out the envelope, which has my name and address where the recipient's info typically goes on an envelope and took it to the window to get it stamped. Every time I have to wait in line, almost anywhere, this is what happens; I get in line, where the apparent end is, as soon as the person at the front is done, at least two people race to see who can get their letter to the dude first, often someone will walk into the room and right up to the front of the line, cutting in front of everyone. This is something that, even though I still don't understand the process, I have learned to be patient about. After a very loud tantrum I threw in the bank I realized that it's better to just be patient.

Anyway, once I get to the front of the line, after a young guy and and older lady cut right in front of me, the dude tells me that the layout of the envelope is going to confuse the mail carriers in Senegal and it won't get where it needs to go. So I go buy another envelope, take the inner one to get stamped with the date just in case and get back in line, only to be cut in front of twice more while waiting for the stamp guy. Finally the process is finished as I seal the outer envelope and drop it into the box. Whole process that day took about 3 hours.

All that work and Wisconsin still managed to make sure that outright discrimination is a part of our State constitution. Really kind of maddening, but as they say here, 'patientez' - be patient, they'll come around.

Alhamdoulilah!!!

I have witnessed a miracle. My camera was clinically dead for a couple weeks, the light would go on when I attempted to charge it but it wouldn't turn on at anytime. I returned home last Sunday to make a last ditch attempt to revive it, thanks to some info from my mom. I picked it up, hit the power button, and.... tah dah! We had power!! I think it knew I was threatening it with burrial in the disgusting trash pits on the outskirts of town and it decided to shape up, but who knows, it could've been Yallah.

RIP Sony Handishot

Well, I've got some bad news. You know those photos that I've been posting on my photo site? The ones that give you some more insite into life here? 1 Picture's worth 1000 words, yada yada. Well, unless there is some miracle of technology about to occur right here in Kaolack, there will be no more. That's right, Senegal has dealt a final blow to my digital camera and murdered it. It was a long fight with the sandy winds and the extremely humid rainy season, my poor little camera was no match for the harsh conditions of the Sahel region of Africa. The funeral will be this Sunday at the trash heap in Kaloack. Now you may be asking which trash heap, there are so many in Kaolack...it'll be the trash heap off the road to Diorbel. Please bring your kind words and fond memories of an electronic life that was cut tragically short.

Thank you.

It's begining to feel a lot like...

The last time I spoke with my parents they told me that it had snowed in Wisconsin already. Last year I almost burst into tears when I heard about or saw photos of snow, this year is better. But the most exciting news is that I actually had to use my thin fleece blanket along with a sheet to sleep last night. Granted, both my windows were open but it was the best sleeping weather we've had in months and its a sign that 'the cool season' is on its way. By cool season I mean that it probably gets down 70° at the coolest at night and still gets up in the mid 90s during the day, but believe me, it is a refreshing break.

Enjoy your snow and I'll enjoy my thin-blood 'cool' weather.

Ramadan #2

Today is the last day of my second Ramadan in Senegal. Last year I only fasted during Yom Kippur but this time around I got about 6 days in besides Yom Kippur. The idea behind Ramadan if I’m not mistaken is to atone for sins, be extra giving to those who are in need and to experience life as it is for those people who are truly in need. This is done through fasting during daylight hours for 30 days. Since Ramadan is a month in the Muslim calendar (a lunar calendar), it rotates throughout the year. This means that Ramadan is about 10 days earlier each year. This year it has fallen during both the harvest and the most miserable (hot and humid) month of the year. Villagers are fasting while they do the hardest work of the year at the hottest time of the year and I can’t help but think that these are the people most other Muslims think of when they give up food and water for the month to live closer to poverty. I can almost here the explanation that a Muslim-American mother might give her son for the sacrifices they make – “Just think about the Muslims in Africa who don’t have enough food to eat.” Yet, those Africans who don’t have enough money to eat much besides a bit of plain rice normally, are themselves sacrificing. Who do they think about when they try to make their lives closer to poverty for the month? And if they don’t really see themselves normally as impoverished, who really are the poor? From the villages I have been to I would say that the people are aware of their lack of material possessions and money, but they tend to have enough to get by and more importantly, everyone has family and that is what is really important. I haven’t asked anyone, but I would guess that the villagers imagine someone with no family, an orphan, when they think about the truly poor.

AFN

I should probably think twice before publishing this on the internet but it was one of those eye-opening experiences that I just have to share. I was recently somewhere where I saw for the first time AFN, Armed Forces Network. I guess this is the satellite tv that all overseas employees of the US government get. We were just watching some good ole American football, but what came during the commercial breaks made me shiver. Each ‘commercial’ was full of propaganda and paranoia and was obviously meant more for military than anyone else. The one that stuck in my mind was the friendly reminder of Article 88, that states that it is illegal for members of the military to speak ill of the president, vice-president or any member of the senate or congress. In my position, I’m not allowed to stage any sort of governmental rally but my everyday freedom of speech is left intact. For military though, where does the freedom of speech leave off and Article 88 take over?

Article 88
“Any commissioned officer who uses contemptuous words against the President, the Vice President, Congress, the Secretary of Defense, the Secretary of a military department, the Secretary of Transportation, or the Governor or legislature of any State, Territory, Commonwealth, or possession in which he is on duty or present shall be punished as a court-martial may direct.”

High Holy Days in a Muslim Country

Hey everyone,
The holidays of Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur and Ramadan have either recently happened or are still going on. For Rosh Hashanah I set up a little ceremony with my host family and friends complete with challah, apples and honey. For Yom Kippur I went to Tambacounda to celebrate with other Jewih PCVs, I wrote an article about it for the Peace Corps Senegal newsletter, it's pasted below. For Ramadan I was under the weather when it started but I am in my second day of fasting out of solidarity, the thirst is definitely the hardest part. I'll post more on Ramadan here soon. Cheers, Becca

New Jewish Traditions in a Muslim Country
By Becca Schwartz

The Jewish High Holidays of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur were recently celebrated in homes and synagogues across the diaspora. Though its not quite as easy, as there aren’t any synagogues in the country and chances are the only torah in Senegal belongs to the folks at the Israeli Embassy, with a little creativity and initiative, Jewish PCVs are able to observe holidays here in Senegal. A short time ago, with the help of a couple prayer books, a few trips to the cyber café and the coming together of several families’ traditions, Jewish PCVs gathered for Yom Kippur in Tambacounda.

Yom Kippur is the holiday where Jews attone for sins they have comitted in the past year, it is a time of repentance, forgiveness and fasting, similar to the Muslim hoilday of Ramadan. By chance, the Holy months of Ramadan and Tishrei (the Jewish month in which Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur fall) intersected this year. This overlap happens three years in a row, every 30 years so Jewish PCVs currently serving in Muslim countries have an opportunity for a special cultural exchange and interesting discussion.

Yom Kippur in the Tamba house turned out to be an interesting mix of joyful and solemn. Solemn because of the gravity of the holiday, thinking about what we had done wrong in the past year, promises we had broken and people we had hurt. It was a joyful time because of the community within the greater PCV community that was being formed. We were coming together to celebrate our common faith, culture and heritage. When we weren’t fasting we found joy in eating delicious, traditional Jewish foods. There is also a joyful optimism found in planning to be a better person in the coming year.

In Judaism, discussion about how the ancient prayers, traditions and laws pertain to our modern lives is important. We talked about the act of apologizing to someone we had wronged, forgiveness, the recent Israel-Lebanon war as well as the volatile relationship Muslims and Jews have had. As the sun dropped slowly toward the horizon, we took time to remember those lives that had been lost in the past year.

As the 26 hours of fasting came to an end, we decided to take our celebration onto the roof so we could see the first three stars in the evening’s sky that mark the end of our fast. One last opportunity was taken to atone for the sins we had committed against our communities, the earth, ourselves and God, before the fast was broken. During the meal of matzoh ball soup, latkes(potato pancakes), stir-fried okra and challah(braided bread) that followed, there was a real sense of closeness, of community and that wonderful feeling that maybe we had started a new tradition for future PCVs in Senegal.

My week of swimming in Dakar

Last week I was in Dakar, as you may have noticed from the photos. I was there for my secondary project - working with the Piscine Olympique and the Senegalese National Swim Team. For the first time ever, the African Swimming Championships took place in a West African country and Dakar played host to some of the best swimmers on the continent. The annual Dakar-Gorée, 5km swim was included at the end of the Championships as the final event, in which I was a participant.

I started the week with the informational meeting for all delegations. The meeting was bilingual - French and English and when the translator wasn’t getting confused - translating English to English and French to French, it went pretty smoothly. The most interesting part was when the head of the Ivorian delegation launched into a 10 minute speech he had apparently prepared for the occasion - he seemed like an eccentric type. For those of you who are counting, there were 17 countries from all over the continent represented - Egypt, Tunisia, Algeria, Morocco, Mali, Senegal, Cote D’Ivoire, Benin, Nigeria, Cameroon, Kenya, Angola, Zimbabwe, South Africa, Madagascar, Seychelles and Mauritius.

The next day, Monday, September 11th, the meet started. It was amazing to be around competitive swimming again! Warm-ups, heats, touch pads, it’s all wonderful. I was unsure what I would be doing to help until it was determined that the Senegalese woman who was to be the English announcer had not yet arrived and the meet was about to start. I jumped in and was doing ok, with the couple swim meets I’ve been to in my lifetime and taking directions from the meet director. The meet director was a man from Kenya, it probably helped me out that he was from an English-speaking country and didn’t speak any French, I ended up doing a lot of translation throughout the week as well. The announcing was going fairly well until I got to the name of a girl from Madagascar - the Malagasy are apparently notorious for long names. Tojohani Andrianmanjatoarimanana is her name, and no I’m not kidding. The first time her name came up, I have to admit that I panicked and only read her first name, but after a couple times, I figured that saying half of her last name is acceptable and became more comfortable with it.

During this first session, the meet director learned first hand how things are done here in Senegal, which is apparently different from how things run in Kenya. If you haven’t gotten the idea from my previous emails, things here run inefficiently, chronically late and that’s if they’re running at all. The microphones worked about half the time, the music for between heats was not played at the right time and was always the same, kinda bizarre song, and the all too common, too-many-cooks-in-the-kitchen syndrome that seems to take over at many events here. The meet director was not impressed. On more than one occasion I heard him say "What is wrong with these people!?"

After announcing the first session I was told by a number of people that I needed to slow down so I made a mental note and tried to work on that later on. Then the head of the Angolan delegation came up to me and in addition to asking me to slow down, asked if there was anything I could do about my accent. Hmmm. I do a great imitation of my little sister, I may be able to pull off that thick upper mid-west accent, or even a couple words in the Philly accent but I doubt any of those would be MORE understandable to someone who speaks Portuguese. I told her I would slow down and that I wasn’t sure what she wanted me to do with my accent.
For the evening session, the Senegalese announcer was sure to show up on time so my new job was to hunt down the top finishers in each event, make sure they’re dressed in their team warm-ups and ready for awards. Well I guess the new announcer’s skills were not up to par because the meet director told me about half way through the session that I would be announcing the rest of the meet. The (Senegalese) French announcer was also replaced by a member of the Moroccan delegation, so we were sort of a team…a team that communicates in broken French and broken English that is.

Over the course of the week I got better, more enthusiastic, with my announcing, and every evening the Senegalese crowd did a great job supporting their swimmers. The most success by the Senegalese team was had by the star of their team - Malick Fall, who took Silver in the 100 Breaststroke and Bronze in the 50 Breaststroke. By the last day, the stands were more full than they had been all week and there was an authentic Senegalese drumming group in the stands. They played during warm-ups and even during the races, it really felt like the *African* Swimming Championships. South Africa ended up taking home the most medals, with Algeria and Tunisia rounding out the top three, Senegal finished 9th.

All week I also got to see the inner workings of swimming in Africa and a different side of Senegal swimming. CANA - Confédération Africain de Natation, is the governing body of African Swimming and the group that put on the meet. I met and got to know people who are a part of CANA and people in many delegations, including the President of FINA (Fédération International de Natation - the governing body of World Swimming) who happens to be Algerian. I was even invited to come announce at the next African Championships that will be held in 2 years in Cairo.

Thanks to the short sessions, I was able to get into the pool every day to do a little training for the event that would finish up the week, the Dakar-Gorée 5km ocean swim. My chances of placing well were diminished by the fact that many of the swimmers who participated in the Championships swam the open water race as well, as it was officially part of the meet (promoted heavily because Open Water is now an Olympic event that FINA would like to become ‘the Marathon of swimming’). The race started on a beach near a nice hotel east of downtown Dakar. When I got there, about an hour ahead of start time, I was greeted by 8 wonderful, supportive volunteers who helped me prepare for the race. The start was chaotic as with any open water start but I did worm my way into starting with the Championships swimmers and not with the rest of the riffraff (the hundreds of other people who signed up, including Peace Corps’ Doctor for the West Africa Region and the American Ambassador to Senegal). This seemed like a nice advantage until 15 seconds into the swim, we looked back and saw the riffraff coming right at us - they were supposed to wait 5 minutes or so. The swim itself went pretty smoothly, I hung with some swimmers from Zimbabwe for a while but was able to pull away about half way through. The most difficult thing was keeping track of where I was going because the buoys were not always visible with waves and whatnot. I had a little excitement when I swam into a plastic bag stew about 1km off shore and then again near the finish when I swam into a dead puffer fish and cut my finger - I actually screamed under water (out of surprise) when that happened. That’s when I sped up a little as I couldn’t remember if those things were poisonous so I thought I’d better hurry if my heart was going to stop in a matter of minutes - thankfully it didn’t. The finish was exciting, there were a whole bunch of cheering people (13 for me!), an inflatable archway, people handing out warm water and ice-cold Red Bull (one of the sponsors) to drink and some sort of sandwich I gave to the first kid that asked me for it. I finished 27th (around 10th for women) with a time of 1 hour and 25 minutes, ok for not really knowing where I was going most of the time. I hung out with friends and relaxed on the Island for the rest of the afternoon as a reward.

Aside from swimming, the week included staying and eating meals with the Peace Corps Country Director and his family. This isn’t really normal for volunteers but they live in the same neighborhood as the pool, and boy am I glad they do! A large, beautiful home complete with air-conditioning, a nice, fast computer, a western-style kitchen, I’m telling you, it was better than a hotel! Even though I have found that I now get stuffed up when I’m near air-conditioning, it was almost worth it to walk into a cool room after a hot day on the pool deck.
The food was delicious and on my birthday they treated me to steak quesadillas, refried beans and chocolate birthday cake.

All in all an unforgettable week.

Senegalese Birthday Bash

About a month ago I decided that I would throw myself an American-style birthday party at my host family’s compound. Since tacos are becoming more American by the minute and since tacos are doable when your kitchen is a gas tank, I chose them for the menu. Thanks to my parents and the postal services of the US and Senegal, I was also able to serve some Duncan Heinz cake, complete with frosting and candles.

My friend Connor helped me with the preparations and decided that he would refry some beans to make the meal even more authentic. I even bought cheese, many of the people who attended had never eaten cheese before, and my host mother was shocked at how much I paid for it. We got my host fam to help out with cutting up the veggies but with minutes to go in the food prep, the rain started. We moved indoors and it turned from the fiesta I had planned into some sort of strange half-breed when Senegalese fete forces took over. I wanted everyone to serve themselves – mostly because I knew not many would want all the veggies on their taco, but the women went into serve mode and started making tacos for everyone. They were enjoyed for the most part, I heard lots of “Neex na’s” – it’s delicious, but what everyone really liked was the cake.

After cake, several totally unexpected presents appeared. I really should’ve said no presents but I guess I didn’t think I had to. After the photographer showed up, each person took turns handing me their present and posing for photos – I now have each photo in an album to prove it. On a side-note the photography here tends to have sort of a strange tint to it so that dark skin looks less dark. Because of this, my skin, which is quite tan for me, looks like I just finished a nice Wisconsin winter. I’m sure if I really wasn’t tan I’d look sheet white in the photos. I didn’t open the presents right away, as I learned from Maguette’s birthday party. Since the rain had now stopped, that was a good time for the American music that I had planned for the kids to dance to. I played my totally random mix that included Dixie Chicks, U2, Thievery Corporation, etc. The kids started out enthusiastic enough but were soon asking for Senegalese music. This is when I put to use my new-found talent of Senegalese-style refusing, or ‘ma buñ!’ Senegalese toddlers get a lot of use out of this one and along with saying ‘ma buñ!’ there is this sort of half chicken wing flap(just the down motion) that one does with one’s arm or arms. Along with that I said, “this is my birthday, I refuse to play Senegalese music!” Though in the end I gave in and played a little.

My presents ended up including fabric – a great gift since clothes are so fun to have made here, pop corn (they call it puff corn here), two second-hand t-shirts – one that used to be my host-bro’s and another XL with a big picture of a deer on it from some place in Tennessee, and three second-hand stuffed animals. So I’m actually still trying to understand the stuffed animals. I turned 27. Here I guess birthday parties are something that only kids do, and also my host dad told me he was trying to find a cat since he won’t allow me to have an actual cat, he gave me a small stuffed tiger.

Even with the rain, this ended up being one of the best and I’m sure it’ll remain one of my most memorable birthdays.

The Joy of going to the Tailor

Before coming to Senegal, I had never know the joy of having clothes made, compared to this buying off the rack is so boring I don't know why I ever did it. Usually how it goes down here is that you go to the market and pick out some awesomely gaudy and colorful fabric called wax. Wax comes in designs that include lil baby chicks with hens, the Yankees symbol, the Pope, pretty much anything. After you have your fabric you go to the tailor, you can choose from hundreds at the market or sometimes a friend of yours is an aspiring tailor - don't go to the friend unless you want to hand over cash for something that doesn't fit, looks terrible and everyone will laugh at you for wearing. After finding a tailor you give them the fabric, tell them what you want and come back the next day to collect your boubou/have any adjustments made.

If you find a real gem of a tailor he will be able to make western style clothes as well, usually by copying or looking at a photo is best. A voluteer recently had the great idea to bring catalogues back from the states so I was able to have some J Crew stuff made here for about one 50th the price. Pants and a dress set me back about $15 total. The days between dropping off the fabric and the catalogue, I was positively giddy, waiting impatiently for what I was sure was going to be the perfect dress and pants. I went back the next day, and as I should've expected, the pants fit ok, and the dress needed to be altered. In the end nothing fit as perfectly as I'd hoped but it was still fun.

New photos

New photos have been posted at my photo site:

www.lespritdebecca.shutterfly.com


Enjoy!

Current Events

The main news on my shortwave radio for the past month has been the Israel-Lebanon situation. The news on the Wolof and French radio stations in Kaolack is much the same so the folks here, at least the ones with radios, are well aware of what is going on there. In fact I got into two discussions on the topic today. One man at the post office started off by saying that Israel is evil and that George W. Bush and his co-workers are terrorists. I couldn’t let that go without saying something so we had a nice long conversation. The second two men that I got caught up in conversation with were more sympathetic to both Israel and the U.S. from the beginning. Both conversations were very interesting and from them I can say that there are 3 major factors influencing the Senegalese view on the situation in the Middle East. First and foremost is their love of peace, second is the loyalty and brotherhood many here feel toward Arabs and other Muslims and the third I would have to say is probably the French news service where much of the news here is likely coming from.

Mourning

The words for niece, nephew, aunt, uncle and cousin aren’t used as often in Wolof as they are in English. This is because nieces and nephews are often referred to as one’s own children, aunts and uncles are referred to as parents and the word for cousins in Wolof really is the same word as for siblings.

On Monday, my host mother’s niece, or daughter, died, probably of Malaria, at the age of 24. My mom had spent the days before that at the hospital starting very early in the morning to support her niece and her family. After she passed away it was obvious that my host-family was very sad, though I didn’t see anyone cry except my grandma.

Tuesday was the funeral so in the afternoon I went along with my host sister, neighbors and friends to pay our respects. Everyone was dressed in colorful outfits like most gatherings, except this time all the women brought an extra shawl to cover their heads, shoulders and their faces if they found the tears to difficult to fight off. When we arrived, people were eating lunch and sitting around the compound talking in hushed tones. I was brought into a room where I found several women including my aunt and my dad’s second wife. When everyone finished eating they washed up and took turns praying. When the prayers were finished we sat quietly, silently for well over an hour. During this time I was fighting back the urge to stand up at yell about how preventable this terribly early death was. So many people here (including my host family and neighbors) have mosquito nets but don’t always use them because they find it hard to sleep with them. During the rainy season - now - especially, the mosquitoes are so thick in the air at night, people are certainly getting bit by those malaria-carrying mosquitoes that are mainly active between 10pm and 2am.

In the middle of this silence a man came into the courtyard, maybe an Imam, Marabout (Islamic religious leaders) or a griot (the traditional public speaker), I’m not sure because I couldn’t see him. The man started yelling and chanting and with this the weeping and wailing started. It was like a wave coming over everyone, starting outside, women started crying and screaming, some were weeping so uncontrollably they were carried into the room adjoining the one I was in, to calm down. The women in the room with me started to cry, covering their faces with their shawls so no one could see. After several minutes, the man stopped talking and we were left in relative silence again for another long while, soft weeping and sniffles the only sounds in the entire compound - filled with well over 100 people.

At some point, I’m not sure what cued it, people started to chatter quietly again. At this point many of us left but my mom and her family stayed and has spent their days there for the past several days, probably cooking for and caring for their sister who has lost her daughter.
In the past couple days I have been noticing many of the people around me coughing and having general cold symptoms. Today my neighbor, Umi, was feeling too sick to prepare lunch for her grandchildren, or roast peanuts to sell like she normally does. The season for Malaria has now started and I can only hope that people might listen to me when I talk about mosquito nets and it won’t take anyone else close to me and my family.

My Week in Dakar

Last week I was working on projects in Dakar, working at an English language summer camp in the mornings and spending my afternoons at the Olympic Pool. Normally, after running around like that for a week I would need some major recuperation time and I’d probably be nursing a cold but this time I felt great afterwards because both projects turned out to be so rewarding.

The summer camp is put on through the US Embassy and takes about 100 of the top high school (or lycée) students in Dakar who are learning English in school. Our week of summer camp was actually a small part of 2 summers worth of English summer school for these kids that culminated in a visit to Suffolk University (the Dakar branch of the University in Boston) and a closing ceremony. During the week we got to do all sorts of activities with the kids including Ultimate Frisbee, learning about American music and analysis of rap songs, a spelling bee (had I been competing, they would’ve kicked my ass), comedy sportz games, and lots of discussions. One of the discussion topics included immigration and how Senegal and the US are on opposite ends of the immigration struggle with many Senegalese risking everything, including their lives to get to Europe to find work. It was so refreshing being around these students who were really curious about life in the US and really wanted to learn and practice their English skills. I am certain that some of them will end up in University in the US in the future and also as leaders here in Senegal.

As for the second part of my days in Dakar, I recently made contact with coaching staff at the Piscine Olympique in Dakar and let them know I was interested in working with them. The man I met with said they’d like to work with me but he really showed enthusiasm when he saw me swim. He actually asked me to join his club team that he coaches - even though I live 3 hours away. When I showed up on Saturday there was a swim meet going on so I decided to join in and see what I could do on little to no training. Turns out that got me a 2nd place in my former best event 200 freestyle, got beat on the last 50 too. During the week I got to start to learn the ins and outs of how national team trains, got to meet one of 2 swimmers that swam for Senegal in the Athens Olympics, and got an idea of how I might be able to help - technique and training strategy. Since I really never could turn down swimming in an outdoor 50m pool I did get in about 10km during the week and it felt great. I can’t even describe how great it is to be around swimming again, it makes me feel much more at home and in my element.

My next trip to Dakar will be entirely for swimming, the African Swimming Championships are being held at the piscine olympique Sept 11 - 17 where I will be helping out where I can, that might be translating for the South Africans, Nigerians and other English-speaking countries, or it might be helping with meet logistics or with the Senegalese team. The week will end in the annual Dakar-Goree 5km ocean swim which I am planning on doing if I can get over that gross taste of salt water.

See my other photos at www.lespritdebecca.shutterfly.com

Airplanes

So I've been staying in Dakar for the week, working with a great bunch of kids at an English summer camp and also splitting my time with the Olympic Pool and the Senegalese National Team. During this time I've spent quite a bit of time under the flight path of planes coming to and leaving Dakar. So thanks to my proximity to the airport I've been thinking about flight a little bit. Not that I'm going to leave, or even want to, but after nearly a year here, seeing people coming and going gives me a strange feeling. On one hand, seeing those planes reminds me that I CAN go home if the need arises, on the other hand it reminds me that I'm not going home, and won't be any time soon.

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Sinceit'llannoypeopletoreadI'llmakeitfast.Nowisawonderfulexampleofa
computerSNAFUtypicalinSen.Noitisn'tanewwaytotypeincode,keyboard
justsucks.AsyoucantellIcan'ttypespacesonkeyboard.Letterstatcome
betweenF&Iinalpabetalsodon'tworksoI'vetriedtoavoiduse.
Prettycoolquoi?

trust
all
is
well,
Becca

Real Life Talk Show Episode

I remember seeing an episode of the Maury Povich show a couple years ago, I think the title of the show was something like "I am deathly affraid of balloons and its ruining my life!" On the show Maury brought out these people who were affraid of balloons, snakes, spiders, clowns, hair and kittens, talked to them about their phobia, brought out whatever it was that they were affraid of and then chased after them with the camera and a microphone as they ran all over the studio to get away from what ever it was. I remember thinking, "ok, spiders, snakes, even clowns I can see, but they must have hired these people that say they're affraid of balloons, hair and kittens." Well, as for the kittens, I stand corrected. The other day I saw the smallest, cutest little kitten walking in the road crying, no mother cat in sight. I didn't want the cute little guy to become street pizza plus I have a couple friends who had mentioned they wanted a cat to keep mice, lizards and scorpions (a whole other story) out of their huts, so I picked her up and brought her home. This kitten is adorable, small enough to fit in the palm of one hand, but on her way back to my house we were able to make grown men and women run for their lives. All I had to do was hold her and bring her within 5 meters of one man and he started yelling, turned and fled. The little kids aren't any better, they start screaming and crying, one little girl nearly fell on her head trying to escape the beast. They are affraid that the cat will bite and scratch them, or at least thats what they say. I have to confess that she does bite me quite regularly when she mistakes my finger for something she can nurse, but it doesn't hurt. Now I'm starting to wonder if more stuff isn't the real thing on 'Springer' as well.

Respecting elders part 2

There is a second part to this respecting elders tradition that is definitely much different from the family I grew up in. The hierarchy of the nuclear family and the behavior that results is something that might be found unusual to most outsiders.

I have two younger sisters, and here in Senegal, that would give me quite a bit of influence over them in that if I told them to do something, answer the phone, get me a drink of water, run to the store to get me something, they would have to do it, ideally without complaint. What actually happens with my sisters? If they are feeling kind, they’ll do it upon request, if they’re feeling somewhat kind they’ll begrudgingly do it, complaining a little, and if its an average day, they’ll tell me to get it myself.

My youngest host-sister, Maguette, is always fetching things for people, she has 4 older siblings, 2 parents and 1 grandparent that are always requesting stuff. She’s getting into her teenage years so her fetching is not always unaccompanied by bickering. So the higher up on the food chain you are, the less you have to do for yourself. Its still a little confusing with the gender differences because the oldest in the family is my host-sister Fatim and she does quite a bit of house work when she’s visiting from University in Dakar.

If anything is certain, it is that my host-dad is king of his castle, though he technically has to obey his mother. When he is home, he doesn’t lift a finger. My host-brothers open the gate for his car, set out his chair and the tv for him to watch the news and the thing that surprises me every time is that he will walk right past the phone when its ringing so that someone lower on the food chain will answer it. My host-mom serves him his dinner first out of everyone and if there is anything lacking in his service he will proceed to berate whoever is at fault. This berating, people tell me, is the Senegalese way of encouraging but that doesn’t stop me from feeling uncomfortable when he asks be if there is a medication to cure stupidity in the U.S.


Also, I managed to find a picture of my host grandma so you can see her, it's a little fuzzy but you get the idea. This is Mariemme Welle, and this is actually what she does for much of the day. More recently she's been taking walks, very slowly to go visit her friends.